She gasped at Jon's words, astonishment forcing the breath out even when normally she'd have tried to play it cool. Not let on how much that night had meant to her, in case it hadn't meant the same to him.
Lucy was fine at confrontation, loved a good argument. But embarrassment? No, pity? That terrified her.
But Jon wasn't pitying her for wanting him when all he'd wanted was to get out of Wishcliffe and chase his star. He was watching her with a hunger in his eyes she'd never thought to see again.
This man could have his pick of beautiful women. Fellow musicians, fans, industry professionals, celebrities. America—the whole world—was full of women who would jump at the chance for a night in his bed.
And he'd come back to Wishcliffe. To her.
Still, she had to be certain. "You sure that's not just the post-gig high talking?" She pitched it as a joke, but she could tell that Jon saw through it. He always saw through her attempts at self-defence.
"Damn sure." His voice sounded gravelly, the way it did when he sang his sexiest hit—"After the Party's Over." She'd never been able to listen to it without remembering the way he'd fallen on her lips that night.
She should say something. Something cool and funny. Something to defuse the unbearable tension between them.
But she had nothing. She, Lucy Hillier, who always had a snarky comment for every occasion, was speechless.
It didn't matter, though, because Jon took advantage of her silence to lean in and kiss her.
Any thoughts she had left in her head disappeared as she melted into the kiss. Her hand swept up to cup the back of his head, holding him against her. And as his arms came around her waist, hauling her into his lap, she realised there was nowhere else she'd rather be.
She'd thought they'd tied up their will-they-won't-they friendship when he'd left town two years ago. One perfect night together had seemed the ideal way to say goodbye, at the time.
But now she realised they were nowhere near done. And she didn't want to be, either.
She wanted more. One more night, at least.
Jon wrenched his lips away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against hers. "Are you sure? I mean, what, exactly, do you want here?"
So like Jon, still worrying about getting it wrong, about upsetting her. As if her grinding away on the hardness in his lap wasn't enough of a clue. But he would always ask, to be sure—and she loved that about him.
"I'm very sure." She pressed another lingering kiss against his lips, then got to her feet, holding out a hand to pull him up to follow her. "I want everything."
Jon stared at her hand. "Everything?"
She nodded and flashed him a smile. "Assuming there's a bedroom that came with the cottage?"
He returned the smile. "There most definitely is."
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