Page 4 of One Filthy Kiss

When I glanced back at the guy in the suit, he was smiling, like they were in cahoots over this. “It’s Christmas. What have you got to lose?”

I’m not sure if it was the reminder that it was, in fact, Christmas, or that I had nothing to lose that swayed me to stand on tiptoes, lean in, and kiss him.

When I close my eyes, I can still feel the imprint of his lips on mine now.

Was it a good kiss?

I don’t have much to compare it to unless I count the slippery-wet smacker with a boy called Liam Bennett behind the art department in high school. Or the kiss with a kid called Ronnie—I never learned his second name—that was part of a game of Truth or Dare at a friend’s birthday party.

I’m still lost in my kissing repertoire reverie when a guy comes over, takes my hand in his, and says, “Come with me.”

I’m caught off-guard, so it takes me a beat to mumble, “What? Where are we going?”

We’re heading straight for the set.

“Wait, I’m not?—”

“We’re going to show them how it’s done.”

When he turns his face and smiles at me, I realize that he’s the demi-god from earlier. Minus the suit jacket, which he has obviously ditched somewhere along the way. My heart knocks on my ribcage and yells at me to stop arguing and just go with it. But I’ve left Amber behind, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see that the wiry woman with the glasses is standing with my little sister, her hands on Amber’s shoulders to prevent her from following me.

Panic sets in. I have no clue what the hell is going on here, but I’m not playing along.

“Hey, let me go.”

I try to wrench my arm free, but his grip is like iron. My eyes choose this moment to notice the biceps bulging beneath the blue sweater that clings to every muscle the guy has. And boy, does he have some.

His ears might need some work though because he isn’t listening.

Or maybe demi-gods simply aren’t used to taking no for an answer.

Either way, we’re already on the set, and walking through the diner towards Nikki and Arthur. Well, he’s walking. Iprobably resemble a jellyfish on speed trying to wriggle free and finding myself dragged along beside him despite my best efforts.

“What are you doing?” I squeak. It’s one way to make a lasting impression, I guess. “I need to get back to my?—”

He halts abruptly and our chests collide. My nipples react by standing to attention and forcing their way through my bra and my halter-neck dress to scrape his solid muscles. I can see in his eyes that he felt it, and I groan inwardly. I sense Nikki’s confusion as she watches her best friend—her non-acting best friend—join her on set with a literal walking sex-bomb.

“That’s better.” He grips my upper arms like he knows I’m going to bolt the instant he releases me.

Wrong! I’m going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment at his feet when he lets me go. I’ll end up slithering back to Amber and she’ll carry me back to our motel room in a bucket, sloshing tiny droplets of me over the side as we go.

The amusement in his deep brown eyes is evident when he says calmly, “I’m going to let you go now, okay?” I can see the amber flecks in those eyes and force myself to close my mouth. “All you have to do is kiss me back.”

All I have to do?

“Wait. No. There’s been some mistake.”

I have to stop him before he realizes that he’s got the wrong person and accuses me of sexual harassment or something equally desperate.

And illegal.

“No mistake.” His lips move closer to mine.

The guy is either insane, or he can get away with this kind of thing because, quite frankly, I bet he’s never been refused a kiss in his life.

“I can’t kiss you,” I blurt out. “I’m not?—”

Too late.