Page 25 of The Cousins and the Brunette

“Never.”

His lips brushed mine then, a whisper of a kiss that promised so much more. With every fiber of my being screaming for him, I kissed him back with an intensity that startled even me. My hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt.

Damn, this boy could kiss. It was like striking a match in a room full of gasoline - explosive, dangerous, and absolutely thrilling. Part of me wanted to pull back, to remember all the reasons why this was a terrible idea. But the rest of me? The rest of me was too busy melting into a pool of lust.

Braxton’s response was immediate, fervent, his hands gripping my waist and pulling me closer still. We were a whirlwind of need, kissing with a hunger that seemed to consume us both. There was nothing else but the heat of his mouth on mine, the electric touch of his skin against my fingertips.

I should have been thinking about the danger, about the lies weaving tighter around us, but all I could focus on was the fiery desire coursing through my veins. Each kiss felt like a challenge, a question, a dare that neither of us wanted to end.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured against my lips, and I flinched, guilt slicing through the haze of lust.

Shit. Reality check, served ice cold. Nothing like hearing another woman’s name to douse the flames of passion. For a split second, I considered coming clean, spilling my guts about who I really was. But self-preservation kicked in, reminding me that honesty wasn’t always the best policy—especially when you’re neck-deep in a con.

He paused, his eyes searching mine. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I assured quickly, too quickly. “It’s just...maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Hey,” Braxton said softly, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw. “If it’s too fast—”

“It’s not that. It’s just...” I trailed off, not sure how to explain the turmoil inside me without revealing that I was a fake—a liar, an imposter.

“Talk to me,” he urged.

I looked into his eyes, those deep pools of warmth and mischief, and felt a pang of sorrow for the deceit between us. But it was too late for confessions, too late to back away from the dangerous game I’d begun.

“Sometimes things feel too good to be true. And people get hurt.”

Oh, if he only knew how true that was. I was playing with fire, knowing full well I was going to get burned and probably take him down with me.

“Nobody’s getting hurt tonight,” he said firmly, pulling me to my feet. “Not on my watch.”

His lips found mine again, and suddenly we were moving, caught up in the dance of kisses and caresses once more. His hands were bold yet gentle, exploring the curves of my body, drawing out sensations that left me breathless and wanting.

I knew I should stop this, put the brakes on before we crossed a line we couldn’t come back from. But my body had other ideas, responding to his touch like a finely tuned instrument. It was intoxicating, this feeling of being wanted, desired. For a moment, I could almost forget who I really was, lose myself in the fantasy of being Elizabeth. Almost.

For those stolen moments, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of us, in the foolish hope that there was a chance for something real amidst the lies and deceit.

“Braxton,” I gasped, when we finally broke apart, my pulse racing. “I—”

He smiled, pressing his forehead to mine. “No more words. Just this. Just us.”

I knew that no matter what happened next, I had already crossed a line from which there was no return.

Braxton drew back slightly, his eyes roaming over my body with undisguised hunger. A smoldering intensity burned in his gaze as it met mine again. The cell seemed to grow warmer with him in it and my lust for this sexy man only grew stronger, more intense.

Holy crap, the way he looked at me made me feel like I was melting from the inside out. Part of me wanted to crack a joke to break the tension, but a bigger part just wanted to devour him whole. So much for my vaunted street smarts—right now I was about as sharp as a bowl of jello.

“Damn, you’re so pretty,” Braxton murmured breathily, his voice rough with desire. One hand moved slowly down my side, his touch leaving a fiery path along my sensitized skin.

I trembled, arching into him, craving more contact. “Kiss me again. Please.” I leaned into him. I just needed him, with a desperation that eclipsed rational thought.

His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him so I could feel every hard plane and angle of his body through his clothes. I gasped as his hardness pressed insistently against my thigh as we sat on the bed, betraying how much he wanted me, too.

My brain short-circuited. All those years of carefully built walls came crumbling down in an instant. I’d spent so long convinced I didn’t need anyone, that I was better off alone. But right now, with Braxton’s hands on me, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever thought that was a good idea.

Braxton captured my lips in another scorching kiss, his touch devouring me with an urgency that left me lightheaded. His tongue delved deep, stroking and caressing until I was clinging to him, my knees weak. I explored the sculpted muscles of his back and shoulders, reveling in the feeling of his body pressing into the mine. Every nerve ending was alive and singing with sensation.

He nuzzled my neck, his breath hot against my skin. Braxton placed open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I first saw you,” Braxton confessed, his voice a low rumble that I felt all the way to my core.

---