Kisses and Paperclips (It Started With A Kiss #1)

Chapter 1

Serena

I had two rules for walking Atlanta’s streets: Keep your head up and your phone down. Simple, right? But when an email notification popped up with the subject line: Important CEO, let us say I didn’t follow my advice. I should’ve. Especially downtown. After work hours, the streets buzzed with a rhythm that could sweep you up or swallow you whole.

I was starving after a long day and craved a satisfying meal, anything but my sad, frozen dinner. One would think that being thirty-something, educated, and independent would translate to self-control, but it hasn’t been for me. My phone buzzed. Already distracted, I swiped open the message before I could think twice. It was from Stephen, my assistant, and in classic Stephen fashion, the email was as dramatic as he was: a riddle wrapped in a mystery and dusted with unnecessary exclamation points.

Serena, we need to talk ASAP about CEO shenanigans. And no, I can’t say more over email. Brace yourself.

Brace myself? For what? I frowned, my pace slowing while I tried to decipher his cryptic message. Stephen loved his theatrics, but this felt different. For starters, he sent it to my personal email. My gut twisted—nothing to do with hunger. I was so busy trying to figure out what he meant; I didn’t see someone walking toward me until it was too late. I collided with a wall of muscle, my phone wobbled in my grip, and my purse slipped from my shoulder and spilled its contents across the pavement. Lipstick rolled one way, my wallet another, and I crouched instinctively, trying to gather the pieces. But it’s not the sidewalk that threw me off balance.

“Take it easy, baby,” a deep voice rumbled.

Baby? I blinked, then blinked again. I found it annoying when people used pet names for strangers. I bet he wouldn’t use any pet names if I were an elderly lady hunched over with a cane. “Sorry,” I managed, still startled by the collision. My voice came out softer than I intended, and I hated it. Why was I apologizing? He was the one who’d materialized out of nowhere like a brick wall with a voice. I took in his stance, how his enormous frame crowded my space, and remembered one hard truth: out here, you met three kinds of men. Most barely looked twice, unless they had already decided you were worth another notch on their bedpost.

First, there’s Mr. Creepy, who made everyone uncomfortable in high school. He would win an award for “Most Likely to Give You Serial Killer Vibes.” You sense him before you see him. He is the one who makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, activating your inner survival mode.

Then comes Mr. Indifferent. He is your safest bet, so lost in his world that he’s been unaware his zipper has been down all day. He is the one who might notice you struggling to reach the cereal on the top shelf in the grocery store, but only after you have practically climbed the shelves. His offer of help seemed to carry a subtle “Did you see that?” seeking approval for his good deed.

And finally, there’s Mr. Polite. Oh, he has all the moves. His chivalry and choice of words are always perfect. He will hold every door with a smile that says he’s a gentleman, but make no mistake, that charm is just as much about him as it is about you. Behind that “kindness,” he’s already plotting his next move, smooth and sweet as pie, with one-minded goal: to charm you right out of those panties.

And there it is. In the end, every one of them wants something. That quiet assumption in their gaze, that spark in their eye? It is a sense of entitlement, an unspoken expectation that they deserve something. To them, it is a game where showing up guarantees a reward.

But just like that, there he was. All tall and too close, tossing out “baby” like we have had history. Mr. Creepy arrived on time, as if following an unwritten sidewalk rule.

“Typical.” I crouched to gather my scattered survival kit: lipstick, loose change, and a rogue tampon that had made a break for it under the bench. I stuffed everything back in my bag, desperate to escape.

“What’d you say?” His tone shifted enough to make me pause. Not hostile, but laced with an edge that lifted the hairs on my neck. A quiet challenge. I dare you to repeat it.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied, plastering on the polite smile every woman knows is as much a shield as an act. My whole body was on high alert, every muscle coiled tight like a spring. It had been a long day, and I only wanted to make it home without incident. Was that too much to ask? He stood there, looming, his presence like a shadow stretching too far. I could feel his heavy and lingering gaze, even without looking up. It was not a look that asked permission. He had his eyes on me, like he owned the sight of me. I sat back on my heels, keeping my back straight, my posture firm. It was a silent message; one I had sent a thousand times before: I see you. Back off. But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. As I scooped up the last of my things and stood, I could already feel the chill creeping up my spine, the kind that told me I needed to move. Now. Every nerve in my body was on high alert, my instincts screaming to escape.

