Page 35 of Claimed At First Sight

I don’t know how to deal with shy men. Ha, he’s not really a man, is he? He’s still a boy.

But surely, even boys can kiss.

I don’t have time for the slow dance. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it now, before my courage fails and I start thinking about Maximo again.

How do people get to the kissing bit? Do they wait for a lull in the conversation? Does he need an invitation in writing?

To hell with it.

I can’t wait for him to find his nerve. He probably won’t make the first move.

I take a step forward, closing the distance until I can feel the heat radiating off his chest. His eyes widen as I reach up, grab the front of his shirt, and pull him down to me.

Elio lets out a small, muffled sound of surprise. He’s stunned, his body freezing as I press my lips against his. For a second, I’m standing there, holding onto a stranger’s shirt while the waves lap at our feet, wondering if I’m doing it right.

He recovers quickly. His hands find my waist, tentative at first, then more certain. He kisses me back, his mouth moving gently against mine.

He smells like sunshine and sea salt. It’s a pleasant smell. A normal smell.

Our lips keep moving together. I wait for the lightning and for the world to tilt the way it did in the garden when Maximo’s hand slid into my hair.

Nothing.

A seagull lands a few feet away, and I find myself studying it instead.

Huh. I’ve never noticed how pretty their wings are before.

For a moment, I almost forget I’m kissing a total stranger, until he moans against my mouth and pulls me carefully closer.

His lips are soft, and he’s being perfectly gentle, but there’s no fire. No hunger.

It’s like a handshake with faces. My heart isn’t hammering, not one little bit. I’m actually bored.

I pull away abruptly, letting go of his shirt. Elio’s eyes are wide and his breath comes in short, confused puffs.

“You okay?” he asks, looking a little dazed.

I touch my lips, but they don’t even tingle. They just feel wet.

Merda. I haven’t erased Maximo. I’ve highlighted him.

The problem isn’t the act of kissing… it’s the man.

“I’m fine,” I say, already backing away. I have a sudden, desperate urge to be alone.

“I just… I have to go. My sisters are waiting.”

I turn and run back up the way I’ve come. I sneak back onto our land, my breath hitching in my chest.

It didn’t work. The plan was brilliant; it was logical.

And it was a complete failure.

Dammit, why did I let Maximo kiss me?

I should have pushed him away and slapped his face when he pressed his mouth against mine.

He ruined it for me. Something I’d always imagined choosing for myself now belongs to a memory of him.