Page 41 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“Until last night, I hadn’t kissed a woman in two years.”

I stare at him, but my brain has already betrayed me and gone straight back to the car.

The way he lifted the console and hauled me into his lap. The heat of him under me. The way his hand felt at my waist while he kissed me—the world narrowing down to the two of us and the dark interior of that stupidly expensive car.

Then the porch. The fact that he carried me all the way up the steps without breaking the kiss, and he wants me to believe that man hasn’t kissed anyone in two years?

Yeah. I’m not buying it.

“You’re lying,” I say, trying to twist out of his hold.

“I’m not, Doll.”

His grip tightens. I stare at him. He looks sincere, but that doesn’t mean jack shit.

If he’s actually telling the truth, then last night wasn’t some impulsive kiss with a stranger. That means he chose to kiss me, and if he really did just walk away from an engagement—my stomach flips violently at the thought. That would mean he didn’t just kiss me. He detonated an entire relationship over me.

“Why would you end an engagement over me?” I say, twisting harder. “I’m not that special.”

He releases me and takes a step back.

“Doll—“

“Stop calling me that.”

He moves closer again.

“Katie.” His fingers catch one of my curls, winding it around them.

My brain is screaming at me to move. To shove him away again. To create distance before this moment gets even more complicated.

Instead, I watch him.

“You absolutely are that special.”

His hand slides down from my jaw and settles at the back of my neck. His other hand finds the small of my back and gently pulls me forward, and my dumb ass lets him. Apparently, all of my carefully constructed personal boundaries collapse the moment Michael Amato touches me. My brain recognizes this as a deeply troubling development. Sadly, the rest of me appears to have voted against doing anything about it.

He leans down and kisses me. That’s it. That’s the end of rational thought.

My hands find his neck immediately as the kiss drags me under. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware that I should probably still be angry with him. Unfortunately, that part of my brain is no longer in charge.

I pull away.

“No! This can’t happen.”

“Sure it can,” he says, coming up behind me. He brushes my hair away from my neck.

Move, Katie.

I don’t.

He bends down and presses a kiss just behind my ear.

Dear God.

Every nerve in my body lights up as if someone flipped a switch. My fingers curl into fists at my sides while my brain scrambles to remember why this is a bad idea. Unfortunately, the man currently standing behind me appears to be very good at distracting me from that list.

With a gentle touch, his hand moves up my side, mapping the curve of my ribs before coming to rest beneath my breast. He traces the edge, and his palm presses against the exposed skin at the top of my dress. His breath fans across my neck as his lips follow a slow path downward as his hand ventures into the front of my dress. I shut my eyes, lost in the moment, as his fingers brush against my nipple through the thin barrier of my bra.