He’s not the only one surprised. Where the hell didthatcome from? I’m grateful it’s pitch black because I’m blushing. But the dark – and his cockiness – have made me bold, and I can’t leave it.
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
He moves closer and the tip of his trainer nudges my toes. ‘Explain it to me.’
I suddenly feelwayout of my depth. ‘Can we get back to the door handle, please?’
‘Chicken.’
If he’d said anything else, if he hadn’t tried to goad me, I might have de-escalated things. But he didn’t, so I don’t.
‘You looked at me like …’ I pause, my nerve all but lost.
‘Like …?’
He must be leaning forward because I can feel his breath on my face.
My heart knocks in my chest. ‘Like you wanted to kiss me.’
I shift my weight from one leg to the other, and my knee accidentally brushes his jeans. I know I’m walking into the fire, but I can’t stop myself.
Long seconds stretch between us.
‘Did you want to be kissed?’ His voice is a low rumble.
‘I asked first.’
I shift again, and now both my legs are touching his. I’m vaguely aware that if I move my upper body back, I’d create more space between our faces. Would that clear this headyfeeling that’s making me fuzzy? Or would it press my lower half against his? Stupidly, I try it anyway. My hips touch his pelvis for a split second before I panic and pull back.
Shit. Now he’ll think I did it on purpose, like some sort of femme fatale. I didn’t mean to encourage him, but I also don’t want him to stop.
Do something, I silently plead.
And maybe he hears me, because he brings his hand to my waist and rests it there for a second. Then his thumb starts tracing feather-light circles, and the next thing I know, our hips are glued together again.
There’s something somaleabout him. The contrast of his hard body against my own, more giving flesh, is making me light-headed. He’s all muscle and zero body fat.
I must be losing my mind. I’m in a locked room, in the dark, trading breathless sighs with a boy who couldn’t be more off-limits. Why aren’t I running in the other direction?
When the answer comes to me, I want to laugh. Is this what Justin Timberlake means when he sings he wants to rock your body? He’s not singing about dancing; he’s singing sex.
Every cell in my body is screaming to touch him and I suddenly understand why it’s called attraction. He’s a magnet, and I’m a helpless pile of iron filings. There’s only one direction I’m moving and that’s forward.
I stand on tiptoe, lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips.
I hear his shocked swallow.
My heart is banging against my ribs. I stand stock still, caught between embarrassment and exhilaration. And I’m amazed to discover exhilaration is winning.
I hold my breath and wait for him to laugh – or worse, tell me I’m gross. But he doesn’t do either. Instead, he brings his mouth to mine and gently kisses me.
Two more unhurried kisses follow, almost like he’s not sure he wants to do this, but then the third time, he parts his lips and his tongue finds mine.
Now he’s sure. He’sverysure.
I react immediately, kissing him back hungrily, wanting more. Much more.
I’m tingling everywhere. I link my hands around his neck and pull him closer, deepening the kiss.
