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That shuts me up. “I have no idea what to say to that.”
“In that case, I guess I win.” She grins, but as the evening goes on, she grows nervous again, getting that feeling that we’re being followed and reminding me every so often that we really should be heading back to the hotel.
“I must have the richest stalker in the world if the guy can afford to chase me all over Europe,” I joke when she reminds me again, this time as we take a shortcut through an alley that I’m pretty sure leads back to one of the main roads we need to get to for our next stop.
“It’s not a joke, Vincent,” she snaps again, digging in her heels and slamming to a stop. “I’m not moving another inch until you start taking this seriously. We are being followed. Do you understand me? Someone has been watching us since we left the hotel.”
I turn to face her, realizing she’s several steps back down the alley and closing the distance between us so she can see that I am, in fact, serious. “You have no proof of that. All you have is a feeling, and that’s not really enough. If you’re so sure that we’re being followed, where is the guy?” Pointedly looking around, I swing my head from side to side and throw my hands up to my sides. “There’s no one here. We’re alone. Unless we picked up a ghost back in Dublin and that’s what’s been watching us ever since that night.”
She narrows her eyes at me, taking a step closer and jabbing her index finger into my chest. “I’m not a psycho, and we didn’t pick up a freaking ghost. There’s a person out there, and I don’t care if we can’t see them. They’re there.”
“There’s no one there.” I seethe quietly, so fucking frustrated that my heart is pounding against my ribs and my breaths are starting to become pants. “Give it up already. Okay? Just give it up.”
“No.” Her nostrils flare and her eyes blaze, her head tipped back so she can look directly into mine. “You need to lis—”
I don’t know what comes over me, but the next thing I know, I’m slanting my lips over hers and kissing her just to shut her up. And it works, but it also means I’mkissingOlivia, and all I know for sure is that I don’t want to stop.
12
OLIVIA
What the hell is happening right now?So surprised when his mouth suddenly hits mine that I just stand there, I don’t pull away. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips slowly and gently like he’s trying something for the first time, and when a soft groan comes out of him, I’m pretty sure it’s because he likes the taste of it. Of me.
Something happens then, something that unlocks my limbs and allows me to move again, but instead of pushing him away, my fingers curl into the T-shirt covering his chest and then my stupid mouth starts kissing him back. I’m utterly powerless to stop it, but that could be because I don’t even try.
It feels too good. There are a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t be doing this, but none of them matter. Not when his lips are so soft and his tongue dips into my mouth so skillfully that it makes me tremble a little against him. Not when his hard body is pressed into mine, towering over me in a way that makes me feel petite, protected, and feminine, which aren’t things I have the luxury of feeling very often.
One of his hands comes up to touch my face, a brush of his fingertips along my cheek and jaw before he curls his fingers around the back of my neck and deepens the kiss. I’ve seen other girls getting kissed like this, but I’ve never experienced it for myself. I now know why it always looks like they’re melting into the boy who possesses them with a claiming just like this one because my bones turn to jelly and I feel myself softening against the rocky ridges of his abdomen.
Just as abruptly as he started it, he breaks the kiss without even slowing. One second, he’s practically devouring me right here on the backstreets of Paris, and the next, his mouth is gone, and I’m left feeling bereft like I’ve been robbed of something precious.
Vincent doesn’t step away from me immediately, instead staying right where he is while he looks into my eyes and blinks rapidly. It’s like I see it when his guard comes back up, and whatever tenderness might’ve been present in the moment vanishes.
It’s only then that he takes a big stride back, those soft lips curling into an infuriating smirk before he reminds me of the biggest reason that should never have happened: He’s an asshole.
“At least there’s one thing you can do with your mouth that doesn’t make me want to jump off a bridge,” he says, following up the statement with a backhanded compliment that sets my insides to simmer. “You should really talk less and focus on doing that more. You’re not bad at it, but let me know if you’d like some notes.”
Regardless of the slow boil going on inside me, his mention of notes makes my inner nerd sit up, and my brain jumps right on those notes.Notes? I like notes. Give me the notes.
Thankfully, however, I don’t say it out loud. By the time the shock has worn off and I find my voice again, all that comes out is, “You can keep your notes where you keep your STDs, to yourself.”
Both his dark-blond eyebrows arch, forming these perfect bows that boy brows just shouldn’t be capable of. His are clearly more than capable, and that along with the knowing look in his eyes tells me that I can be as snippy as I want. He definitely knows that I liked it.
“You can try to keep up this front, Livvy,” he says. “But I know you were into it. Very fucking into it.”
Before I can respond by telling him the exact same thing, he turns around and strides away, lifting his hand into the air without looking back at me, motioning for me to follow like he’s some prince and I’m nothing more than a loyal subject.
A loyal subject who storms off after him because, at the end of the day, I still have a job to do. He checks his phone while we’re walking, obviously looking up where we’re going, but he doesn’t decide to share it with me.
So while he’s doing themanlything by taking care of the navigation without bothering to stop to ask for help or directions, I fume silently behind him. I’m annoyed and confused and pissed off about his comments after, but more than anything else, I’m… turned on.
Shit, the boy can kiss. That’s for damn sure.I’ve been kissed before. Only a couple times, but that still wasn’t my first. What was a first for me was doing it with someone who is that good at it. Because for all his faults, Vincent certainly seems to have mastered that particular art.
Of course he has. Do you have any idea how many women those lips have been on? Hundreds probably. He’s a player, Liv. A whore. A scallywag. Okay, so maybe he’s not quite a scallywag, but the point is that he’s had plenty of practice, and since practice makes perfect, well, obviously he’s good at it.
Since he is who he is, though, I’m going to have to forget what just happened and keep reminding my silly body that we refuse to get turned on by the likes of him.Even if it has been happening an awful lot these days.
