“When I saw you with him, it was the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. I managed to fool myself into believing I could get over you, but I can’t. And I don’t think you’re over me.”
“I’m getting married,” I say firmly.
“That’s not what I said. I said, I think you still love me, too.”
His words hang between us. I back up, standing on my tiptoes, and place my bottom on the table to increase the distance between us, if only by inches. He uses the opportunity to move in closer, maneuvering in between my legs, and pressing his body against mine.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, his hot breath now on my cheek.
I freeze. I can’t think, say, or do anything. Reaching up with one hand, he tucks a stray hair, which hangs in my face, behind my ear. I tell myself to push him away, but my arms aren’t listening to me. Instead, I find myself licking my lips, wishing for a taste, just once more.
I part my lips, and I close my eyes and let go, giving all control to him. I can taste the bitterness from my morning coffee in my saliva. My chest begins to ache, and my stomach groans in anticipation of what might be coming next.
I notice my hands clenched into balls of sweaty fists. Opening them, I rub my palms against my jeans. I feel Christian grab my hands. I still don’t open my eyes. He forcefully places them on his hips, pressing hard against me now. In an instant I’m turned on, and the desire starts to overwhelm me.
What am I doing? The question pushes its way into my thoughts, but is quickly shoved out when I feel his lips graze my cheek.
He whispers, “You want this. I can tell.”
Damn it! Is he right? My body seems to think so.
“I won’t kiss you unless you want me to,” he moans.
I turn my head into his lips without hesitation. I don’t want him to talk; I want so much more. At last the warmth of his mouth is against mine. The initial sensation is different than it had been while we were together. Christian hadn’t had facial hair during our entire relationship, and now he maintains consistently thick stubble. At first I find it unsettling, but when his lips part and the wetness of his tongue rushes into my mouth, all I want is for the kiss to never end.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in, pressing his chest against me, gripping me with his strong arms. I can feel his muscles flexing as we kiss. He’s enjoying it as much as me. I wrap my legs around his hips and run my hands up his back, digging my fingers through his shirt, into his flesh. When I do, I feel him moan with delight into my mouth.
The sensation nearly sends we into wild spasms. I throw my head back and, using every muscle in my body, push him away, hopping to the ground, quickly making my way around to the other side of the table.
“Stop!” I gasp.
“If that’s what you want,” he says, delivering a devilish grin before adding, “but your body was telling me something else.”
My voice quivers as I say, “I’m engaged.”
“I thought we already established this.”
“It doesn’t seem to be registering for you.”
“I guess we both know what this means.” He smirks.
“We do?”
“You’ll just have to tell him about us,” he says in a sincere tone.
Now I’m angry. Us? Who said there was an us, and what makes him think he can just come in here, turn on his sex mojo, and tell me what to do?
“No!” I shout.
“What? But—”
“You kissed me, and it was a mistake. Damn it! There is no us!”
“You can keep telling yourself that, but it won’t make it any truer.”
“I love Henry,” I insist.
“Then why did you kiss me?” he asks me pointedly.
I hesitate. I don’t know the answer. I did kiss him, and I loved it. I also want more. I want to rip his clothes off right here and have my way with his incredible body. But I can’t. I can’t because the idea of hurting Henry in that way makes me sick to my stomach. That has to mean something about what I feel for him.
“I don’t know—maybe I do still have some feelings for you. But it doesn’t change the fact that I love Henry,” I finally concede.
He stares at me with a hungry look, and I worry he might swoop in for another kiss. “I think it changes everything. Is it fair to marry Henry when you’ll be thinking about me for the rest of your lives together?”
“Wow.” It’s suddenly becoming much easier to push Christian away. “Aren’t you full of yourself?”
“No, I’m serious,” he argues. “Just hear me out. Maybe it is just a lingering attraction, and nothing could ever truly rekindle between us. But don’t you owe it to yourself and to Henry to figure that out?”