Maybe that’s ok. Maybe that’s what both of us need right now.
Terrified and exhilarated by my feelings, our mouths meet and fall apart. A small kiss, and then something deeper. Our tongues dance, then collide.
When we break, I say, “We’ve gotten a lot better at kissing each other since our first kiss.”
He hoists me higher on his midsection. “I remember every moment of that kiss.”
“Every bad second of it?”
“Even the worst kiss is the best if it’s with you.”
My smile wobbles. “Klein the writer.”
The muscles in his jaw tighten.
I search his green eyes. “Do you want me to stop saying that?”
CHAPTER 33
Klein
“It’s notthat I want you to stop saying that,” I inform her, staring into her eyes, the prettiest shade I’ve ever seen. “It’s that I want you to stop thinking when I say something you like, it should be attributed to that.”
Color gathers in her cheeks. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.”
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
She nods. “Yes.”
“What is it that needs defending against me?”
Clearly, and with confidence, she says, “My heart.”
The very same organ that sits in my chest begins to squeeze. I wish Paisley could feel what she does to me. I wish she could know the way she’s marked me, changed me, the way watching her struggle with her family torments me, how deeply I want to shake them all and tell them they’re hurting the best person I know.
“Paisley,” I center our faces so there is little else in our fields of vision. I need her to not only hear my nextwords, but absorb them, too. “There is no safer place for your heart than with me.”
She moans, a tiny garbled noise. “Klein, I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her words carry the softness and fragility of a confession, and perhaps that’s what it is.
My hold on her tightens. “You occupy every one of my thoughts, and my dreams, too.”
In response, Paisley’s thighs squeeze me. She arches, pushing her breasts into me. “Show me what you think about.”
I capture her mouth and walk us backward to the bed, lowering her when we get there. Her dress rides up her legs, giving me the shortest glimpse of her tattoo.
My hand runs up her thigh, pushing the fabric higher. Using a fingertip, I trace the word written in cursive.
Attraversiamo.
“What does it mean?” I lean down, brush my lips on the inked flesh.
Paisley squirms, fingernails raking through my hair. “It’s Italian for ‘let’s cross over.’ It’s a way to describe transition or movement. I got it after my first year of business, when I went to Italy for two weeks.” Her nails leave my hair, swooping over my neck. “I paid for the trip myself, and I was proud of that. It felt big, like I’d made the transition to adulthood. I’d done it on my own, the way I wanted to. I had defied my father, and my natural inclination to please, and it wasn’t for nothing.”
I stare down at her, unable to keep the wonder from my eyes. “You are something else, Paisley. Something really fucking special.”
My lips drop to her thigh, to that word. Attraversiamo.
The tip of my tongue traces the cursive. I look up, my mouth still pressed to her skin. Paisley looks at me, eyelashes fluttering.
