Page 47 of The Last Kiss

He snatches his phone away, swiping the screen. “One thing.” The eyebrow tells me this is important, and I nod, swallowing.

“Yes?”

“No running away.”

“But that’s not the rules.”

“This time is my rules.”

I swallow again, harder this time, expectation lighting through me like fireworks on the 5th of November. Light me up, Guy Fawkes, I’m on a slippery slope to Doomsday.

Question: What is a one-night stand called when it happens twice?

Answer: Fate.

He taps the screen and then puts his phone back down, his gaze landing on mine with expectation. “Ready, Juliette?”

Yes, Juliette is ready. I stand, pushing back my chair. I grab my coat and bag. Chuckling, he does the same, throwing down notes onto the table for a bill we haven’t even asked for.

“Shouldn’t we…?” I gesture at the table and the five twenties he’s put down for wine and chips.

He grabs my elbow, tucking me into his side, holding me firm. “No time, ma petite, I’ve been thinking of this for a month.” He leans closer to my ear, this unexpected Romeo. “Now I just need you.”

And I need him. It courses through me, a river of desire I didn’t know I was capable of. “How far to the hotel?”

We rush through the bistro’s doors, blustering into February like the rest of January didn’t happen. Like a month hasn’t passed since we were last right here on the cusp of something unknown.

He turns me, tilting my chin with his forefinger and thumb, brushing my mouth with his, pressing firm, stealing little pockets of air from deep within me. “You taste like sunshine and berries. August heat and the moon at midnight, a cool blast of water from the lake at noon.”

I pull back from his lingering kiss and whispered words.

“I taste like a lot.” I blink up at him, hand pressed against his chest.

He drops his forehead to mine, inhaling deeply, “All my favourite things.” One of his hands tucks hair behind my ear as his gaze drills into my secret places, my thoughts and feelings, the scared bits of me that don’t know what anything is anymore. “How did I find them all here in this dismal place with grey skies and concrete and glass?”

“I don’t know,’ breathlessly, I pull him back in, slanting my mouth over his, my body scorching as I shift against him. “How far is the hotel?” I ask again.

Grinning against my mouth, he flicks his eyes open over my shoulder. “Fifty steps.’ The grin becomes crooked. “And a Tube.”

I snort, pulling him close. He remembered.

We end up back at the same boutique hotel as before, its black railings comforting and familiar.

Romeo explains to the staff that he’s missed his train. There’s lots of shrugging and good-humoured enthusiasm from the girl behind the reception desk. I hide behind his back in case I’ve got a neon sign stapled to my forehead that states One-Night Stand.

He grasps my handno drink, no firesidestraight for the lift where he pushes me back against the mirror, squeezing my thighs tight and making me moan. “Oh God,” I groan into his mouth and he murmurs at the back of his throat.

“I don’t know where you’ve come from, ma Juliette. He pelts kisses across my skin, teeth nipping my throat. “But mon dieu, I’m glad you’re here.”

With every plant of his kisses, the desolate days of January slowly unwind, painting them into bright splashes of colour, yellow instead of grey, pink instead of black.

He carries me to room one-hundred and three, opening the door easier this time. Practise makes perfect so they say. I know just what I want to practise. I want to become a master in the field of screwing him inside out.

“No running.” He demands with a kiss.

“Not running.”

“Breakfast is a condition of this.” As if to prove the point, he places me on the floor, edging back, putting space between us that rushes like icy water.