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Fiona wrinkles her nose. “That doesn’t sound too promising.”
“I mean, you might just want to pull me into the nearest dark alley and—” Fiona laughs until I lean down and press my lips against hers.
The world stops and everything and everyone I’ve ever known vanishes from my mind in an instant, because this is the only one who matters.
Fiona’s hand fists my shirt as those red lips part and move against mine.
People on the street might be walking by us, might be stopping to stare, but I don’t care. They could be stealing her shoes for all I know. All I care about is this moment when I’m finally kissing Fiona.
I put everything I’ve got into the kiss. Not all my best moves because they are for those who don’t matter, and Fee matters.
She’s the only thing that matters.
I put all of me into the kiss, and it’s a good kiss.
It’s a very good kiss.
It’s the best kiss.
But it doesn’t last forever. “Oh,” Fiona breathes when I finally pause.
I keep my hands tight around her, my forehead pressed against hers. “Yeah.”
“Yes,” she says, and that’s when I fall in love with her.
Chapter Nine
Fiona
MasekissesmeandI’m floating high above the Strip, looking down at the two of us entwined in each other’s arms, and I’m likewhat the heck...
It’s a really good kiss.
His lips brush against mine with a gentleness that takes my breath away, with a mouth that is softer than I could have ever imagined.
The whole thing is nothing like I could have imagined because I never actually expected to kiss him. I considered having sex with him, but it was a shadowy, vague suggestion, like saying I want to go skydiving when the reality is I’m not about to let my feet leave a plane mid-air unless it’s on fire.
Kissing is so much more intimate than sex. My memories of my first kiss at seventeen are vivid while losing my virginity a year later is more of a blur. I rank men by their mouths and how kissable they seem, not for what I imagine is under their belts.
But kissing Mase makes me rank everything, and nothing is measuring up to this.
He tucks his hand under my hair and my hat falls off. I make no move to retrieve it because he presses those lips against mine again, and this time the tip of his tongue slides against the seam of my lips and I feel a jolt of desire so strong that I whimper against his mouth.
I part my lips in an invitation, and I’m gone.
Finding a love that sweeps me off my feet has always been the dream. I’ve been looking for my Prince Charming since I figured out the difference between men and women, and while Mase isn’t at all my type—which is tall, extremely well-read so we can discuss all sorts of books, with perpetually tousled hair from running his hand through it when perplexed, and glasses that hide a pair of brilliant blue eyes—I soon find myself inside the chapel.
With Mase Stirling.
Who is tall, and with thick, messy hair because I ran my fingers through it when we kissed, no glasses but blue eyes that gleam with a hunger as he pulls me close.
“We want to get married,” Mase says to the man who greets us at the door.
I blink twice because the man is wearing a white, tight jumpsuit with flares that strains over his belly, cut low showing a chest devoid of hair. The rhinestones sparkle in the bright lights of the chapel lobby.
I’m still dumbfounded by the kissing, so it takes a moment before I realize the man wants to be Elvis. An Elvis impersonator. I’ve heard of such people and it’s surreal I’m about to bemarriedby one.
This is so not real.
