Bo had kissed her.

She’d kissed Bo.

This repeated inside her head, over and over, as though her brain was afraid she might forget. Impossible. She’d never forget. It was a desperate and crazy kiss, and when his lips touched hers—lemon bright and frighteningly sultry, all at once—she struggled with the shock of it. He was so sure of himself and she was not. She worried she felt awkward and inexperienced to him. Worried they’d waited too long or built up too many expectations.

But her body had known better than her brain in that moment, and when she’d let it take over, it had roared up like a beast and devoured Bo. Maybe there was some truth to his fable about souls separating from bodies, because she wouldn’t be surprised if her beast of a soul had taken a big bite out of his.

She saw him differently now. There was the Bo who drove her to the conservatory, and there was the Bo who drove her back home and dropped her off while he went to work. The new Bo was far more dangerous to her erratic feelings, because now that she’d had a taste, she wasn’t sure she could go back.

Stars. One kiss and she was free-falling off a cliff and floating over the clouds. He’d barely touched her. She’d done more petting years ago with the boys in her high school. Done a lot more than petting with Luke.

How could a simple kiss make her feel a thousand times more than any of that? She knew the answer, of course, and she was asking the wrong question. The right one was: what could Bo make her feel if it were more than a simple kiss?

“What is wrong?” Greta had asked her at dinner, when it was just Astrid and Aida dining alone with the baby.

“Nothing at all,” she’d said dreamily. “Nothing at all.”

—

Astrid wasn’t awake when Bo got home that night, and it wasn’t until lunch the next day when she finally saw him again. Everyone was home—Aida, Winter, Greta, baby Karin, and the baby’s new part-time nanny. So when Astrid heard Bo’s voice in the foyer, she couldn’t race to him and jump into his arms. She couldn’t do anything at all but try to look as if her heart wasn’t bouncing around inside her rib cage like a rubber ball.

When he finally strolled into the dining room and walked by her, the entire length of his arm brushed against hers as he passed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as if it had been an accident. The apology fluttered wisps of hair near her ear. He put his hand on her arm, and pretended to steady her, lingering a second too long.

It was a wonder she didn’t liquefy and drop into a puddle at his feet.

And after that, lunch was torture. She ate but did not taste. Bo’s gaze was daring and evasive, just out of reach. She felt it searing her, but when she tried to catch it, he was always looking somewhere else. He talked openly to everyone around the table, but not directly to her. It wasn’t until lunch was finished and he was about to leave with Winter to return to work that he caught her in the foyer alone.

“Hadley telephoned,” he said in a guarded voice. “We’ve got an appointment with the Aztec experts at four this afternoon. I should be finished with work by then. No runs tonight. I could go alone—”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s just that I won’t have time to come get you.”

“Jonte can drive me.”

“The last time he drove you, Max followed.”

“Magnussons don’t cower.”

“Aiya,” he murmured, passing her a torn piece of paper with a Nob Hill address scrawled across it. “Just be vigilant and do me the favor of waiting in the car until you see me drive up, all right? I’ll be there as close to four as I can.”

“Count on it, Captain Yeung,” she said with a little salute.

Satisfied with her answer, he started to turn away but changed his mind at the last second. And after glancing around the foyer to ensure they were alone, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A flurry of chills raced up her arm.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered desperately.

“Then don’t,” he whispered back with a glint in his eye. “See you at four.”

Later that afternoon, Astrid waited in the car with Jonte until she spotted Bo’s Buick, and then Bo himself, his navy suit dotted with raindrops. She hopped out to meet him in the cool, gray drizzle. And while traffic rushed by, they dashed toward their destination—a grand French-style Beaux Arts building on California Avenue—and took shelter beneath the entrance’s awning.

Bo’s dark eyes sparkled as he squinted down at her beneath the brim of his newsboy cap. “Hello again, Miss Magnusson,” he said seductively, drawing her closer with a gentle hand on her back.

Her heart leapt. Her nerves jangled as if they were old keys.

She didn’t know how to do this. How to go from friends to . . . whatever they were doing. She’d wanted him for years. Wanting Bo was as familiar to her as breathing. Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had changed.

She’d had a taste.

She’d bitten off a piece of his soul.

And now she didn’t know how to act. Every move she made felt magnified. Her clothes fit differently. What was she supposed to do with her hands? Could she touch him now? He was touching her. It seemed easy and natural to him, while she was frazzled and awkward. But also happier than she could ever remember being.

She was a damned mess.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

Before he could answer, the front door swung open. A well-heeled middle-aged couple breezed out and huddled beneath the awning, crowding the small space as they waited for their driver to pull up to the curb. When the woman noticed Astrid and Bo, she gaped at the two of them together and gave Bo a nasty look. Then she pulled her fur coat closed and moved away from him to stand on the other side of her companion.