Chapter 17
I’m taken off guard. Not by the kiss itself but by the ravenous, barely-controlled need behind it. It drives me a little crazy, if you really want to know. I’m not expecting my own reaction. A reckless longing rampages through my entire body.
My first kiss. Ever. My dad might have kissed my cheek once or twice but he wasn’t much for showing his affection physically.
And I wasn’t interested in boys throughout high school because I spent all my time at home/work fighting off the unwanted advances of barflies and drunken tourists, ninety-nine percent of whom were borderline disgusting, rude or downright creepy.
I was also trying desperately to keep our business afloat—very unsuccessfully, as it turned out. I was too distracted for boyfriends.
I remember the first time Sadie hugged me, soon after we became friends, and it was the first time I’d ever touched another human being that closely. It felt strange at first. Now I hug her all the time.
Hugging Sadie feels nothing like this.
Dallas’s lips settle over mine softly at first, but then the kiss turns greedier. He opens my mouth with his, dipping his tongue. Tasting. Gently feasting.
It’s the most intimate thing in the world and I’m not quite prepared for it. I’m not expecting the touch of his tongue against mine to send a channel of deep, white-hot heat directly to my clit, like an electric current of hundred-proof lust.
God, he’s good at this.
I want more. I need it.
The kiss turns slippery and feverish. I can feel that my panties are shamelessly wet.
There’s a power to this I wasn’t expecting.
I love how submissive I feel yet so on fire with my own femininity.
I weave my fingers through his thick-silk hair and suck on his tongue because he tastes so freaking good.
Dallas groans in what sounds like quiet agony and I pull away, breathless. I can guess what his groan means but I’m not entirely sure either way. He likes it?
He’s breathing hard. “Where did you learn to fucking kiss like that, Amelie Thibodeaux?”
I almost feel shy admitting it. Shy, but hot and wet and horny as all hell. “Nowhere. That was my first kiss.”
His head tilts slightly. “What do you mean?”
It’s a little embarrassing. “I know, crazy, right? I mean, who waits this long? Just us desperate hotel heiresses who don’t have what it takes to keep things above water,” I joke, trying to keep the tragedies of my past as upbeat as I’m capable of.
“I was just busy, with everything that was going on.”
“Don’t ever say that.”
“Say what?”
Dallas runs his thumb along my cheekbone. “Amelie, none of what went on with the hotel was your fault. It was the fault of the people who didn’t do the right thing by you and who didn’t protect you or your interests. You could have saved the hotel if they hadn’t undermined all your hard work.”
Wow, he must have googled everything. And his words might actually be the most perceptive—and maybe even the kindest—anyone’s ever said to me. “I know.” I give an offhanded shrug. “But it hardly matters now either way.”
“Of course it matters.” He sounds pissed off about it. “You did everything you could have done. None of it is your fault.”
“Maybe not. But it still shapes what my life has become.”
“Your life is what you make of it. Look at you now. So beautiful it literally fucking hurts. And flying high.”
I look out over the city. “Flying high for one day, yes. And I’ll take it. But it’s only one day.”
“Do you want to know something?”
“What?”
His playfulness and his sincerity have a dark intensity behind them.
“Tell me, Dally.”
His expression is almost shockingly heartfelt, like he loves it when I call him his old nickname. Like something about the sound of it hits him right where he lives. “It’s going to be more than one day. And I want you to know that I’m not that person.”
“What person?”
“A person who betrays you. I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you.”
Did he just say what I think he said? How am I supposed to respond to that?
A perfect stranger is promising me things my own father was never capable of.
My father loved me, I know he did. But not enough.
He never once thought to live his life in a way that factored me into any of the consequences of his actions.
I couldn’t trust him to do that. And I have to live with the reality of that fact every single day.
Which hurts, more than I’d like to admit.
He let me down. Because he didn’t love me enough to live up to making sure I was okay. Because maybe I’m just not worthy of that kind of love. My mother was worthy of it, but not me.
All my old scars are burning me.
I shove those old thoughts out of my mind. It’s not the time or the place to wallow in self-pity.
What’s outrageous is that Dallas Wilder seems to expect me to believe him.
I’ll protect you? I’ll take care of you?
They’re nice sentiments, sure, but asking me to blindly trust him with pronouncements like that is just wildly unrealistic.
It’s not the way the world works. “Uh, thanks,” I say anyway.
He drags his palm along his square jaw. “So when you say that was your first kiss … you’ve never …?”
I know what he’s asking. “No,” I confirm, almost shyly. “I’m completely inexperienced. With everything.”
“Everything.”
“Yes. Everything. I’ve never kissed anyone, been with anyone or done anything else with anyone.”
Dallas gets this sexy little crinkle between his eyebrows.
He gives me a look of disbelief that’s both hopeful and wildly relieved, maybe.
He lets his head fall back against the headrest for a second.
Then he gives me the hint of that killer smile and I make a decision.
I want it to be him, now. Today. Tonight.
“You mean to tell me the sweetest, hottest little bartender in all of New Orleans is as pure as the driven snow?”
It sounds even more embarrassing when he says it like that. I’m not exactly proud of it, but it is what it is. My reply comes out sounding surly. “Only because I couldn’t find anyone I wanted to kiss.”
“That’s fair. There’s nothing wrong with waiting.”
“I guess.”
“I know. And I’m very glad you waited for me.”
Despite the crazy-ass cocktail coursing through my veins, of brimming lust, mild self-consciousness, nostalgia for things I’ve lost and things I never had, and exhilaration—because we’re flying through the air right now—this makes me laugh.
“Cocky much, Dallas Wilder? Who said I was waiting for you?”
“It’s obvious. That kiss was a dead giveaway.” He’s teasing me now, and I can feel my heartbeat in the warm, wet softness between my thighs. God, I’m so hot for him I can hardly stand it.
The pilot interrupts us over the intercom. “Mr. Wilder. Ms. Thibodeaux. We’ll be landing in approximately ten minutes. Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened.”
Dallas checks my seatbelt, making sure it’s tight. With measured … protectiveness. It’s not something I’m used to. He leans close to my ear as he does this. “It might as well have been my first kiss too, Boo.”
“Why?”
“It was by far the sweetest of my life. By a degree of at least a quadrillion.” He’s smug, he’s complicated and at times he’s sort of hard to read. But he says the most heart-breaking things.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted you to know this is already the best day I’ve ever had.”
“Me too.” I vaguely notice the graceful curving gleam of the river below us. But most of all I’m spellbound by the hot, gorgeous stranger whose blue-green eyes are full of the darkest, dirtiest promises. He leans in and whispers close my ear. “The night’s going to be even better.”