About the Author
Tara Fuller writes novels. Some about grim reapers. Some about witches. All of course are delightfully full of teen angst and kissing. Tara grew up in a one stop light town in Oklahoma where once upon a time she stayed up with a flash light reading RL Stine novels and only dreamed of becoming a writer. She has a slight obsession with music and a shameless addiction for zombie fiction, Mystery Science Theater, and black and white mochas. Tara no longer lives in a one stop light town. Now she lives with her family in a slightly larger town in North Carolina where they have at least three stoplights.
“What do you want, Gwen?” he whispered.
I stared at his chest, breathing hard, heart beating a frantic rhythm. “I want to touch you. And I don’t want you to stop me.”
He hesitated, but when I ran my fingers over the criss-cross pattern of raised white scars that slashed across his ribs, he didn’t stop me.
“Are these from when you were alive?” He tensed, but allowed me to keep exploring him.
I looked up. “Why did you keep them?”
His eyes searched mine. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “So I would never forget how I got them, why I’m here…what I lost.”
“They’re beautiful,” I whispered.
He closed his eyes and exhaled harshly. He was struggling, fighting some internal battle to give me this, to accept joy in return.
I resisted the sudden, overwhelming urge to close the space between us, to press my lips to his. Something so simple, and yet it felt bigger than the two of us put together. That should have scared me. If I gave in to such urges, I could be cast out, stripped of everything that made me my father’s daughter. But it didn’t scare me. It exhilarated me. In the back of my mind I could hear Sky’s warning.
Aren’t you tempted? Gwen, what if you fall?
I was. I wanted it with every fiber of this body. Every part of me felt jittery with want and anticipation. The sweet, addictive desire rolling off him told me he wanted it, too. Easton reached up and touched my chin, his fingers like a magnet drawing me in.
“I’m about to kiss you, Red,” he said, voice rough. “You should probably stop me.”