I look down to his jet-black hair, feeling his warm mouth kiss across my collarbone. He places another kiss right between my breasts, then all the way up to my jaw. He kisses my throat again. Sucking a little here, licking a little there, kissing a little more. I’m looking up at the ceiling, trying to memorize the feel of his lips on me. I feel like I’m separate from my body. If someone were to talk to me, I probably wouldn’t hear them. All I want in life right now is for him to never stop.
He makes his way back to my lips, giving me another soft kiss. I open my mouth immediately and wind my arms around his neck to hold him to me. His hands are big and warm on my thighs—without them I would probably float off somewhere near Cloud Nine. Or in this case, Cloud Ninety-nine.
I melt when I hear his hot voice against my skin. “I keep thinking of that day. And you couldn’t have possibly tasted this sweet. . . .”
I open my mouth, and suddenly I’m kissing him with my whole heart. He is exquisite. Kissing me tenderly, and then kissing me hungrily. The smell of his cologne surrounds me, the heat from his body warms me, and his lips slowly drive me crazy. This little make-out session of ours is going to end up with me in a psych ward.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe, rocking my hips with the sudden ache to get closer to him, to feel his skin on mine.
My body’s trembling. He raises his head and kisses the edge of my mouth, starts nibbling. He groans, and I can tell he’s really getting into it. “Don’t stop,” I beg.
“I’m not stopping until morning.” He draws back and cups my face in both hands. I’m looking into his glowing green eyes, which stare at me with a light in them I can’t describe. He’s looking at me like I’m a goddess. Like he could never have imagined me. He’s looking at me with so much need and tenderness I can feel my throat tighten again. I’m not ready for this. I’m scared. I’m nervous.
“What in the—”
The overhead lights snap on and I sit up in confusion, covering my hot face with my hands.
Gina blinks.
Saint closes his eyes tight, then opens them, and he looks so perfectly hot, so manly, so angry and so debauched by me, I reach out and quickly start to button his shirt, too jealous to let Gina see his chest, his abs, what I’d just been touching so madly.
“I hope what’s happening here isn’t really happening.” Gina scowls with her hands planted on her hips.
“It isn’t,” I blurt; then I look at him as he looks down at me in complete puzzlement, eyebrows slanted low. His hair is standing up adorably, but his expression is beyond annoyed.
“Your roommate,” he curses under his breath as if he should’ve remembered I had one.
Mortified, I pull him to his feet—with much effort—and then to the door. “That . . . was beyond a mistake. I don’t know what got into me.”
His stare is dark as night and his voice is gruff with desire. “I know what got into you—the same thing that got into me.”
“No.” I go into the hall, call up the elevator, and then push him in with all my effort. “’Bye, Saint.”
“I’ll call you, Rachel,” he murmurs as he grabs my face and kisses my mouth, rubbing his tongue a little over mine and making me moan before I tear free and the elevator leaves.
Oh. My. God. What have I unleashed?
“What was that?”
“He was saying goodbye.”
“I’m Gina, remember. Your best friend. I can tell when you’re lying. Were you guys . . . sleeping together on the couch like some item?”
“I had a few drinks. So did he. We had that . . . thing. I’m beyond . . . not thinking well.”
“Okay. ’Cause we know deep down he’s Lucifer, right? The Arch Douche himself? We don’t sleep with the bastard, we do not drop our walls!”
I nod and go to my room. I scrub my mouth with the back of my hand and brush my teeth and then look at my face in the mirror.
What am I doing? I poured my heart out to him. Why didn’t I just tell him I was writing an exposé?
This wasn’t part of my plan. I’m supposed to write an exposé about him, not let him expose me.
But I can’t sleep. I remember the frustration on Saint’s face when Gina came in. A little later, I turn on my lamp and get my cell phone.
I’m sorry about the way I said goodbye, I text, but before sending the text, I dial the number and wonder if he’ll answer. I don’t wonder for long: I hear the sound of him picking up, his voice saying hey.
“I’m sorry about the way I said goodbye.”
There’s a smile in his voice when he answers, relieving me. “If that’s what it takes to get you to call.”
I laugh, then go sober and cuddle up in bed with the phone to my ear, shyly whispering, “You’re different with me than anyone.”
“Because of the ‘fragile, handle with care’ sign you wear.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“You’re so fragile you’ve boxed yourself up so you don’t break.”
“I like my safe zone.”
“Nothing happens in the safe zone.”
“That’s the point—you control everything and it’s predictable and . . . safe.”
There’s a long silence.
Then Saint says, “When you come outside of your box, I’ll be waiting.”
15
A MAKEOVER
What did that even mean?