Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Winnie
Bliss . The kiss is sheer, complete perfection. A fifty or maybe hundred-and-fifty out of a possible high score of ten. No, make that a thousand out of ten. Infinity .
James’s lips are softer than I would have expected, yet firm enough to completely direct mine, to urge them into compliance.
Not that I’m fighting him. Nope.
The kiss feels inevitable, like this is where we were always headed, despite my shock that it’s actually happening.
James Graham is kissing me.
After apologizing .
But—more importantly, HE’S KISSING ME.
At first, his mouth is as tender as his hand is on my cheek, each brush of his lips sweet and gentle. It’s as much a caress as a kiss, a gentle exploration, an extension of his apology, a request for forgiveness.
I’m not sure how long we’re kissing before the elevator stops and the doors slide open. I start to pull away, but James says, “We’re full,” in that deep growly voice of his, and there’s a rushed apology before the doors close again.
I yank him by the shirt back to my mouth, where he belongs. Where it feels like he was made to be.
The sweetness gives way to something a whole lot stronger. We’re both more aware of the time limit. At some point, we’ll have to get off this elevator and deal with what happened inside of it. But I’m in no way ready for that, so I focus all my attention on James.
The kiss becomes more of an argument, one made with lips and teeth and tongue rather than words.
We’re battling now, the push and pull we’ve had since the start of our relationship exploding into motion.
James gives my hair a soft tug, and I scrape my nails over the back of his neck.
He presses closer to me, and I press right back.
My glasses keep bumping his face and I rip them off, tossing them in the corner. Who needs eyesight? Not this girl.
James drops his hands to my waist, squeezing gently, and I drag my hands roughly through his hair.
He growls against my mouth. I grab his shirt more tightly, yanking him around so he’s the one with his back against the wall.
He doesn’t put up an ounce of fight, letting me control the speed and intensity of the kiss.
I slow things down. Wayyy down.
I want to savor the heat of his body, the bite of his stubble on my cheeks, the heavy press of his hands as they slide up my back. This is the most loose, the most unfettered and unguarded James has been since I’ve met him.
Except maybe when he was firing me.
And it’s this thought that makes me want to enjoy every millisecond of this kiss, which I feel certain has an expiration date. James will flip the switch on me again, which will not be easy to take now that I’ve had his mouth on mine.
I give James everything I can in this kiss. There’s no conscious thought as to why, only that this matters, he matters, and I don’t want to hold back the way I always have with everything else in my life, with every one . I have never given anyone as much as I give James in this kiss.
It’s risky. It’s reckless. And I really don’t care.
He pulls back just slightly, his pupils dilated, lips brushing mine as he says, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about kissing your smart mouth.”
Well, then .
“You say the sweetest things,” I say before fusing my smart mouth to his again.
There’s a jolt as the elevator reaches the lobby, and when the doors open this time, it’s to an unignorable amount of noise. James and I jerk apart. We end up on separate sides of the small elevator car, both of us breathless. His eyes are practically black, but now, it’s not with desire.
No—he looks panicked. My stomach bottoms out as the panic shifts into something more like regret. Which shouldn’t surprise me. It’s exactly what I should expect from James. But that doesn’t ease the sting of it.
My eyes narrow. Oh, no. Don’t you DARE to take back what just happened. We are going to discuss it like adults and finish our conversation and maybe even do that again and—
A whole crowd of women pile into the elevator, oblivious to the tension between us. As they get on, James manages to slip out into the lobby. I’m trapped against the back wall in a crowd of perfume and leggings and hands holding cocktails in plastic cups.
I’m still glaring at James—well, half glaring and half squinting since I can’t see—as the doors start to close, torn between letting him go and chasing after him to tell him what a coward he is. Just before the doors slide shut, he mouths, I’m sorry one more time.
Yeah, well. I’m not sure I forgive him this time.
“Are these yours, hon?” One of the women bends to retrieve my glasses, holding them out.
I almost wish they were broken. Then they’d match how I feel.
“Thanks.” I slide them back into place, blinking as things become clear.
“Girl,” another woman says, looking me up and down with heavily lined eyes and smiling ruby lips, “you look like you were just thoroughly kissed.”
My fingertips brush over my lips, which can’t possibly be swollen but certainly feel that way. My cheeks are tender from the rough graze of James’s stubble.
“It was nothing,” I find myself saying, and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told.