Chapter 20 #2
“Well, we’re going to have to change things up because this is an emergency.
We need to convince her.” I spot a bench tucked away in the corner, half-hidden behind a cascade of white Phalaenopsis and bathed in the soft glow of uplighting.
It’s secluded. The kind of spot where a real couple might sneak away for a private moment.
Perfect.
“We can sit here, and Elizabeth can return from the restroom to find us making out.”
I hobble across to the bench, my crutches clicking against the damp stone, and lower myself onto the seat with less grace than I’d like. My ankle throbs in protest. Apparently, it’s had enough of tonight’s adventure, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.
Leo follows me, looking like he’s about to negotiate a particularly hostile merger. Jaw set, shoulders rigid, that furrow between his eyebrows deeper than ever.
He lowers himself hesitantly onto the bench next to me.
“Okay, how are we doing this?” he asks grimly.
“First of all, you’re sitting like you’re waiting for a prostate exam. Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re the opposite of relaxed. You’re tensed. You’re the tensest person I’ve ever seen.”
Leo exhales slowly. His shoulders drop approximately one millimeter.
“Better,” I lie. “Now, turn toward me. No, not like that, you look like you’re about to deliver bad news about my investment portfolio. Like you actually want to be here.”
“I’m a tech consultant, not an actor.”
“You don’t need to be an actor. You just need to look at me like I’m not a spreadsheet with a compliance error.”
“I don’t look at spreadsheets like that.”
“You absolutely look at spreadsheets like that.”
Something shifts in his expression. The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s the closest he’s been to relaxed since we sat down.
It’s marginally more convincing.
“Give me your hand,” I say.
He offers it like we’re about to shake on a business deal. I take it and place it on my waist, pressing his palm flat against the curve of my hip.
His fingers flex against the fabric of my shirt.
“Now the other one.”
I guide his free hand to the back of my neck. His fingers slide into my hair. The touch sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the conservatory’s climate control.
I open my mouth to give him the next direction and find I’ve temporarily forgotten what it was.
“That’s more like it,” I say once my brain comes back online.
His thumb grazes a small circle against the back of my neck. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s doing it.
I’m very aware he’s doing it.
“Good,” I say, and my voice comes out roughly half an octave lower than intended. “That’s…yes. That’s convincing.”
“And where do your hands go?” Leo’s voice has gone slightly rough.
Good question. Where do my hands go?
I settle one on his shoulder, feeling the tension in the muscle beneath his shirt. The other I place against his chest, over his heart.
It’s beating very fast.
“Now,” I say, and my own voice isn’t as steady as I’d like. “You need to look at me like you want to kiss me.”
“How do I do that?”
“I don’t know. How do you look at someone you want to kiss?”
Leo’s dark eyes search my face—forehead, cheeks, before settling on my mouth.
“Like this?” he asks quietly.
My brain short-circuits.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Exactly like that.”
“Now what do we do?” he asks.
Fuck.
How the hell do I survive this? Produce a kiss that is convincing enough for Elizabeth, but doesn’t completely annihilate the last remaining shreds of my emotional defenses against this man.
The conservatory hums around us. Water is dripping somewhere. There’s the distant murmuring of other visitors. Leo’s thumb has stopped moving against my neck. He’s just holding me there, steady and warm, and the air between us has gone very, very quiet.
“We lean in,” I say. “And we—”
I close the distance before I can overthink it.
The first brush of my lips against his is nothing. A warm, barely there graze that shouldn’t register on any scale of significance.
It registers on every scale of significance.
Leo’s mouth is softer than it has any right to be. He returns the pressure gently, almost hesitant, like even Leo Brennan doesn’t have a strategy for this particular situation.
Good. Welcome to the club.
Then Leo tilts his head, changes the angle, and his hand fists my hair, and suddenly, hesitant is not the word for anything that’s happening.
My lips part against his and his tongue finds mine, and the taste of him floods through me.
His fingers tighten in my hair, and I feel it everywhere, a pull that runs through my chest, into my stomach, and lower, and I want— I just want—
No. I refuse to be the only one falling apart here.
My fingers twist in his shirt, and I kiss him back hard, teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he makes a rough sound against my mouth. Good. There it is. I want to hear every sound this man is capable of making, and I want to be the reason for all of them.
His jaw scrapes against mine and the heat of him radiates through his shirt. He is so solid, so warm, and I want to wreck him the way he’s wrecking me.
My teeth find his bottom lip again, he retaliates with his tongue, slow and deep, and it’s a good thing we’re sitting because my legs feel weak. I pull him closer by his shirt, and he responds by pressing me back against the planter, his body pinning mine, and it’s still not enough.
Then Leo makes a small sound against my mouth. Not quite a groan, something softer. Surprised.
Everything in me goes still.
His hand gentles in my hair, cradling instead of gripping, and his lips slow against mine, no longer demanding but giving, and this is so much worse than the battle.
The battle I could have survived. I could have filed it under adrenaline, under competitiveness, under two people who argue too much finding another outlet.
But Leo Brennan is kissing me now like I’m something worth being careful with, his thumb tracing a slow line along my jaw.
When Leo finally pulls back, his eyes are dazed and his mouth is red from kissing. He looks like a man who’s just been hit by something he didn’t see coming.
I know the feeling.