“It’s a pretty spot,” she says and pats her flat belly. “I’m so full.”

“You barely ate anything.”

“I ate half my plate! And portions in the South aren’t small.”

“True.” I take her hand in mine again, kiss her knuckles, and this time rest our hands on my thigh.

“You have some pretty smooth moves, Mr. O’Shaughnessy.”

“Who, me?”

Gabby simply giggles, and to my surprise, pulls her hand out, then links her fingers with mine, still resting on my thigh. Aside from the hug in her kitchen, this is the first time she’s taken the initiative to touch me.

And I fucking love it.

I pull onto the road with the sign for the overlook, and we follow it for about a half a mile before coming to the top of a bluff that looks out over the Mississippi River. The sky is clear, with a full moon, and there is no light noise from the city, so the stars are stunning.

“Wow,” I whisper and kill the engine. “Pretty doesn’t really cover it.”

“No,” she agrees and leans her head on my shoulder, then pops back up. “Oops, that’s your bad shoulder.”

“Touch doesn’t hurt,” I reply and she returns to rest her head there, skims her fingertips up my hand and arm, and holds onto my bicep.

Since when does a woman touching my damn arm give me a hard-on?

Apparently, since now.

“So, this place has a history,” Gabby says and tips her face up to mine, not taking her cheek from my shoulder.

“Do tell.”

“Well, there’s a legend that goes with this place that has been told for a couple of generations, probably longer. It seems there was a young woman, about nineteen, who came here from France with her well-to-do family.” Gabby gently and absent-mindedly brushes her fingertips up and down the inside of my arm, sending goose bumps all over me as she tells her story. “She was lonely at first here, not knowing any English, and not having any friends. Her father had many slaves, as most of the plantation owners did. One of the slaves was a sweet boy about her age, and he helped her learn English. Of course, they had to meet in secret.”

“Of course,” I reply and kiss the top of her head, already knowing where this story is going.

“Well, of course they fell in love, but when her father found out, he was livid.” Gabby shakes her head, as though she’s talking about friends. “He sold the boy so his daughter couldn’t see him anymore, and she went a little crazy. Story goes that she would run away from the plantation, trying to find him. And one stormy night, she came here to these cliffs, and in the dark, she fell to her death.”

“That’s a very sad story.”

“Some say you can still hear her weeping.”

“Of course they do. It’s a tragic ghost story.”

Gabby chuckles, then turns her face into my shoulder, and presses a kiss there. “Does it still hurt a lot?”

“Only when I exercise.”

She kisses it again, then clears her throat. “There’s another story about this place.”

“Why do I think you’re about to share it?” She pushes her finger into my side, and I yelp dramatically.

“Because I want to know just what makes you think I’m that kind of woman?”

“What kind?”

She smirks. “The kind you bring to make-out point.”

I nudge her back so I can see her face and grin. “Is that what this is, sweetheart?”

She nods.

“Have you been here before?”

She shrugs one shoulder.

“Is that a yes?”

“In high school I came here once or twice. No one got past second base.”

“Good girl.”

Chapter Five

~Gabby~

Good girl.

Why do my insides quiver when he says that to me? Because seriously, those words come out of his sexier-than-should-be-legal lips, and my whole body does the happy dance.

Channel your inner flirt! She’s fun.

I pull my index finger down the inside of his muscular bicep and draw circles on the thin, smooth skin inside of his elbow. His breath catches, drawing my gaze up to his.

His green eyes shine in the moonlight, as if they’re on fire. His breathing has sped up. And I swear that through his shoulder I can feel his pulse speeding up too.

Talk about ego boost.

“Gabby,” he whispers, his eyes pinned to my lips. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“I hope so.” Did those words come from me? His mouth tips up in that half-smile as he scoops me right up out of the seat, pulls me over the console onto his lap with my feet sitting in the passenger seat. He cups my cheek in his palm, his thumb circling over the apple of my cheek as he nuzzles my nose with his, just the way he did last night.

I can feel the warmth of his skin, not quite touching me. His breath smells like the mint we ate after dinner.

And his eyes are dark, dark green and full of unadulterated lust.

His lips brush over mine in just a whisper of a kiss, once, then twice, before they settle at the side of my mouth and nibble, sending shivers through me.

His hand drifts down from my cheek to my neck, then over my blouse to cup my breast, and his lips settle over my mouth, firmly now.

Wet.

Needy.

Someone—me?—growls as the kiss deepens. He’s a taker, that’s for sure, but then he mixes it up, giving me more than I’ve ever had before.

And I’m no virgin. I’m a mother, for crying out loud!

But, oh, the way Rhys O’Shaughnessy makes me feel, it’s like no one has ever touched me before.