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“Wow.” He looks really impressed.
I wasn’t sure whether I was going to do this, but Alex’s comment about entertaining Damon by pulling a rabbit out of a hat prompted me to prepare something just in case. He’s been so supportive, and because I really like him and I’m feeling mischievous, I take the plunge.
“Want to see my new trick?”
“Absolutely.”
I open my purse and take out a pack of cards and a permanent marker. “It’s called the French Kiss,” I say.
His lips curve up, but I can see how curious he is.
Sitting on the edge of my seat and turning so I’m facing him, I take the cards out of the pack. My nails are currently painted alternate red and black, and as I play with the cards, I know it looks as if the hearts and spades are leaping off the cards and fluttering around.
“Just an ordinary deck,” I tell Damon. I’ve spent years familiarizing myself with the feel of cards. In the evenings, while I’m watching a movie, I’ll slide them through my fingers, turn them over, do false cuts and double lifts and one-hand cuts, and now they slip gracefully from one hand to the other. His gaze is drawn to them, and he seems captivated by the fluid movements.
Outside, the horizon rises and dips with each swell of the waves, the movement making my stomach flip. Or is it just that I’m sitting so close to him? He glances up at me at that point, and the look in his eyes makes me inhale.
“A French Kiss is the most intimate exchange,” I tell him, still moving the cards, even though our gazes have locked. He has the most beautiful brown eyes. “It’s adventurous and visceral, a meeting of the mind as well as of the mouth.” I drop my gaze to his lips for a moment before looking back at his eyes, intentionally provocative, because it’s part of the trick. I keep my voice low. His eyes have turned very intense.
“Choose your card,” I say softly, “and reveal it to me.” My words are chosen carefully to encourage the sensation of privacy and secrecy. He takes one and turns it over to show me the Ten of Hearts. I pass him the marker. “I’d like you to sign it, so it’s obvious it belongs to you, and only you.”
He’s intrigued now. He signs right across the card with big, bold writing—not a signature, but his name, Damon, bold, possessive. I can imagine him writing it on a woman’s back in the darkness like a brand. I stifle a shiver.
Accepting the card from him, I place it face up on top of the deck, turn it over, then pick it up. I fold it in half, and in half again. Then I take it between my thumb and forefinger and move it close to his mouth.
“Open,” I murmur. Obediently, smiling, he opens his mouth. Heart hammering, I slide the card between his teeth and gently use my other hand to close his jaw.
“My turn,” I tell him. I turn the cards face up and fan them, select one—the Six of Diamonds—and place it face up on the top of the pack. I sign it with my name, or rather the name he gave me: Belle.
Trying to concentrate, I draw a heart next to my name. Next, I put down the pen and fold the card the same way, in quarters. Damon watches my hands all the time. Like most people, he’s waiting for me to slip up, to spot where the switch happens. He doesn’t know I’ve already made it.
“Now for the magic,” I whisper.
Slowly, so he can see every movement, I place the folded card between my teeth. Then, keeping my eyes on his, I move forward in my seat and lean closer to him. I let my gaze drop to his lips. He doesn’t move, but I can see his chest rising and falling faster than usual.
Normally, when I’m doing this trick with a stranger on the street, I stop a foot away and just look them in the eyes. But as I lean closer, Damon takes the card further into his mouth, moving it back behind his teeth. Why has he done that? Anyone would think he wants me to kiss him…
I stop, look into his amused eyes, then mirror him and take the card further into my mouth, too. Now there’s nothing to stop me brushing my lips against his. Leaning closer, I give him a soft kiss, feeling the answering whisper of his breath across my mouth.
Ooh, that’s given me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my pulse is racing. I pause for a moment, my lips on his. Then, reluctantly, I move back. His eyes gleam.
Keeping my hands where he can see them, I delicately remove the card from my mouth and unfold it once, then a second time. Then I flip it over and show him his name in the middle, written in his own handwriting.
His eyes widen, and he laughs and removes the folded card from between his teeth. “Open it,” I instruct, and he unfolds it to reveal my name with the heart next to it.
“Holy shit,” he says. “How the fuck did you do that?”
“Sleight of tongue,” I reply, and smile. My lips are still tingling where they touched his. That was a naughty thing to do, but I don’t regret it.
“Seriously, Belle, that was amazing. I don’t suppose you can reveal how you did it?”
“The cards switched. It’s magic.”
He chuckles. I grin as I collect the cards and pen and put them back in my purse.
“I love the way you handle them,” he says. “It’s hypnotic.”
“I’m glad—it’s supposed to be.”
