Page 49 of The Kiss of Deception

All my truths are getting tangled, an intricate web of lies—infinite threads that tie my hands and render me useless.

But right now, all I can see is red.

I want to erase those words. I want to erase the red nails, red lipstains. I want to erase so many things I’m not sure I know all of them.

I free my hand roughly to fists the lapels of his shirt.

“Don’t.”

And I yank his mouth to mine.

Chapter Twelve

Miles

She tastes like sweet alcohol and all the things my dreams are made of. Disconcerting and intoxicating and unreal.

Zoe Westwood tastes like all the things that make her were made for me.

After years of falling asleep to conspiracies of what her lips would feel like under my mouth, taste like in my tongue, I finally have the answer.

She tastes like every kiss in the world will never be enough—like a lifetime will be too little.

Soft and hard, all at once, the press of her mouth against mine begs and demands.

A gasp parts her lips, as though she, too, is stunned. I find my way in. Without hesitation, her tongue tangles with mine like she’s been searching for me, too, and her nails curl into my scalp, grip as punishing as mine on her waist.

A kiss written to be my undoing.

A kiss meant to steal the last of my sanity.

Until she ends it.

She hovers, and I breathe her in, the warmth of her exhales bathing my tingling lips.

I want to stay right here forever, just like this. But I need to see her face, flushed cheekbones and dark lashes.

The rough brush of my thumb against her swollen lip pulls her drunk pupils to mine, and I’m floating on a bubble, disconnected from any reality that isn’t Zoe Westwood, mesmerized by sheer beauty. The world pales behind her, dim and muted and utterly inconsequent.

My bubble is made of glass, though.

And we have an audience.

From the stands below, eyes and cameras are set on us, unflinching, unblinking, tainting our kiss.

Or perhaps they simply show the full picture—so I can see the kiss for what it is.

Deception.

The kiss, a deception.

It deceived me.

The game ended with a Blue victory.

All I feel is defeat.

Other than the soundtrack of a roiling stadium, there was only silence. There still is.

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