“Aye, why you in a rush, shorty?” He stepped closer, his voice too casual and familiar. I did everything but scream, Leave me alone! To show I wasn’t interested. I didn’t answer. Instead, I power-walked, my heels clicking on the pavement—an obvious message to stay back. But of course, he didn’t.

Here we go.

“I’m running late,” I said over my shoulder, keeping my stride, but he kept pace, his breathing getting heavier with each step. “Meeting my boyfriend,” I lied, smooth as silk. A fictional man had gotten me out of worse situations than this. “Boyfriend?” he scoffed, leaning in closer, the smell of cigarettes hitting me, followed by heavy cologne I hadn’t noticed before. “What kind of man lets a fine-ass woman like you walk around here all alone, anyway?” Of course, he thought another man dictated what I did.

I kept quiet.

Something about his low chuckle felt menacing, making my heart race. As I approached the outdoor grocery shop ahead, my eyes landed on a man holding a bouquet. In hindsight, I should have assumed those flowers were for someone special, a girlfriend or a wife. At that moment, I didn’t care. My focus was getting away from this stranger who would not let up.

Standing near an outdoor flower shop just up ahead, surrounded by roses and lilies, was a tall, dark man with broad shoulders. God, that man has the build of a linebacker. The calmness in his movement made him seem safe enough, at least for a moment. He looked lost in thought while the florist finished wrapping his order.

I acted before logic could catch up. Brushing past the clueless man, I strode toward the guy holding flowers. Instinctively, my hand went to his waist, my fingers touching the firm surface of his stomach. Chestnut eyes snapped to mine, wary, darkening with something hotter. When his gaze dropped to my lips and lingered, every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire.

The thing about throwing yourself at a stranger and kissing him like your life depends on it? You pray, no, you beg, that he gets the message and doesn’t shove you into oncoming traffic.

I barely breathed the words. “Just go with it.” A whisper. A prayer. A last effort to escape whatever turn this night was taking.

The stranger hesitated. His brows pulled together, the briefest flicker of confusion passing through his gaze. And in that instant, I think this is it. This is how I die. Not from a tragic accident, not in a cinematic, I Know What You Did Last Summer slasher way. Nope, death by embarrassment when this man tells me to get my crazy ass away from him.

But then, something shifted. His sharp gaze softened just a fraction, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. A silent understanding passed between us, heavy and unspoken. I don’t know what made him change his mind, but he did. And just like that, I could breathe again.

So, I went for it.

I gripped the collar of his jacket and pulled him down to me, my lips crashing against his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mouth tasted like mint and cinnamon, like a man who either prepared for moments like this or just had an inherently sexy breath.

I expected resistance, a pause, even for us to stumble a bit since we are strangers. Instead, his lips brushed mine, light at first, almost hesitant, like he was giving me a moment to back out.

I didn’t.

That unraveled everything. Whatever thread had been holding his composure together? Gone and snapped clean, like it had never stood a chance.

He touched the back of my neck, his fingers weaving through my baby hairs; warm, steady, like this was real. This was not just playing along anymore; he was taking control. My knees wobbled, and I had the mortifying realization that if he let go, I’d end up flat on my ass.

The kiss deepened.

Slow.

Controlled in a way that made me hyperaware of every nerve in my body. He kissed as if introducing me to an entire universe of something still hidden beneath the surface. For a moment, I could not remember my reason for doing this. This was fire.

I forgot about the creep. Forgot we were on a public sidewalk. Hell, I forgot my damn name. Pulling away, breathless and unsteady, I found him staring, as if I were an unexpected puzzle he was determined to solve.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “That’s one way to say hello.”

I didn’t respond immediately, mostly because my brain had momentarily checked out. Instead, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to look like a person who had not just lost herself in a stranger’s lips. His smirk, the kind that could single-handedly melt a woman’s panties, was not helping.

