He’s so close I can feel the heat rising from his body and the puffs of his breath on my cheek.
“It’s good,” I mumble, praying there is no sudden flash of lightning to illuminate exactly how red my cheeks must be.
I mentally slap myself.Dear God, did I just say it was good? Why did I do that?
How about because it is?
Moved by an irrational compulsion, I look up, searching the shadowy outlines of his face. The moonlight that creeps in from the window is playing against the stubble on his cheeks, begging me to run my finger along that bristly growth.
Not that I’ll ever yield to that feverish impulse.
Trouble is, he seems to be having the same sort of urge. His hand inches up and his fingertips graze against my cheek.
“Erm…”
That’s what I meant to say. Tomy utter embarrassment, I realize that what came out sounded a lot more like “mmm,” as in “Mmm, I like it.”
No, no, that won’t do!I must try again.
I open my mouth but before I get a chance to produce an intelligible sound, he moves closer and inclines his head, angling it. He’s deliberately slow, leaving me plenty of time to say no or to push him away.
But I find that I can’t. With Jerome—who isn’t the fittest pea in the pod—things had been lackluster in the sex department for almost a year. I feel like a survivor of a shipwreck who, after months of rationing canned beans, is served a mouthwatering dinner concocted by the country’s top chef.
This tall, handsome, nearly naked man, holding me in the dark, is too much of a treat to pass up.
Before I can think to stop, I’m standing on tiptoe, tilting my face upward, and brushing his lips with my own. It’s a tentative kiss at first. We dare little to nothing. There’s a heat lurking just underneath the surface, but I don’t go after it. I don’t have the nerve. A part of me knows that if I do, it will be my downfall.
Max seems to harbor no such reservations. He twists us around in a single fluid motion and pushes me up against the wall. With an ardor I’d forgotten men could possess, he holds me between the chill of the wallpaper and the heat of his lips.
I hear Uncle Dom call from downstairs, “Violette, you’ll need to call an electrician! I can’t fix this one.”
Max’s tongue slips into my mouth, meeting mine and momentarily distracting me from the bulge pressing against my belly. The wall behind me makes it impossible to draw away—something I must do and pronto—but I’m grateful I can’t. Because the man pressing me into it smells too good, tastes too good, feels too good against my body.
My heart ratchets up. My hands roam his broad back, reveling in the feel of his muscles and his skin. Our breaths mingle together, heavy and hot. Something builds deep within me, urgent, smoldering, dizzying.
Max’s grip tightens. He crushes his body to mine, his lips to mine. Slanting his head a little more, he deepens the kiss. His hands slide along my arms, lifting them up until he’s pinning them against the wall. A moan escapes me. Locked together, our mouths are greedy, insatiable. His tongue pushes deeper, harder. I suck on it, and the act brings a sudden weakness to my legs. It takes me into uncharted territory where I could lose control. Where I could give up control.
“Does anyone need a flashlight or a candle up there?” Aunt Violette’s voice interrupts my free fall.
I freeze, as does Max.
We break the kiss.
I breathe in and out. “I’m good,Tata!”
“Me, too!” Max calls. “Thank you, Violette!”
His eyes never leave mine.
“Power may not be back for another hour!” she cries out. “But there’s a flashlight in each of your rooms, if you need it. Closet, bottom shelf.”
“Got it!” we respond in unison, staring each other in the eyes.
When her steps grow inaudible, I hug myself. “This is wrong. Us, kissing… We can’t do this.”
A gush of wind slams against the window. A distant glare washes the corridor in white just long enough to make out the warring emotions on Max’s face.
“You’re right,” he says at last, stepping away from me. “I’m sorry for what I did. I truly am.”
