Page 19 of Booked on You
“Cat got your tongue?” she asks, and I bend down to my knee, where I’m eye level with her. I place my fingers under her chin, forcing her to look into my eyes. I breathe in, then move forward and press my lips against hers.
The kiss deepens, and I slide my tongue into her mouth. Scarlett grabs my shirt, needy, nearly desperate to have more of me. She whimpers, and it nearly undoes me. When I pull away, we’re breathless, and my heart is racing.
“Now, I’ve got your tongue,” I say, cocky as fuck.
“Well, fuck,” she whispers, and she places her fingers over her mouth. “That felt like…”
“I warned you,” I tell her, standing.
“You crossed a line we can never uncross.” She’s still holding the notebook in her lap, but the pen falls out of her hand. Her hair’s falling out of whatever clip she tried to wrangle it into, and a bit of ink smudges the edge of her thumb.
Scarlett grabs her things and then walks to the cottage without looking back at me.
I laugh.
“Just admit you fucking loved it,” I holler.
“I can’t!” I hear the cottage door slam closed.
I get the frustration. I felt it, too. I also don’t have time to jump into a long-distance relationship. But at least we both fucking know this spark between us can’t be ignored.
She left behind the ghost of yesterday’s soap, and the sweetness of her still lingers in the air.
The silence hums, and I decide that I won’t let her escape this.
I move to the cottage and knock on the door.
It swings open, and we both pause.
Her hand is still curled around her mug, the sleeve of her shirt pushed up just enough to show the edge of a freckle. I have a sudden irrational urge to trace it with my thumb.
She opens her mouth. Then closes it.
“You’re a distraction I can’t afford right now,” she finally says.
I lift a brow. “Me?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent. I write about men who are just like you.”
“Yeah?” I smirk, somewhat surprised she admitted that. “What’s my next move?”
She licks her lips and shakes her head. “Don’t think so. I am not falling for that.”
I lean a little closer, just enough to make her eyes flick up to mine. “It would be dirty, wouldn’t it?”
“Probably. But I can’t. I’m wasting precious time, and trust me when I say you do not want to get involved with me in any way,” she warns.
“That’s usually my line,” I tell her, amused.
“I’m serious, Ezra,” she says. “I would never be good for you, not even as a fling. I will ruin your perfect life.”
“Aah, see, my life is far from perfect. Also, considering you’re a romance writer, you know that you don’t get to choose who you fall for. It’s going to happen, regardless,” I explain to her.
For a second, we stand there, surrounded by the scent of warm grass and Harry’s distant crow.
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, then backs away.
“Thanks for stopping by,” she says, closing the door.