“You good?” he asked, his voice dipping just enough to make me forget how words worked.

I nodded, despite not being entirely sure that was the truth.

Then, as if reality had been waiting for the perfect moment to kick me in the ribs, I saw him. The creep, he was still there, lingering and watching.

Still too entertained by the little Broadway production we had just put on for him.

The stranger, my stranger, followed my gaze, and his entire demeanor shifted. The easygoing, nonchalant smoothness? Gone. In its place, a different kind of energy, a quiet, razor-sharp protectiveness that sent a shiver down my spine.

He turned his body slightly, positioning himself between me and the man still lurking in the distance.

“We got a problem?” His voice, now lower, demanded answers.

Then—because apparently, fate was committed to making sure I never knew peace—he handed me a bouquet of flowers I hadn’t even realized he was holding. Like this was the most natural sequence of events in the world. Step one: Kiss a stranger. Step two: Accept flowers. Step three: Prepare for potential violence. What the hell did I just get myself into?

I barely had time to react before he gently moved me behind him. Not in a stay-in-your-place way, more of an I got this way.

He opened his jacket, showing the stranger something, and his eyes widened in recognition.

The stare-off between him and the stranger had me on edge, realizing that I’d just involved a stranger in what could be a dangerous situation for both of us. The creep’s gaze flicked briefly on me, and I wondered if he had a piece on him too and debated whether I was worth the trouble, but the stranger used his big body as a shield to block his view. That’s when ice ran through my veins when I heard the click of the safety. I know he was warning him, but honestly, I didn’t know either of these guys, and it wasn’t on my list of things to end up in a shoot-out. I only wanted to grab dinner after work, but now I’ve gotten into this mess. My hands trembled as I fisted his jacket and moved closer to him as my temporary shield.

“Nah, man, we good,” he said, hands up in surrender. “Didn’t realize, my fault.” I let out a long breath and felt the knot in my stomach unravel. The man with the flowers hasn’t moved, though. He let me steady myself while I held his jacket like a lifeline. It wasn’t until he felt me let go that he turned around.

“It’s alright?” His voice was soft, low—like velvet brushing against my frayed nerves. “You’re alright.”

I released a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding—not just because of what he said, but because of the way he said it.

Gentle, yet grounding.

Certain words possess the power to comfort you without physical touch. Danger turns into white noise when you’ve lived with it long enough, a guitar string pulled so tight you forget it’s on the verge of snapping. You get used to constantly calculating your next move, playing a game you didn’t sign up for, and trying to stay two steps ahead of the chaos.

But in the stillness, something shifted. My nerves finally stopped doing their fast rhythm, and my heart decided to slow dance instead. I can hear myself think, and that’s when I finally looked at him.

Before, it was all adrenaline and instinct. Now, it’s impossible to miss how his presence takes up space like it was designed to. He is a walking distraction, and I already felt my focus slipping. Damn it.

He was so gorgeous that it made a woman question every good decision. His skin was rich and smooth, like polished mahogany. It caught the dying light of the sun, and each gleam deliberated as if nature itself conspired to highlight him. His Caesar cut was razor-sharp, and the waves rippled precisely like an endless, dark ocean, tempting you to reach out and trace them with your fingers.

My eyes fell on the suit. Perfectly tailored, it went beyond fitting; it defined and highlighted his strong shoulders and hinted at a physique that didn’t just wear clothes but dominated them. His eyes are what drew me to him. They were warm brown but had depth as they saw right through me. They took their time, not pressing. They were steady and patient, waiting for me to catch up.

The moment stretched, and I knew I should say something, but my brain went blank for too long. “Yeah,” I managed, my voice shaken. “Sorry about that.”

His smile came easy, as if he was waiting for me to catch up. “I’m not.” His voice was smooth, light, and a little teasing.

“I respect a people who takes what they wants.”

Butterflies. Not the delicate kind; these dive-bombed my stomach, wings frantic and insistent. I glanced away, but it was no use. Don’t look at me like that. Trouble always came wrapped in a smile that knew exactly how much power it held.

