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But she doesn’t move.

Her fingers twist in the fabric of my suit jacket instead.

And that’s it.

I close the distance.

The first touch of her lips against mine feels like lightning.

Soft.

Familiar.

Perfect.

For half a heartbeat she freezes.

Then Amanda kisses me back.

Harder.

Her hands clutch the front of my jacket as she pulls me closer, and every ounce of restraint I’ve been holding onto for three goddamn years snaps like a thread.

I deepen the kiss, sliding one hand gently to her jaw while the other settles at her waist.

She makes this soft sound in the back of her throat.

Something halfway between a sigh and a gasp.

Fuck, but that sound nearly kills me.

I pull back just long enough to look at her.

Her lipstick is smudged.

Her breathing uneven.

Her eyes wide and bright.

“Tell me to stop,” I say roughly.

She shakes her head.

“I don’t want you to stop, Less. I want more.”

Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave.

I kiss her again.

Deeper this time.

Tasting her.

Savoring her.

Because for the first time in three years—Amanda Perkins is in my arms again.

And I have absolutely no intention of letting her go.