Page 98 of Falling Like Snow

Suddenly, he pulls away and takes my hand. “Come.”

He tugs me out of the ballroom and into the lobby, practically jogging.

“What are we doing?” I squeal, laughing as he leads me down a quiet, secluded hallway.

He stops near an ice machine at the end of the hall and turns to me with the most handsome, devilish grin. But instead of answering, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me again, making me giggle.

It’s nice to feel wanted. To feel like a guy wants to kiss me. To venture into this uncharted territory with someone who isn’t my best friend so I don’t have to feel weird about it.

Micah slants his mouth and parts his lips, his tongue softly brushing mine. With the deepening kiss, I wait for the same explosion of internal fireworks I had when I kissed Asher. I hold my breath for the same swarm of butterflies I felt low in my belly, for my blood to turn to lava, for the uncontrollable need to press every inch of my body against his.

Micah is a great kisser. He’s hot and charismatic and confident. And yet kissing him doesn’t make me giddy. My heart isn’t soaring, and my stomach isn’t somersaulting. Even my initial infatuation with him seems to have dissolved.

It’s almost like kissing one of those artsy marble statues—ripped, tall, good-looking, but unable to make me feel alive.

Because he isn’t Asher, a voice in the back of my mind taunts.

My stomach twists. Ugh, it’s the truth. The worst possible truth.

I will never feel for Micah how I feel for Asher.

Yes, people share meaningless kisses all the time. But ours wasn’t one of them. At least not for me.

Micah pulls back just far enough to grin at me. “Definitely not unkissable.”

I force a smile, but before I can respond, his lips are on mine again. Slowly, Micah’s hands slide from my face, down my back, to my ass. And all I feel is uncomfortable.

“Micah—”

He presses his lips harder against mine, pushing his tongue into my mouth. My pulse surges with anxiety as his hands roam, prodding and palming and tracing my every curve and peak as if my body belongs to him.

I let out a nervous laugh as I pull my face away. “Micah, please.”

“Please what?” he asks, planting a kiss on my collarbone. “Happy to please you in any way you want. Just ask.”

“What? No, I meant—”

His lips crash into mine again, rendering me speechless as he pulls me into him. “God, you are so hot,” he mutters against my mouth.

“Please, stop,” I whimper between kisses, my hackles up and my body now trembling.

Micah pauses and smiles at me—a warm, gentle smile that makes me feel like I’m being ridiculous. “I thought this was what you wanted,” he says. Then he plants yet another unwelcome kiss on my lips, erasing my self-doubt.

I push him back as hard as I can, barely moving him.

“No,” I say firmly. “I said stop.”

He frowns as he closes the small distance between us. “Don’t be a tease, Sloane. You said you wouldn’t run. You wanted me to kiss you. You’ve practically been begging me in those texts.”

I take a step backward, noting I won’t be able to go much farther before I’m pinned against the wall.

“You followed me out here knowing exactly what was happening,” he continues.

“I didn’t know this was what was going to happen,” I argue, fighting tears.

I will not cry in front of this asshole.

He moves to take another step forward, and I shake my head. “Don’t come any closer.”