Page 44 of Falling for Mr. October

Her face lifts toward me.

I drop the stupid apple and lean in, our mouths less than an inch apart. I’m deeply aware that our legs are still touching, our bodies fused together on this rock.

I whisper near her lips, “Is this my big chance to prove I’m not a shitty kisser?”

“We shouldn’t.”

“Definitely not. But I really want to.”

She considers this for a moment, her eyes glittering in the moonlight, before she nods. “I’ll give you one more chance. Don’t waste it, Giovanni.”

I lean in and brush my lips against hers, tasting apple, and this time she opens to me, her tongue finding mine. My hand lifts to her hair, weaving between the strong, dark strands, as I pull her closer, wanting more of her. Our teeth nearly clash in our haste to take more of each other—to consume each other—and she cradles her hand around my jaw.

It’s as if some madness has been unleashed. The stress of the last several weeks needed to be released, and this is the release I want. I need Bianca. I need her softness and her strength and her certainty about who she is. Because I still have no idea who I am. It’s only been with her, today, that I’ve felt any glimmer of knowing.

Our mouths find each other again and again as we all but suck the life out of each other, trying to find that magical angle that will be enough, even though I’m suddenly positive there isn’t one.

How could I not want more of this?

Then a flash of light illuminates the world around us, temporarily blinding me. It takes me a good fifteen seconds to reawaken and realize what happened.

Someone has taken a flash photo of our private moment—and one more piece of my private life now belongs to someone else.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BIANCA

I don’t get a good look at the person who took the photo. Whoever it is has the sense to take off running before the big, muscular man they’re stalking can spring to his feet. By the time Giovanni and I are both standing, the photographer has become a blur in the dark.

Giovanni still looks like he’s going to take off after them.

Terror floods me, and I grab his arm, my fingers digging into his muscle. “No.”

He turns toward me, his blood obviously up. “Someone followed us. They took a photo of us, and they’re going to⁠—”

“Whatever nonsense they’re going to do, you’re going to let them. It’ll be a whole hell of a lot worse if you catch up with them and smash their face in.”

Some of the fight goes out of him. “So we’re supposed to go back to the farm like nothing happened?”

I reach up and adjust the brim of his hat. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze serious. “Are we going to talk about⁠—”

But I’m already shaking my head, my heart hammering in the cage of my chest, my lips tingling. “Not here.”

He nods tightly, picks up the box and the discarded candy apple. We start down the hill together, the atmosphere completely different from when we climbed it. Now, the tension roiling between us is a lot less fun.

There’s a trash bin next to the gates, and Giovanni throws Sir Gala-Head into his final resting place. He’s about to ditch the crown, too, but I stop him.

“Keep it.”

Once we’re sitting in the parked car, the crown stowed in the back, he turns toward me. “We’re wearing matching sweatshirts, and it’s going to look like we were kissing⁠—”

“We were kissing,” I say quietly.

His eyes lock with mine, his gaze intense and angry, and I’m tempted to kiss him again. To distract both of us with something good.

I can still feel the insistent press of his lips against mine. The feeling of his thick stubble beneath my fingers as I cupped his jaw and brought him closer. The wild aching need between my legs—a part of my body I’ve ignored for months that has been reawakened by him.