Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
She spins around, a string of lights in her hand, question marks in her eyes. “Now?”
What? Now? Before I can even answer—and I’m too stunned to answer—she adds, “Sure. A practice kiss couldn’t hurt.”
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. She keeps surprising me left and right, and I barely know what to do. I’m a man who prides himself on control, on strategy, on knowing what cards to play at all times. With her, I’m knocked senseless, especially as she sets the lights down on the desk, then closes the distance to me a few feet away.
I still haven’t said a word. I really need to say something. Anything. She tips her chin up offering her pretty lips to me. Questions rattle in my head. Should I do this? Is this crossing a line? Is this wrong?
Finally, I manage to ask, “Are you sure?” It comes out like it scrapes my throat.
A tilt of her head. A curve of her lips. “You don’t bite, do you? Like the big bad wolf?”
A bolt of lust shoots down my spine. I try to ignore it, to resist it when all I can think is the better to eat you with. “Only if you want me to.”
Her eyes flicker with something that looks a lot like lust. “I’ll take a rain check on the biting. But it’s a yes on the practice,” she says, then parts her lips the slightest bit.
I didn’t plan this meeting as a dress rehearsal for a kiss. But I also know how to spot an opportunity and how to seize one. I step closer, run a finger along some silky strands of auburn hair, taking my time to sweep them across her face and tuck them behind her ear. Her breath hitches. I let go of those strands of hair, then brush the back of my fingers along her jaw. Her chest rises and falls. Her eyes track me the whole time, watching my face, then my hand. I’m drawing out this moment, stretching it like elastic till my fingers reach her chin, holding her.
I lean in then drop my lips to hers. It’s a barely-there kiss. Just a brush of our lips. But it makes my bones crackle and my mind buzz. Her mouth is sweet, her breath minty. It lasts one, two, maybe three seconds. But I’m dangerously close to getting lost in the kiss, so I jerk back, try to clear off the fog, then ask clinically, “Was that fine?”
She blinks, looking a little hazy, a little happy. Then, she must collect her thoughts, since she says, “No.”
What the fuck? What the hell was wrong with that? I can still feel the kiss rattling my body everywhere. But I shouldn’t let on that I’m disappointed in myself. I try to treat her critique as part of our fake romance planning. “Why don’t you tell me the issue so I can fix it for the next time?”
“Wilder…it wasn’t fine. It was the finest.”
Oh. Oh, fuck. I’m going to play those four words on repeat for the rest of the day—it was the finest. I try to clear away the fog of that kiss. “So a kiss like that is acceptable PDA,” I say, as if I need to confirm that’s why I kissed her.
“Yes. Or a cheek kiss,” she says, then pats my chest. “I trust your instincts.”
My instincts are to cancel this meeting and haul you into my arms. Kiss you deeply till you melt, grab my collar, and tug me against you.
I’m fighting a losing battle with her. I have to wrest control of this situation, and I have to do it now. I grab her hand from my chest before she can pull it away, clasp it tight then bring it to my mouth. I press another kiss to the top of her hand.
“Oh,” she gasps quietly as a flush spreads across her cheeks.
I’ve gained the upper hand at last. “Hope that wasn’t too performative for you.”
“Not in the least,” she says when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Both grateful and annoyed over the distraction, I say, “That could be Mac.”
School’s not out yet, but you never know when your kid might call.
Fable gestures for me to answer as she resumes stringing the lights. “Of course.”
But when I pick it up it’s a text from my father. Thanks, son! You helped your old man a lot. Appreciate the dough so much.
I sigh heavily as I set the phone down on my desk unanswered. At least he’s not…robbing a convenience store. Not that he’s done that. I’m not even sure why that came to mind. But then, maybe I am—he’s stolen from Peter to pay Paul.
“Is everything okay?”
I fix on a smile. “Mac’s fine. It’s my father.”
As she aligns the lights, she’s quiet for a beat, then asks, “And is everything okay with him?”