Page 31 of Reluctantly His

CHAPTER 12

REID

Fuck the job.

Fuck staying away from her.

A man didn’t taste the sweetness of liquid sugar on his tongue, while holding the pure innocence—yet dangerous destructiveness—of fire, and then walk away because of cold, bitter propriety.

Before she could say a word, before she could think of an excuse to push me away, I grabbed the back of Charlotte’s head, lacing my fingers in those beautiful brown locks, and pulled her lips to mine.

This wasn’t just a kiss, some delicate thing.

I was devouring her, claiming her.

This beautiful siren who had been so breathtakingly stunning on stage. I’d forgotten to breathe. The way she was utterly consumed by the music had transfixed me.

In my life, I’d been fortunate enough to see true beauty.

Sunrise at the Taj Mahal when the golden light bathes the white marble in pastel pinks and oranges. The Iguazu Falls as the water thundered around me while I was surrounded by water crystal rainbows. The simple perfection of a soprano hitting the perfect note at the La Scala Opera House in Milan. Camping outside while watching the night sky light up in vibrant emerald and sapphire from the northern lights.

I’d also borne witness to the most terrible.

Illness wiping out villages, killing the young and the old. Corruption, greed, and evil wreaked on the already impoverished. The pain and hopelessness of famine.

Until I watched Charlotte play, I thought I’d experienced the best and the worst life had to offer.

I was wrong.

Nothing had ever made me feel the way Charlotte did while watching and listening to her play cello.

Despite my intention to keep my hands off her, knowing everything about this was wrong, I couldn’t resist.

I had to have her.

I had to taste her again, like somehow kissing her was going to let me experience a fraction of the power she had when she was on that stage.

Her hands went to my shoulders, and I braced myself for her rejection.

“Are you mad?”

I tightened my grip in her hair. “Yes. Fucking insane.”

Why deny the truth? A man would have to be crazy to even contemplate what I was planning.

I captured her mouth again as I moved forward, shoving her against the wall, my hips pressing into her stomach, grinding my hardness against her intoxicating softness.

She wrenched her face to the side. Her lips were already swollen, with a hint of red around the pale skin of her cheeks and chin from the harsh scrape of my stubble.

I should feel like an asshole for marking her in such a course and common way, but I didn’t.

Her fingernails dug into my shirt. “We shouldn’t do this.”

That wasn’t a no.

And it was all the permission I needed.

I tore at the straps of her black lace gown like an animal, shoving the neckline down and exposing the top curves of her breasts. Pressing my mouth to her creamy skin, I feasted with open mouthed kisses as I grasped the lower hem and wrenched it upwards.

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