Page 49 of Have To Be Mine

Ipulled back from the kiss, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. My lips were still tingling. My entire body was singing a song I didn’t know, but I wanted to memorize it. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

There was no protocol for this. No checklist. No five-point plan for what to do when you kiss the man you’re supposed to be managing. The man you’d actively despised just days ago. Hell, hours ago if I was being honest. The man whose chaos you were hired to contain.

I touched my fingers to my lips, still feeling the pressure of his mouth on mine. Still tasting him. Dash was watching me with an expression that reflected my own reaction, which was confusing. He did this all the time, right? But he didn’t look smug. He looked like the earth moved. It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like the most honest thing I’d done in years.

I became hyperaware of everything wrong with me in that moment. My practical cotton underwear that had seen better days. My no-brand deodorant that was probably failing after a long day in the Mediterranean heat. The fact that I was so basic and he was so… perfect.

Why did I care? When had I started caring about whether my panties and bra matched and if they were sexy? I didn’t. But I suddenly did. I was very aware of everything. He’d been casually flirting with me but I thought it was just how he passed the time. I figured he flirted the way some people read or do sudoku.

What was he thinking? He’d just kissed this version of me. Was I supposed to believe he was attracted to my khaki shorts that did nothing for my figure? The sandals that could be for a man or woman.

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of it. Trying to categorize and organize these feelings the way I organized everything else in my life. But they wouldn’t fit into neat boxes. It was too much. I hated him. Loathed everything about him. Thought he was everything wrong with privilege and carelessness and entitled men who never had to face consequences.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? I’d seen glimpses of something else. The way he’d listened when I told him about my mother. The competence he showed when he actually focused. The generosity, even if it was wrapped in privilege.

There was depth there. And now I was softening toward him in ways that terrified me.

His hand cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed along my jawline.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “Unless you tell me not to.”

I should tell him not to. Instead, I leaned in.

This kiss was different from the first. His lips pushed harder, demanding I part my lips. I did and his tongue swept inside my mouth with an intensity that made my knees weak. Good thing I was sitting down. His other hand came up to frame my face. And holy shit, I was going to spontaneously combust. I would have to throw myself into the fountain.

I felt myself melting into him. My hands moved to his chest, finally getting to touch the spots I’d been ogling since I caught a glimpse of him shirtless. I’d spent days trying not to notice his body. Now I couldn’t stop touching it.

Heat pooled low in my belly. A deep, insistent ache I hadn’t felt in so long I’d almost forgotten what it was like. Lust. Pure, uncomplicated, overwhelming lust. I had made myself invisible to men to the point I wasn’t sure I would ever be desirable.

In my mind, I started writing a story about the way the night might end. His room. That massive bed with no pillow wall. Clothes coming off. His hands on my skin. My hands on his. That ridiculous body naked and over mine. His mouth on mine, on my neck, lower.

My body wanted it. God, how it wanted it. But my brain was screaming warnings. This was Dash Blackwell. My assignment. My job. The man I was supposed to be keeping in line, not sleeping with.

I pulled back, breathless. My chest was heaving. So was his.

“Dash,” I managed. “This can’t happen.”

“I know,” he said.

But neither of us moved. We sat there on the edge of the fountain, faces inches apart, both of us breathing hard.

“I’m supposed to be managing you.”

“You are managing me.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “Very effectively.”

I shivered. “This isn’t professional.”

“Fuck professional.”

I almost laughed. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to report to your family.”

That sobered him slightly. His hand dropped from my face, but he didn’t pull away entirely. “Right. Adrian.”

“And Briggs.”

“Double trouble.”

I looked down at the rose still clutched in my hand. It was embarrassing, but I had never been given flowers. “I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet.”