Page 63 of The Perfect Mistake

“No,” I say. Those three beers coupled with a pounding heart make me brave. “Not even then. Alec… Why are you still up?”

“You know why,” he says.

My stomach tenses. Yes, I do.

“Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

There are a few sweet, tense seconds where the silence between us thickens. When I don’t know what he will do or say, if I have pushed it too far, or not far enough.

Alec’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, and his shoulders rise and fall as if he’s fighting an inner battle. But in the next second, he’s closing the distance between us.

He slides his hand beneath my jaw, and gently tips my head up. “I care more than I should.”

The words feel like a caress.

“What are you going to do about it?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, a slow, small movement that’s weighted with frustration. He lowers his head, his mouth ghosting over mine.

“I don’t know, Isabel.” He groans, and it sounds like it’s pulled out of his soul. “I don’t fucking know.”

The kiss is slow, at first. It tastes like the burn of alcohol, and I lean into the length of his body. I want to learn it properly. Feel it pressed to mine, against me. On top of me.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters against my lips. The word sends a shiver of warmth down my spine. “Tell me to stop.”

I slide my hand into his hair. “No.”

He groans and kisses down my jaw, my neck, his hand tilting my head for better access. His lips on my delicate skin, and his other hand gliding down to my waist.

The kiss scalds.

I melt into his arms, loving the feel of them around me. His body is intoxicating. Tall and strong, but it’s a strength that comes from a life lived, from experiences, from the hurts and the victories, rather than the sculpted muscles of dancers I’ve known in my past.

And then it’s over, as abruptly as it began. Alec takes a step back and stares at me like I’m his worst nightmare come to life.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I can’t do this to you.”

He turns and walks away. But not toward his bedroom. No, he walks to the patio door and wrenches it open. The rain pelts against the terrace, the heavens letting loose, but he steps out into the storm.

“Alec,” I say. “Alec!”

He stops in the middle of the patio. Eyes closed, water sluicing down his face.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

But there’s no response. The city glitters around him, and, in the distance, I can hear the sound of a wailing siren. I walk outside, into the rain, and grip his arm.

He looks down at me, his eyes widening. Like he can’t believe I followed him out here. My lips still burn from his kiss, and I’m angry, frustrated, and tipsy.

I can’t do this to you, he’d said. Don’t I get a say?

“What if I told you to stop holding back.” My hand on his wrist tightens. “To stop denying what you want.”

His eyes look almost black. “You don’t want me to do that.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” I say. “Because I want you.”

Alec’s jaw clenches, like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But then, his brows lower and his chin drops. “You’re sure.”

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