“I wouldn’t call it taking what I wanted,”

“Oh?” He tilted his head, amusement pulled at his lips. “What would you call it, then?”

“A gentleman helping a lady in need?”

His gaze sharpened, “That kiss wasn’t very… lady-like.”

“Excuse me?” Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I knew damn well what he was hinting at. That kiss wasn’t polite, wasn’t shy. It was bold, electric—exactly what I needed and couldn’t resist.

“You didn’t have to kiss me,” he said, his voice smooth as a jazz saxophone. “You had options.”

I huffed out a laugh and rolled my eyes. “Maybe I was scared and not thinking clearly.”

“You didn’t seem scared.”

A scoff escaped me at the nerve of this guy. “I’m a woman being harassed in the street alone. Just because I think fast doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.”

His eyes stayed on me, studying me, like he was waiting for something more. Or like I was some puzzle or something. But there was nothing more to say. He didn’t get it. How could he? He had never felt the way your stomach knots up when a stranger lingers too long, or how your heart pounds when someone ignores the word no like it’s just a suggestion.

Just last night, I saw a news report about a woman attacked outside a gym...in broad daylight, with people passing by. It wasn’t security or some noble stranger who saved her. It was other women. Because we know. We don’t have a choice then to know.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Doesn’t matter,” I muttered.

His brow creased. “That look says otherwise.”

“It’s nothing.” I forced my shoulders into a shrug, my voice light, dismissive. “You wouldn’t get it.”

A challenge flickered behind his eyes. “Try me.”

A breath of laughter escaped me—short, humorless. I was already turning away, already setting distance between us. “Look, thanks for the save—”

His hand lifted, not touching me, just hovering there like a roadblock. Not forceful. Not demanding. Just enough to make me pause.

“People won’t always understand your lived experience,” he said, his voice steady, sure. “But that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be shared. That’s how we change the world, one perspective at a time.”

I blinked, caught off guard.

Not because I hadn’t heard men say something like this before. But because I’d never heard one say it like this—without defensiveness, without trying to counter or diminish, without the dreaded not all men hovering in the background like an inevitable footnote.

Many men loved to argue for sport. Loved to play devil’s advocate like the game wasn’t rigged, like the stakes weren’t already high enough for women like me.

But this one? He wasn’t arguing. He wasn’t explaining me to me. He was just… saying it. Stating a truth with no expectation of applause, no need to be right. Just ready to listen.

And tha’t… different.

I hated that it gave me pause. That it intrigued me. That it made me look at him for half a second longer than I should have.

I hated that it threw me. That it sat heavy in my chest like something unshakable. That for half a second, I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw something I didn’t expect.

And I hated even more that I was a little impressed.

“You could always explain it to me over a drink,” he said, flashing a grin—effortless, confident. The kind that could make a nun rethink her vows.

“Smooth.”

“What? I actually want to hear what you have to say. And—” he leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with mischief— “you kinda owe me.”

That did it. I laughed, full and unrestrained.

“Owe you?” My brows shot up. “Yeah, see, that right there told me everything I needed to know.” I spun on my heel, ready to leave him right where he stood.

“Hey,” he called after me, feigning offense. “I put myself at risk playing knight in shining armor.”

I tossed a look over my shoulder. “Please. I didn’t ask you to do all that. You just had to shut up and get kissed.” I smirked. “Far as I’m concerned, you got the sweet end of the deal.”

His eyes danced with something unreadable, something that flickered between amusement and something else I couldn’t quite name. He was enjoying this.

And worse? So was I.

Normally, a man playing this kind of game would irritate me, but I couldn’t lie—not to myself, and certainly not to him. There was something about the way he moved, the way he watched me, that made me want to see what he’d say next.

He stepped in closer—not too much, just enough for me to feel the shift in the air between us. His face softened, but the playfulness never fully left his eyes.

“That kiss,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, richer, “says you got a little of that sweetness too.”

I exhaled a quiet scoff, tilting my head slightly. “Why?”

His brows pulled together slightly. “Why what?”

