His words encouraged me to forge on. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
He stood up and took a deep breath, then set his empty glass on the floor. I watched him, mesmerized by the fluidity of his movements. He made everything look like a choreographed dance.
Even his fingers were attractive, tapered and strong. And his movements were sure. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him do anything without absolute confidence. I wondered what that was like. Because I questioned every move I made ten times and then doubted my decision once I finally made it another twenty.
I guess if I was going to apologize, I should do it right. “I shouldn’t have locked you in the bathroom and gone to the party. I put you in a shitty position, and for what it’s worth, I’ve regretted doing it from the moment I set foot inside the party.”
He didn’t respond, and the silence stretched on. Why did I have to keep talking? I said what I wanted to say in the hopes of making our time together less tense. But it seemed all I’d accomplished was the opposite.
Great job, Freya. You really made the rest of your stay at Casa del Forest so much more enjoyable.He’d probably forgotten all about the incident. After all, I was just another client to him. And he was a busy guy; he’d have hundreds of clients each year.
I got up, ready to hide in the bathroom. I thought an apology would erase the tension that constantly seemed to be around whenever we were in the same room.
I should have just shut up and gone to bed.
I stared in confusion when he stepped closer and put his hands on my arms. As soon as he made contact, my whole body went into overdrive.
God, I really did need therapy. The guy despised me. Hated everything I stood for. Thought I was a spoiled brat who walked all over other people. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from feeling attracted to him. Well, attraction was a pretty mild word for the feelings wreaking havoc inside me.
I put my hands on his pecs and relished the feel of his hard body. Then I went up on my tippy toes and pressed my mouth to his.
And then nothing.
Did I really just kiss him? What is wrong with me?
He stood stock-still, not responding to the kiss but also not pushing me away. I think something must have short-circuited in his brain, because when I pulled back to look at him and gauge his reaction, he looked like he’d had a stroke.
He blinked at me as if he was trying to clear his vision, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. And he was holding on to my arms in a tight grip.
“Did you just kiss me?” he eventually got out, his voice sounding wheezy.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, not moving my arms from his body. “The alcohol made me do it. And I just wanted to know what it was like to kiss you. And for the record, despite the one-sided action it’s probably one of the most memorable kisses of my short life. But I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
I finally had the good sense to take my hands off his delectable pecs. I already mourned the loss of never getting to touch something so perfect again.
There was more blinking but still no movement. He licked his lips, and my eyes were drawn to them like a moth to a flame. And I would probably find a quick end just like the moth if I didn’t step away before he exploded. Because he looked like he was holding on by a thread.
His hands were still circling my arms, his grip tightening, bordering on painful.
I guess he really doesn’t like it when I kiss him.
I tried a tentative smile to defuse the situation. It must have worked to calm him down, because instead of throwing me outside, he pulled me flush against his hard body and claimed my mouth in a kiss that I would never, not for one second of my life, forget.
His kiss devoured me, dominated me, and made my body come alight with a force that would have knocked me on my ass had he not been holding me.
His lips were warm and soft, and it was a kiss for my hungry soul to melt into. He felt like my homecoming. And even in my drunken state, I admitted that was just straight crazy talk. But there was no stopping my body’s reaction to all that was Gunner.
My hands finally got the memo that this was our chance and started exploring, taking this opportunity like it would be their last task on earth. I mapped the planes of his body through his sweater. When it wasn’t enough anymore, I slid my hands inside and brushed my fingertips over his abs, relishing every dip and hard definition.
And the whole time, he continued to kiss me like he was making a vow. When he ripped his lips away from mine, we were both flushed and breathing hard.
My hands dropped from his body when he stepped back, fists balled by his side. Even my arms mourned the loss of his touch. Neither one of us said anything, but there was a lot of heavy staring going on.
This would have gone into the history books as “the kiss to measure all other kisses against.” But then he opened his stupid mouth, so instead it would be found under “crash and burn while pouring whiskey over the mess and setting it alight.”
After staring at me for a beat, he swallowed and turned to the door. “I need to check the perimeter. You should go to bed. It’s late.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I stared at the closed door, wondering what in the world was wrong with me.
