Free Summer Is for Lovers by Jennifer McQuiston

hand gestured to the taller image on the screen. “Miss Caroline Tolbertson,” he announced. The crowd roared, as if he was the butt of a jolly good joke.
    She stepped around the edge of the screen looking as if she might be ill, which was not the sort of reaction one wanted when contemplating kissing another person on a dark terrace.
    “Good luck, Cameron.”
    “Beware that one!”
    And while he was contemplating the oddity—or more correctly, the idiocy—of those statements, they were pushed by eager hands out the open terrace doors.

Chapter 6
    T HE SOUND OF laughter trailed them as Caroline stumbled into the grateful darkness. The revelry of the crowd receded as the doors were closed on them, but it did not lessen the sting of their comments.
    “How much time again?” she asked, drawing in deep breaths of salt-tinged air. Overhead the stars laughed down at her, winking their amusement at her predicament. In the distance she could hear the soothing sound of waves meeting shoreline. She closed her eyes and focused on that. Usually the sound of the ocean brought her peace.
    Tonight it came closer to mocking her.
    “Two minutes.” He sounded as resigned as she did.
    What a pair they made. At this moment, shuttlecock would have seemed the most welcome diversion imaginable.
    “What should we do?” She gave a self-conscious laugh and risked a backward glance. He was standing beside her, staring up at the stars. Her eyes followed the moon-shadowed line of his jaw and the corded muscles that disappeared into the depths of his collar. At least it is David Cameron, and not one of the other men .
    Although that didn’t seem quite right. Wouldn’t it be better for it to be someone whose opinion didn’t matter?
    “We could try that kiss.” His voice came at her as a low rumble, sending tremors up her spine.
    Her eyes flew wide, unable to believe he had suggested it, desperate for a way to dissuade him. “Why would you want to kiss me?”
    He shifted to face her, and one side of his mouth quirked upward. “Why not, lass? It is expected, after all.”
    Her heart beat a mad new rhythm in her chest. His Scottish accent was strong tonight, no doubt brought on by whatever portion of the eight bottles of Madeira had made it into his glass. She recalled how fascinated she had been by that lopsided grin and pulse-fluttering brogue eleven years ago, a girl of twelve who did not yet understand the mechanics of the unfortunate infatuation that would push her into womanhood.
    She understood now, though. She only wished she didn’t.
    “Do you want to kiss me?” she whispered, astonished and miserable and hopeful, all at once. He had spent the majority of the evening thick with the summer crowd. Was it possible he had not heard of the infamous kiss and resulting rumors that plagued her?
    “Well, I dinna give much thought to it when I called your name out,” he admitted. “I suppose you could say I can’t think of a specific objection to a kiss. Do you want to kiss me?”
    “No.” Liar. She wanted it desperately. Although surely their two minutes were almost up. And surely this was just a dream from which she would be yanked by the dawn soon enough.
    “You seem awfully certain of your answer.” He sounded irritated. “A rejection so swift surely demands an explanation.”
    Her first reaction was to roll into a ball and keep her secrets curled up tight. She could not imagine confessing her long-standing obsession to the man who had inspired it, or admit that, despite a lamentable first attempt at kissing, she was considering giving it another go if she could do it with him. But would that be fair to him? After all, he would learn soon enough why kissing her was an ill-advised thing if he continued to insist she pay the forfeit.
    “I wouldn’t recommend it,” she warned him, honestly this time. “I’ve been told I’m a terrible kisser.”
    He regarded her a long, stomach-churning moment, and then he began to remove