I slapped my hand to her inner thigh to extinguish the fire, and Rosie stared at me.

“Fuck, sorry. You okay?” I asked, but I didn’t take my hand away. In fact, I gripped her tighter, and it had fuck-all to do with putting out fires.

“I’m okay. Are you okay?” Her eyes were wide and innocent almost. If not innocent, then maybe shocked. The fire crackled in the pit, and for one slow-motion second, I gripped her thigh to show her I wanted—so fucking much—for her to be mine again. To show her that the way I was burning for her was even hotter than anything that fire pit could throw at us. For that thigh to be the one I and I alone would grab and kiss and worship. For that body to be mine. For her to be mine. I’d seen her smiling self in the photographic negative of the world that used to make sense. I’d seen the depths, and I wanted to dive deep again.

I didn’t let myself be tempted for longer than I could stand it. She’d made it crystal fucking clear, and no way was I going to cross that line again. So I began to pull my hand away.

But she fucking stopped me. She placed her hand over mine. She stared at me. And God knows how much time passed—an eternity, a millisecond. Whatever it was, it was Rosie time. Ordinary time had nothing to do with that moment. It was just her and me, face-to-face in the dark.

“Wait,” she said and pressed a little harder.

A totally primal growl snuck out of me. It was like my animal senses were warning her, Tell me yes now, and you’ll never tell me no again. “Rosie.”

“I was reading our yearbook, from when we graduated.”

Christ. I had to stifle a cringe, not because I was ashamed of what I’d written, but because it was so exactly how I felt, and so exactly the opposite of what she’d made clear. Love you always. “I never look back at those.”

“Really? Never?”

“Never.” But that was bullshit. I looked back at them all the time. I’d rescued them from my fucking sinking house—that’s how important they were to me. That was how much she mattered and always had.

“Max, do you know we were voted Most Likely to Get Married?”

Did I fucking know it? At seventeen, I’d savored that shit, night after night, falling asleep with the goddamned yearbook on my chest like preachers did with bibles.

She slipped her other arm out of the blanket and hooked her finger over my waistband, pulling me closer to her. The heat I felt on the back of my jeans from the fire was nothing, fucking nothing, compared to the heat that was burning for her from inside me. Closer and closer she drew me, finally placing her hand to the back of my neck to bring my face down to hers.

The fire made her eyes sparkle, and I tangled my fingers into her thick curls, soft as down. “I want you so fucking badly.”

Rosie swallowed hard, and she smiled, shy almost. Her eyes narrowed, and a hint of that dirty girl—the girl who’d made a tattoo artist wild enough to ink her for the principle of the thing, the girl whose body was so sexy, it would break down walls—rose up to the surface. “Tell me.”

“I want to take you hard, and I want to make you mine. Tonight and every night.”

“Who says I’m not yours already?” she said, all breathy, as her hand slid around to my ass, and her fingers moved into my pocket. “Who says I wasn’t yours all along and just never knew it?”

“If that’s true, we’ve got a shitload of time to make up for. I don’t want to waste another fucking second talking about it.”

She didn’t answer right away, but she nodded instead. I felt the cool curtain of her hair brush against my cheek. “No more talking.”

Oh. Fuck. I slid my lower lip along hers. I inhaled her breath; I felt her fingertips along the back of my neck. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

“I wish you’d do it already.”

So I did. I kissed her hard, a fierce and intense kiss that forced her head back against the chair. It squeaked under her, the nails groaning as I got on top of her, straddling her on my knees. She tasted sweet, like chocolate, and her tongue felt cooler than mine. Like something frosty on a hot day. I pulled back from the kiss, which made her whine. “When was the last time you fucked outside, Rosie Madden?”

Her eyes twinkled in the firelight. She gripped my wrist and lightly caressed the inside of my forearm with her thumb. “Never.”

“I think we better fix that.” I stood up and took her by the hands, and then I walked her into the grassy clearing, under the magnolia. I laid her down in the cool grass, surrounded by petals. If I’d been a photographer, I’d have photographed her. A painter, I’d have made her stay like that for hours. A poet, I’d never have found the words. But I wasn’t any of those things. I was just a man who wanted a woman, and who’d never felt so happy in his life.

I put my knees on either side of her, the dampness of the grass seeping through my jeans. I pushed her shirt up over her bra. I kissed every fucking inch of her that I could. As my stubble dragged along her stomach, I felt her laugh with the tickle.

“Fuck, I forgot you’re ticklish,” I said.

“Don’t be cruel,” she whispered. “Not right now. Tickle me later.” Her voice was sultry and low. Teasing was over, sass was gone. It was just pure, beautiful desire that I heard there. She’d never sounded more like herself.

But I was calling the shots now, not her. So I played it up. I took her wrists in my hand and bound them tight in my grip as I bent down over her abdomen. With the tip of my tongue, I ran a line down her stomach, around her belly button, along the edge of her panties. With the edge of my tongue, I made a circle around the spot just below her ribs. She hissed and groaned and squirmed. She tried to push me away, but I didn’t let her. I drew one of her nipples out of her bra and brought my lips to it. I closed my eyes and took her in blind—the way her nipple tightened between my teeth, the way her back arched when I bit down. I felt the fine ripples of her ribs under her skin, and as I touched her, goose bumps followed. “You’re so fucking sexy.” I unhooked her bra at the clasp in the front, and the light from the fire sent a golden cast over her creamy white skin.

She came up to sitting, slipped her hands from my grasp and pawed for my belt, but I pushed her back down.

“Let me decide how this goes.”

In answer, she bit her lip. Fuck. “Okay.”

When I had my pants undone, I pulled her panties down, tugging so hard that I heard a thread snap. These were purple, or maybe blue. I couldn’t quite tell in the dark, but whatever they were, they were fucking perfect. Just like her.

In her eyes, I saw the woman I’d always known and loved. But deep down in there, I saw a woman I’d only just met last night and didn’t yet know at all. That woman, the naughty one, the rebel, the bad girl in a sundress, tatted-up American Pie, she was the one who cupped my cock and balls in her hand, licked a long line up the edge of my ear, and answered, “Get inside me, Max. Please.”

I pulled her panties to one side, pushed her back down onto the grass, and parted her thighs. “Wait for it.”