Finn was right; Sophia didn't know what she was in for. Over the next two hours, Finn dipped, flipped, and twirled her around the dance floor. Fiddle and guitar music filled the barn, wrapping around the glittering lights and spilling into champagne glasses. She could feel the bass reverberating through her cowboy boots, could feel the pumping of Finn's heart against her chest.

She couldn't stop smiling.

Truthfully, Sophia reflected, she couldn't remember the last time that she was this happy. She felt like her heart might burst through her skin, an odd, sinewy bird, and she never wanted the night to end. She wanted to spend forever on this dance floor, dodging hay bales and spilled beer, caught up in the music.

Alas, her body had other plans for her.

By midnight, Sophia's left calf was cramping, and she tugged on Finn's arm. "Hoag?" He bent lower, his ear close to her mouth. "Can we head out soon?"

"Chill out?"

"Head out," Sophia said, raising her voice to be heard over the music. At Finn's blank look, she tried again. "Go home?"

"What?"

Sophia leaned closer. Unfortunately, Finn chose exactly that moment to turn his head, and suddenly, their faces were inches apart. She could see every freckle on his nose, trace the exact sweep of his blond lashes. His warm breath washed over her face.

"Go home," Sophia whispered.

"Ah," Finn said. "I got it, that time."

Still, Finn didn't move. His eyes had darkened, the pupils blown out, and Sophia felt suddenly dizzy. Cider fizzed in her bloodstream, but it was more than that; it was Finn's body, the heat of his skin. She had the sudden urge to sink her hands into his hair. To pull him closer.

She swallowed. "Right. So."

Finn's mouth curled. "So."

For a moment, neither one of them moved. Then Finn stepped back, offering her his arm. Sophia blew out a breath, battling an odd sense of disappointment. This, she reflected, was for the best; she'd been drinking.

Finn was a friend.

A friend.

She had to keep reminding herself of that.

They stumbled out of the barn, an odd, four-legged creature. Sophia squinted through the darkness, shivering slightly in the frozen air.

"Where are the taxis?" she asked.

"What?"

"Taxi," Sophia repeated. "Where's the nearest stand?"

Finn stared at her. Then he threw back his head and laughed, his breath spiralling up into the night. Sophia scowled.

"What?"

"Taxi," Finn chuckled, shaking his head. "God, you kill me. You're such a city girl." He threw an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, Toronto. It's only a ten-minute walk to my place. You can sleep on the bed, and I'll take the couch."

The night air stung Sophia's hot cheeks. The dirt road stretched out ahead of them, packed down with hard snow, tractor prints and expectation. She tilted her head up. Even now, she couldn't get over how clear the stars were; they glittered above her, like millions of holes pricked in the wooden slat of a barn, letting in golden light.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're a good dancer, you know."

"Toronto." Finn whistled. "Was that a compliment?"

"Don't get used to it."

"Say it again." He unlatched his front gate for her. "I want to record the sound on my phone. For proof."

"Oh, shut-up."

"Or you can say another nice thing," Finn offered. "I'm not immune to flattery."

Sophia leaned against the garden gate, considering this. "I don't have that many nice things to say, really; I don't like you all that much."

He smirked. "You could tell me I'm handsome."

"You're not," she said.

It was a lie. A terrible, rotten lie. Finn probably knew it; Sophia had caught a very pretty brunette casting longing looks at him this evening. Not that she cared, of course. Not that she'd wanted to beat the girl with a haybale. It was just something that she'd noticed.

Innocently.

Totally without agenda.

"I'm intrigued," Finn said, reaching behind her to shut the gate. "How long are we going to keep pretending that we aren't attracted to one another?"

She paused. He was looking at her intently, his dark eyes narrowed. The moonlight bathed half his face in shadows, and she felt her heartbeat pick up as Finn leaned forward, trapping her between his warm body and the iron bars.

"I'm not attracted to you," Sophia whispered.

His mouth curled. "Liar."

"We're not really dating."

"Really?" Finn leaned forward, and her breath caught. "So it doesn't mean anything when I do this?" His mouth ghosted over her cheek. "Or this?" The corner of her mouth.

"No."

Her voice came out shaky. Finn picked up her right hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. Then the vulnerable skin at her wrist, where thin blue veins snaked under the skin. He smiled slightly, pressing his thumb against them.

"Then why is your pulse racing?"

Sophia shook her head.

She didn't think she could make sounds anymore. At least, not coherent ones. Finn looked smug, and when he reached to cup her face, she didn't stop him.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Finn said in a low tone. "And if you want me to stop, then you're going to have to tell me to. Understood?"

Nope.

Sophia definitely wasn't capable of speech.

Finn kissed her gently at first. Tentatively. As if a part of him was certain that Sophia would push him away. And come to think of it, she probably should. This was a very bad idea, she realized hazily. And later, she would probably regret it.

But god, she wanted to.

She fisted her hands in his jacket, pulling him closer, and Finn made a noise at the back of his throat. Matches to a kerosene-soaked pyre. Liquid fire thrummed in her veins, and she kissed him back fiercely. He was still careful with her though, his hands resting lightly on the outside of her jacket.

Sophia made a noise of displeasure. He was holding back.

Well, not for long.

She kissed the sensitive skin along his neck, blazing a trail down to his throat, and Finn groaned, his eyes half-fluttering closed.

"Sophia," he gasped.

She liked the sound of that, actually. Much better than Toronto. She slipped her hands under his t-shirt, tracing her fingers over the ridges of his muscles — good god, how many protein shakes did this man drink? — and Finn gripped the iron gate. As if he needed it for support.

"Sophia, slow down," he panted. "You're drunk."

"No," she said, meeting his eyes. "I'm not."

It was true; the night breeze had sobered her, rearranging Sophia's thoughts into a single, crystallized realization: she wanted him. Immediately.

Finn's eyes were an exercise in self-restraint. "You're not?"

"No."

"You're sober?"

"Almost."

"Oh, thank god," Finn growled, and he picked her up.

They stumbled into the house in a tangle of limbs. Finn bumped into something — the coffee table, maybe — and then they were in his bedroom. He dumped her on the bed unceremoniously, followed by her jacket a moment later. Sophia blinked. When the hell had that come off?

She knelt on the bed, tugging at his jacket and t-shirt impatiently. Finn's eyes were almost black, his pupils blown wide. He was normally so careful, even when he rode, that the sudden wildness made him look like a stranger.

His grin, however, was familiar.

"You sure you don't want me to sleep on the couch?" he asked.

Sophia rolled her eyes. She pulled him down towards her, but Finn resisted, crossing to the window.

"Don't want to scar the horses," he said solemnly.

Sophia smiled as he pulled the curtains closed, plunging the room into darkness. Not even the silver moon crept into the room, turning a blind eye as Finn lay on the bed, kissing her lips. Her neck. Her collarbones. Only the growl of the January wind pierced their secluded bubble, roaring with their heartbeats.

"Sophia," Finn murmured. "I—"

"I know." She kissed him. "Me, too."

They didn't need words. She understood.