From what I've learned about you, I seriously doubt that. You're one of the most competent people I know.
A smile tugs at my lips.
Ivy:
We've never met.
King:
You know what I mean. But seriously, Ivy. Talk to me. What's got you so twisted up?
I think about deflecting, but I've been open to King. So far, he's been accepting.
Ivy:
There's this person at work who makes me feel off balance. I don't know who I am when they're around.
King:
Is that a bad thing?
Ivy:
It feels dangerous.
King:
Maybe danger isn't always bad. Sometimes, it's exactly what we need to grow.
Ivy:
What if growing means losing everything?
King:
What if it means finding something better?
I stare at the message for a long time. If King knows I'm texting about another man's kiss, he won't be encouraging me to accept the danger that's Declan. He'll be trying to get me to kiss him instead.
My chest tightens. King's kiss would be nothing like Declan's. It would be gentle, soft, the kind of kiss that asks permission instead of taking. The kind that builds slowly instead of consuming.
Declan's kiss was fire and demand and possession. It left me wanting yet terrified.
King's kiss would be safety.
But even as I text him, changing the topic, I can still feel Declan's thumb stroking my jaw. Can still taste him on my lips.
Although I want to forget that kiss, I desperately want it to happen again.
8
DECLAN
Nothing to Her
Istand in the ballroom of the Grandeur Hotel, the hand of a woman who is dead inside resting lightly on my arm.
Here, I'm surrounded by politicians, socialites, and people who smile with their mouths but not their eyes. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over marble floors, and a string quartet plays a classical tune that's meant to make everyone feel cultured.
