Page 8 of Dirty Like Zane
Then his lips metmine.
Warm.
Soft.
He gave me the most feather-soft, barely-touching kiss… and the floor dropped out from under me. The world turned upside-down and my throatconstricted.
My heart pounded right to astop.
I didn’tmove.
Icouldn’t.
I knew I was a masochist when it came to Zane; that had already been established. I was a strong woman, but I was weak when it came tohim.
I was just trying not to be a total moron and fuck him on day one of thistour.
We cannot fuck around on this tour, I’d told him, the last time we were alone together. Two monthsago.
And again only three days ago, over thephone.
Yeah, Maggie, he’d said.We sure as fuckcan.
Which meant we were at astalemate.
Again.
Always.
His hand dropped away, his lips left mine and he brushed past me, leaving me with a whiff of his sexy man-scent. Then he dropped down the steps and off the bus, and he wasgone.
I exhaled hard… then inhaled, deep. My lungs ached from not breathing for solong.
At least my heart had started beating again; pounding. I could’ve sworn it’d really stopped for a minutethere.
And my pussyached.
Truly, one of the worst problems with being madly, insanely, stupidly in lust with a man whom I firmly, deeply, to-the-marrow-of-my-bones believed I could never be with was that it made it difficult to be with anyone else. Impossible, actually. Which meant that I hadn’t been. Withanyone.
Anyone buthim, since we weremarried.
Almost two yearsago.
And it was slowly killingme.
I, Maggie Omura, was suffering a slow, slow death bydesire.
Unsateddesire.
Or at least, rarely-sateddesire.
It dawned on me, too slowly, that the blinds were open on the lounge windows… and panic hit me like a lightning bolt to the spine.Shit. SHIT.Did anyone see thatshit?
Jesus, what the fuck were wedoing?
I walked straight to the back, to the bunks, and rolled into mine. And then it really sankin.
Oh dearGod.
