Chapter 11
chapter
eleven
Mitchell
The room goes very quiet after she asks.
Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that presses in on your ribs and makes it hard to breathe.
She wants to know if I would kiss her.
I don’t answer right away. I can’t. Because the moment I do, something changes—and I’m not convinced I’m allowed to be the man who changes it. I don’t know if I can just swoop in and steal my brother’s bride. Whether he picked her or not. I should at least have a conversation with him first. Right?
She’s sitting there on the ottoman, hair darker now, warmer. The red brings out the color in her cheeks, making her blue eyes look even bluer. She stares up at me with hope.
I swallow hard. What I want to do is not think. To not consider the consequences, not weigh the price, and just lean in and kiss her. Claim her as mine.
But I don’t know how to be that man. I always consider the risks and repercussions before doing anything. Without that skill, I could have lost my life or the life of my fellow Marines.
“Evie,” I say carefully, “I shouldn’t.”
Her shoulders dip just slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “I know.”
“You’re about to marry my brother.”
“I didn’t pick him,” she says softly.
That lands harder than I expected.
I drag a hand through my hair and pace two steps away, then back. “This isn’t about want,” I tell her. “Because if it were—”
I stop myself.
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Then what is it about?”
“Right,” I say. “Doing the right thing.”
She stands slowly, giving me space, not cornering me. She never does. “Is it wrong,” she asks, “to want one thing for myself? To be able to make a single choice in a life where I’ve been given none?”
The words are quiet. Honest. They strip me bare in a way no battlefield ever managed.
“I’ve never been kissed,” she continues.
“Not really. Not because I didn’t want to—but because it was never allowed.
Everything was always about appearances.
Expectations. Even when my betrothal to Harold was officially announced, he was only allowed to kiss my hand.
” She shudders. “I suppose I should be thankful for that. I cannot imagine kissing him.”
“You’re supposed to marry a man named Harold?” is all I can manage.
She nods, then takes a step closer.
“I don’t want my first kiss to be something I endure,” she says. “I want it to be something I choose.”
My chest tightens.
“I’m sure your brother is a good man and I am incredibly grateful he’s agreed to marry me. But for tonight, for my first kiss, I want to decide. And I choose you.”
God help me.
I look at her then—really look at her—and I don’t see a princess or a complication or my brother’s future wife.
I see a woman standing in a cheap hotel room with dyed hair and damp clothes, asking for one small piece of herself back.
“One kiss,” she says. “That’s all I’m asking.”
My resolve fractures quietly.
“Unless your reluctance isn’t about your brother and you just don’t find me attractive at all.” She nearly folds over on herself. “Oh God, why hadn’t I considered that? I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position.”
I close the distance between us and lift my hand to her cheek. My thumb brushes her jaw, just once.
“This isn’t awkward,” I say. “And trust me, I am very attracted to you. My reluctance has nothing to do with you at all.”
My eyes drop to her lips. They’re parted. I love that she has a small gap between her front teeth.
“You’re so beautiful, Evie, don’t ever question that.”
She nods.
I lean down, giving her time to change her mind right up until the last second.
Instead, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine.
The kiss is gentle. Careful. Her lips are so soft.
Her arms come up and around my neck. My free hand curls around her waist.
If I’m going to be her first kiss, I’m going to make it memorable.
I slide my tongue over the seam of her lips, and she gasps. I take the opportunity to explore her mouth, tasting her. She tentatively strokes her tongue against mine, and I can do nothing to squelch the growl of need that rises in my throat.
She whimpers in response, her fingers curling into the back of my hair. That small sound nearly undoes me.
I deepen the kiss because fuck me, I cannot get enough of the way she feels, the way she tastes.
Her full curves pressed against my body are what my fantasies are made of.
I want to turn her around, lift her so her plump ass is on the bathroom counter.
I want to erase any space between us so I can grind my hard dick against the hot seam of her pussy.
She doesn’t belong to you.
I force myself to end the kiss. Pulling back, I rest my forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Okay,” she repeats.
I take a step back from her, putting much-needed space between our bodies. Her pupils are blown with desire, her lips swollen from our kiss. She’s never looked more stunning.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I close my eyes.
Because I already know kissing her was a mistake.
The worst part, though, I’d make it again.