From the Inside Flap
Erin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Well, maybe we should test the water, so to speak. Try it and see how we feel afterward."
"Maybe we should." His heart thundered, but he told himself, Take it slow. He waited for a moment as she unclipped her seatbelt, and he inhaled the sweet summer breeze that filtered into the car, bringing with it the smell of the sea and the scent of sun lotion from Erin's skin.
She turned and moved forward a little in her seat, leaning an elbow on the rest between them, and tipped her head to the side as she met his gaze.
Brock moved to meet her, resting one arm on the seat behind her, and lifted the other hand to cup her face. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, across the freckles that peppered her lightly-tanned skin, and lowered his mouth, stopping when his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers.
Her breath whispered across his lips as she exhaled. So close, and yet he hadn't kissed her yet. There was still time to stop, to put off this last, final betrayal. If he moved back now, he'd be able to tell himself he'd remained faithful to Fleur. He would have fought his weakness and stayed strong in his grief, encased in the shadows in which he'd hidden for the last two years.
But the day was too beautiful, full of light and life. A couple of huge Red Admiral butterflies fluttered past the window, and a flash of color behind Erin told him a rosella had swooped over the grass. In the distance, the children of the family having lunch at the picnic table laughed as they threw a Frisbee to one another, and someone called out from the boat further down on the water. It was summer, and it was almost Christmas, a time to celebrate the birth of things, not the end.
Erin was waiting patiently, maybe sensing his internal struggle, her gaze gently caressing his face. Her hand came up and she trailed a finger along his eyebrow, removing a strand of hair that the breeze had blown into his eye, and her touch--even though it was innocent and innocuous--was enough to flick a switch inside him.
He let out the breath he'd been holding, a long slow sigh of acceptance.
Erin's lips curved up a little, and then she moved the last fraction of an inch to touch her lips to his.
They were as soft and light as if one of the butterflies had brushed against him, the briefest of kisses, tentative and shy enough to make him melt.
She moved back a little and met his gaze again as if to say, Okay?
Brock felt as if he'd been kissed by summer itself. How could anything as beautiful as that be wrong?
After giving a short, exultant laugh, he slid his hand into her hair, and lowered his lips again.