Page 32 of Poison's Promise

“You’re impossible,” she says, but her tone is softening. A whisper of vulnerability slips through, and my chest tightens.

“Only for you.” I step closer, barely an inch between us now.

Her breath hitches, and I can feel the heat radiating off her body.

My hand finds its way to her waist, fingers curling around her curves, pulling her flush against me.

“Don’t think this means I’m going easy on you,” she warns, but her hands betray her, clutching at my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I whisper, leaning in until our foreheads touch.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I murmur against her lips, feeling her shiver in response.

Her hands slide under my shirt, trailing over my skin, sending sparks shooting through me.

“Shut up,” she whispers, capturing my mouth again. And I do, losing myself in the taste of her, the feel of her.

Everything else fades away—fifty thousand screaming fans, the bright lights, the world outside.

All that matters is here, now, with her.

And when our lips meet, it’s like a match striking against the rough surface of an old, wooden matchbox.

Her hands move to clasp the back of my neck as we deepen the kiss.

I can taste her, truly taste her—like the first sip of a crisp champagne, bubbly and intoxicating.

Flavors of sweet peach and tart cherry subtly weave every time we kiss.

My hand moves from its resting place on her waist to cradle the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her silver blonde hair. “Polly,” I breathe against her mouth.

She hums in response, biting my lower lip softly, causing me to moan low in my throat.

Feeling bold, my hand sweeps downward, tracing the sublime curve of her hip, then further down to the roundness of her rear.

She fits so perfectly in my grasp like she is moulded just for me.

Slyly, my hand slips into the back pocket of her jeans.

She gasps, pulling away just enough to look up at me, her icy gray eyes dark with desire. But there’s also a warning in them, reminding me that this time I have to get it right.

“I mean it, Asher,” she says, her breath hot against my lips. “Don’t get your hopes up, because I’m not optimistic.”

“You might not be, but I’m positive enough for the both of us,” I reply, my hand still cupping her ass. “Trust in that.”

Her gaze holds mine for a moment longer before she leans back in, capturing my mouth once again with a hunger that makes my head spin.

My other hand finds its way under her shirt, the fabric soft and warm against my fingers as I trace the line of her spine.

She shivers at my touch and instinctively presses herself closer, her breasts pushing against my chest.

I break away from our kiss only long enough to mutter these words, “I think we should get out of here.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Poison

“I can’t just leave.” I murmur against his lips, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

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