Page 73 of The Professor's Wife

The water was blissfully cool.

I let out a sigh, leaning back on my hands. “Okay, this was a good idea.”

He turned his head toward me, his beautiful profile lit by the fading sun. “You were overheating.”

“Was it that noticeable?”

“I notice everything about you.”

The words settled between us like a hush.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

I already knew he was perceptive. I felt bare every time he looked at me. Watched, but not in a greedy or disturbing way. He studied me, wanting to know how he could comfort me.

I still didn’t know how to process that sort of attention.

We sat like that for a while, our feet in the water and the silence stretching comfortably between us. Then Tristan leaned back beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.

“I used to come to places like this when I needed to think,” he said. “Or not think.”

“Which one are you doing now?”

He looked at me. “Trying not to think.”

“About what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, he said, “About how badly I want to kiss you.”

My face burned. “You’ve already kissed me. In places I can’t even say out loud, even.”

He let out a laugh. “So? That doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”

“How much do you think about it?”

“Since meeting you? Every fucking second.”

“So why don’t you do it, then?”

His stare was tender, but the heat in his eyes intensified as he looked down at my mouth. “I want to. I don’t want to assume that you do.”

I swallowed and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “You have permission to assume I want to.”

Tristan nodded thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving mine. I felt like I was burning under his gaze. He didn’t rush. On the contrary, he moved like someone savoring the moment. The anticipation was electric.

He shifted closer, inch by inch, until his knee brushed mine and his breath mingled with mine in the warm dusk air. His hand found the edge of the dock beside me, steadying himself, but he didn’t touch me yet. His eyes flicked down to my mouth again, then back to my eyes, searching.

I could feel my pulse in my throat.

He finally tilted his head and closed the last bit of space between us. His lips met mine softly, tentatively at first, like he was asking again with every brush of his mouth.

But then the kiss deepened, and the tension that had been building all day unraveled in a slow, exquisite release.

It was full of heat and reverence. His mouth moved against mine like he was rediscovering me, like every kiss before this had only been a preview. And even though I’d kissed him so many times already, it felt like the first time.

Every time did.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him as the world fell away. The lake lapped gently beneath us, the trees swayed in the breeze, and the sky turned a deeper shade of violet—but all I could feel was him.