I’m itching to look at him. My skin feels too tight. I need…something.
He’s so very close. I can feel his breath as his chest moves faster. Is he having the same problems as me? We kissed not even an hour ago, so I don’t know why I’m so scared.
Well, I do. It took him five months after the first time to kiss me again or even acknowledge it.
Maybe I should pretend I need the bathroom and give us both a minute?
But my legs won’t move. I will them to get up, but every single part of me wants him, anything that he’s willing to give. And that’s exactly why I can’t.
I won’t be the type of girl who hurts herself for a few stolen moments with a man who doesn’t want more. There will never be anything casual about Kitt to me, so as much as I want to feel his lips, his…well, all of him, I won’t allow myself, not unless I know he’s in this properly.
Heartbreak won’t look good on me.
Move your arse right now.
“Do you want a beer?” I ask, still staring straight ahead.
All I need to do is get him to snap out of it. He’s the one causing the problem.
“No, thanks,” he whispers in a husky voice that is just sex.
Well, shit.
With my heart thumping, I turn my head against my better judgement. It’s not just his voice that is pure sex tonight. His eyes are burning.
You need to put a stop to this right now.
I squirm on the spot and kick my legs up under my butt. I’m aching. My nipples harden and strain against the light padding in my bra.
His head tilts a fraction, like he’s getting in the optimum position to kiss me. I mimic the action but the other way.
Dangerous. This is dangerous. Abort. Abort!
What will you do if this is just a repeat of the last times he kissed you or crossed the line and then switched back to being your bestie?
Remembering how badly my heart aches for him is all I need.
“I’ll get those beers,” I say, jumping up like I’ve just been burned.
He didn’t even want a beer. Tough now.
Kitt clears his throat, but I don’t look back. I head to the kitchen, determined to get wasted and forget what almost happened back there. Again.
Ha! The idea that I could forget anything with him is hilarious.
But I’m making the right decision here. It would have been so easy to kiss him there, but afterward would’ve hurt worse than ever.
Relationships can’t be this complicated, surely? Definitely not, or no one would bother with it.
I wrench the minibar open with so much anger and frustration that I almost pull the door clean off. I don’t need a lecture about damaging property from my dad, so I make sure to close it nicely after grabbing two beers. A stronger drink sounds good about now, but there’s nothing strong enough to stop the way my body is throbbing with need for Kitt.
I’m so sexually frustrated that I could scream.
When I turn to go back, Kitt is staring at the TV, like his life depends on it—or like it’s porn.
Okay, things have escalated quickly, like they tend to do with us, and I need to do something to lighten it up. This can’t be how we are around each other. I hate the uncertainty. If we can’t be together, I can accept that, but what I can’t accept is anything less than a best friend because that’s what he’s come to be to me. There’s no one that I feel so comfortable around—present situation excluded—and we can’t lose that because of a kiss and a near miss.
It’s not worth it.
New rule: Unless he tells you he wants more with you, don’t go there. No more Eiffel Tower kisses or kisses of any other kind. You’re going to be strong.
I thump down on the sofa with full force, and he cracks a smile. Handing him a beer, I kick back and hope that he’ll get on board with getting us back to normal. He will want that, too. We’re too close to be distant.
“Thanks,” he mutters as he finally looks up.
His cocky smirk is back—thank God—and he looks like my Kitt again.
That’s all I need right this second. The rest, I can work out—or try to—later.
“I didn’t open them. Can you do them with your mouth?” I ask.
He gives me a wink. “I can do anything with my mouth.”
Yep, he’s definitely normal again.
“Really, Kitt?” I say dryly.
“I’ve gotten women off with the first—”
I slap his arm. “We don’t need to go there.”
“Prude.”
Rolling my eyes, I thrust my beer at him. That needs to be opened right the hell now. I’m having horrible, horrible mental images that are making me feel sick.
How much damage can bleach really do to your eyes?
Chuckling, he takes the bottle and pops the lid with his teeth. I’d be too scared of breaking one, so I’m never going to attempt it.
“Here, baby.”
Baby?
Swoon.
KITT
MONDAY, MAY 11
GERMANY
We’re back on the bus, and we have just entered Germany. Soon, we’ll be arriving in Berlin.