“Why should I do anything with you?” My voice was steady, unreadable, but my pulse betrayed me. “I don’t even know your name.”

He studied me for a beat, as if deciding whether I was serious or just messing with him. Then his lips quirked in a slow, knowing smile.

“Julien,” he said smoothly. “And do you always need a why for everything you do?” He tilted his head, watching me too closely, too carefully. “Sometimes, something feels right… and you just try it.”

The words settled between us, low and certain, threading through the space neither of us seemed willing to break. And I wasn’t in a hurry to move.

“Serena,” I murmured, tilting my head slightly. “Maybe I have trust issues.”

Julien’s gaze held mine, steady and unreadable, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something deliberate.

“Maybe…” He let the word linger, stretching it between us like a slow pull of silk. Then, just as effortlessly, he slid my name onto his tongue. “Serena, taking a risk is exactly what you need.”

The way he said my name—unhurried, rich, like he was tasting every syllable—sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. I hated that I noticed. Hated even more that I liked it.

I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see how easily he was getting under my skin. “I don’t drink,” I said, not as a fun fact, but as a challenge.

His smirk was barely there, but I caught it before it disappeared. “You eat. I drink.” Smooth. Effortless. Like he was already one step ahead of me.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us thickened, charged with something neither of us had named yet, but both of us felt.

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you, a lawyer?”

Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have a quick response.

“Am I winning?” he asked, his eyes darkening, making something deep inside me clench.

I tilted my head. “Maybe”

He steps closer, the subtle warmth of his cologne teased the air between us. The scent hits me before his words—deep and earthy, with a warmth that wraps around me like a well-worn leather jacket on a cool night. There’s a subtle hint of something fresh and unexpected, maybe lavender, softening the intensity just enough to make it inviting. It’s bold but not overpowering, the kind of fragrance that doesn’t announce itself but stays with you, slipping into your memory like a secret.

It fit him—confident, strong, and just a bit dangerous. The kind of scent that made me inhale a second time, trying to lock it into memory. As first impressions went, this one lingered in all the right ways.

“I like clear, sure answers.”

“Then, yes.” I breathed, my voice catching in that charged quiet between us. His gaze lingered on my lips. And the harder I tried not to think about that kiss, the more it pressed against the back of my mind, insistent and dangerous.

“Serena,” he repeated, softer this time, my name turned exquisite on his tongue, a secret offered up just for me. My chest tightened into a riot of butterflies, my heart stumbling as if it had never tried to run this fast before.

He lifted his eyes to mine, and the space around us felt closer, warmer, like he’d just lowered the lights and invited me in. “I like it,” he murmured, voice low, each syllable weighted and sure. “It suits you.”

I swallowed, the tension between us humming, my breathing uneven as his words and the memory of our kiss tangled in my mind. He was trouble, pure and simple, and in that moment, trouble had never looked so good.

“Now you have your win. What now?”

“For starters,” he said, flashing a grin laced with confidence and just the right amount of trouble, “let’s get you out of this cold. Besides, I love making people pay up.”

I exhaled, barely above a whisper. “Mr. Polite.”

I didn’t think he’d catch it, but his head tilted, curiosity lighting his gaze. His lips parted slightly, just enough for a slow sweep of his tongue across the bottom one—quick, unconscious, devastating. My stomach flipped before I could stop it.

“What was that?” His grin remained, playful, but his eyes? There was something else there now. Something deeper.

A flicker of heat. A shift so subtle most people wouldn’t have caught it. But I wasn’t most people.

I felt it, starting at the soles of my feet, climbing its way up, leaving a trail of tingling awareness that settled at the nape of my neck. It was unspoken, but unmistakable. A challenge, humming between us.

I told myself to look away. But I didn’t.

“Nothing,” I said smoothly, ignoring the warmth creeping up my cheeks.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, not convinced. He took his time watching me, letting the silence stretch, thick and heavy.

Then, just when I thought I’d successfully dodged whatever he was fishing for, his smile deepened. There it was, a dimple. Right cheek, first sighting tonight, and I know I’m in trouble.