“I never hated you, Kate. And I can’t stand for you to think otherwise.”
“You can’t just . . . say that,” I whisper, my eyes slipping shut. His thumb drifts down my throat, tender, featherlight, scattering sparks beneath my skin.
“I know.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” I tell him, my body listing traitorously toward him.
“Not yet,” he says quietly. “But I’m trying.”
“How? We can’t stand each other.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “You so sure about that?”
My eyes drift open, meeting his. “What?”
His gaze drops to my lips. “My mouth is very, very close to yours, Kate.”
I swallow. “I’m aware.”
“And you want it there. Otherwise, I’d have a knee in my nuts right now.”
A breathy, exasperated laugh leaves me. “You’re such an arrogant—”
“Infuriating,” he adds.
“Frustrating,” I growl, wrapping my hand tight around his coat, pulling him close.
“Menace,” he whispers, dragging me by the waist until I’m pinned against him. He dips his head as I peer up at him and our noses brush. Our lips are a breath apart. We both draw in a long, rough tug of air.
“God, Kate,” he whispers.
A current surges between us, white-hot, crackling, as his mouth lowers toward mine. The world careens off its axis, tipping me toward him, up on my toes.
My mouth brushes his, and a shock jolts us both. But neither of us pulls away.
Christopher lets out a low, aching sound of satisfaction as he cups my face, guiding our kiss. At first it’s soft, a whisper of warmth and promise, then it’s hungry, velvet-hot, slow, searching tastes, his mouth learning mine.
Deep inside me, a spark ignites to a flame, flooding my body with heat. It makes me lean in, desperate for more. Christopher senses this somehow, or maybe he wants it as badly as I do, because as I throw my arm around his neck, his grip spans my waist, then tightens, dragging me against him.
One hand splays up my back, arching me into him, until it settles at the nape of my neck and rubs gently. Our mouths fall open on twin moans, and his tongue softly strokes mine, coaxing. I gasp and lean in, consumed with helpless, restless need.
Christopher’s hand slides higher up my neck, scraping into my hair. He tips my head for a better angle and groans roughly as our kiss deepens, wet and warm, slow, steady strokes of his tongue.
I’m panting, aching, because this kiss is an ember and my body is a blaze, burning awake, begging for longer kisses and stronger touch to ground this frantic energy bringing me to life. I need him. I need this. I need more.
But when I try to pull us closer together, my shoulder twinges sharply. A quiet cry of pain jumps out of me.
Christopher tears himself back, breathing hard, his gaze searching me frantically. “I hurt you.”
“No. No, I’m fine,” I tell him, my hand sliding up his chest. “It’s not you. My shoulder is just a little sore.”
He ducks his head as if he’s gathering himself. He breathes out a slow, concerted breath. “I shouldn’t have . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”
Those words echo in the air and sour it. My pride stings like a slapped cheek.
Christopher shakes his head, staring down at the ground, scrubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry, Kate. I just—”
“Wanted to talk?” I ask, stepping back and wiping my lips with the back of my hand, trying to erase the memory of him from my mouth. I hate how weak I just was, wanting that. Even more, I hate that he’s humiliated me again.
I can’t believe we just kissed.
Christopher and I kissed.
Where’s the sign of the end times? The meteors raining down from the sky? The pestilence and rivers of blood and the Four Horsemen?
Christopher swears under his breath. His eyes meet mine, dark with regret. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Of course not,” I say tightly. “You could kiss anyone, why kiss me?”
“Now you’re twisting my words,” he says. “Don’t do that.”
“You’re right. How unfair of me! Our history dictates that, without hesitation, I should give you the benefit of the doubt!”
He yanks at his hair. “I’m sorry, all right?”
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear! How sorry you are! How much you regret kissing me!”
His eyes narrow and he erases the small amount of space I put between us. “What are you angry about, Kate? The kiss, or what I said about it?”