Page 125 of Mayhem and Minnie

“It was you, you idiot!” she screams. “I kissed you on the cheek, didn’t I?”

I blink. A deep sense of relief envelops me and I’m able to breathe properly again.

“Just me?” I ask, just to make sure.

Did it suddenly get too hot in here? I pull on my collar to loosen the tie.

“Just you,” she confirms.

“Good. Make sure it stays that way,” I grumble, though inside I’m gloating.

Pleasure spreads through me as I let myself enjoy this small win.

“What about you?” she asks in a vicious tone. “How many women have you kissed, Marlowe?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed as she looks at me. If those beautiful eyes could shoot daggers, I’d be riddled with holes right now.

Veering to the right, I stop the car by the side of the road and turn toward her.

She’s still glaring at me.

“How many, Marlowe?” she repeats in an icy tone.

Fuck. I’ve always hated the cold, but if it’s coming from Minnie, I suppose I can learn to like it.

Minnie is probably thinking the number is in the hundreds, and she’s waiting for me to voice that number aloud so she can give me the cold shoulder treatment for another week.

Alas, I have a surprise in store for her.

I smirk at her and cup her cheeks. Her eyes widen and her brows pull up in confusion.

She blinks repeatedly, fluttering those long and pretty lashes at me. I ignore the fact that she’s wearing dead people’s ashes on her lids. Even human remains look good on her.

Leaning in, I press my lips against the corner of her mouth, just as she’d done to me before.

Her skin is soft and warm. And as I make contact with the corner of her lips, a jolt of electricity shoots through me. It stings, but it’s a sweet pain that I’d gladly seek more of.

This close, her scent invades my nostrils. She’s not wearing perfume. I’ve already ascertained she’s allergic to it. But there’s something absolutely delectable about the way she smells—as if she just bathed in a mix of cherry blossoms and musk. My nostrils flare, and I get the urge to move my lips to the left until my mouth covers hers—until her breath becomes my breath.

My clothes are suddenly too tight, too stifling.

Just a small contact, and I find myself on the verge of losing control.

Would her mouth taste heavenly too?

I linger for exactly five seconds. I count it. Much longer and we’d never make it to dinner with my mother, that’s for sure. Not when I’m certain her taste would be a hundred times more addictive than her cooking.

I pull back.

“There,” I whisper. “We’re even now.”

She’s frozen on the spot, her eyes on me.

She presses her lips together, her tongue peeking out to lick the place I just kissed.

“What do you mean we’re e-even?” she stammers.

I smile.

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