I kiss him back just as desperately.
I’m lost to this man.
If he asked me now for anything, I wouldn’t ever be able to say no.
But just as fast as the kiss began, it stops.
Cain’s chest rises and falls as he breathes heavily.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I shake my head.
“For what?”
“For moving so fast.”
I smile, lifting up onto my tiptoes and placing another kiss on his lips.
“Nothing to be sorry for. I wanted you to do that.”
Cain’s body stiffens, and I’m not sure why or what I said. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” I mumble, feeling confused and a little bit dejected.
He starts to move, and his hand reaches out, and I know the door is about to swing open, but before he does, he takes me by surprise, grabbing me once more and fusing our lips, taking my breath away.
The kiss, if possible, is more passionate than the last one.
Something about this kiss is final. Like he is hungry for me, but he knows this is it, so he devours me as fast and as hard as he can. It’s almost like he’s treating me as if I’m a mirage that will disappear in a few seconds.
But it’s him who will evaporate.
Because before I can even ascertain if this moment was real, the door flings open, and he fades away.
In a daze, I make my way farther into the house, into the bedroom, and throw myself on my bed.
My heart hammers frantically in my chest. I lie motionless on my bed until I can get my breathing to calm down. Once I do, the whole night flashes behind my eyelids. I feel like a ball of restless energy. It has no outlet. I need to tell someone. I reach into my clutch sitting beside me on the bed, pick up the phone, and dial Mara.
“Hey, girl.”
“Help,” I respond as a greeting. And then I let out a large, overdramatic groan.
“Well, this doesn’t sound good.”
I frown. Not that she can see me, but my lips thin regardless. “It’s not.”
“Spit it out and tell me what happened.”
Kicking off my shoes, I start to pace. Unlike in Cain’s office, my steps make sounds. Angry, frustrated sounds as my feet slap against the floor. “I kissed him.”
“Kissed who?”
“Who do you think I kissed?”
“Well, it’s obviously not the hot architect I told you to stay away from, now, is it?”
This time, my groan sounds even more dramatic, if that’s possible. I’m doing my best at impersonating a dying animal. “Of course, I kissed the overly hot, completely closed off, emotionally wounded architect you warned me not to.”
“How did that happen?”
I scan the room, looking from the chair to the bed. “Um, he put his mouth on mine.”
“No, idiot. I know how it happened. What I mean is, walk me through the logistics.”
I choose the bed. Plopping down on it, I’m exhausted, but my brain won’t allow me to fall asleep right now. “I honestly have no clue. He dolled me up, took me to a party, brought me back home, and kissed me.”
“And then your carriage turned into a pumpkin?”
“Basically. He ran out of here like the dogs of hell were on his tail.”
I roll onto my stomach and bury my head into the pillow, popping up for air only after I hear Mara’s voice again. “Well, with the rumors circling him, he probably commands the dogs.”
“Not fair. He’s not like that.”
“Defending him much? Jeez, what happened to you?”
“I don’t know. I’m so confused.” Face, meet hands. If Mara were here right now, she would rip my fingers from my face and force me to put my big girl panties on and not die from how pathetic I am.
“Okay, so let me help. That’s why you called, right? Tell me the problem. Other than the fact that you’re probably horny and he left you high and dry, in which case my suggestion is to masturbate.”
“Oh, God, Mara, no. I mean, what do I do? I know he left me high and dry, but do I stay a little longer and take my shot, or do I tuck my tail between my legs, lick my wounds and hide, then go back to New York tomorrow?”
“Truth?”
“Always.” But only if you tell me to stay. Nope. I can’t say that. She will never let me live it down.
“You go home. You go home, you write a kick-ass article, and you chalk this up to what it is.”
“And what exactly is it?” Setting the phone to speaker and placing it next to my head, I wait for her to tell me.
“One fantastic mistake that didn’t go too far, that you can always remember fondly.”
I clear my throat, more like choke . . . “Seriously, that’s your advice?” I sound exasperated. Which I am.
“Well, it’s not like you’re gonna listen anyway.”