Page 56 of Hold Me Today

“But?”

“It feels like a handout.”

“Mina—”

“I know it’s not one.” Her hand scrapes over mine, her short nails dancing over my skin. “But thank you for the offer. And . . . and I’m sorry for lumping you in with a group where you don’t belong. You were trying to help, and I jumped down your throat prematurely.”

Her words wind my heart like a tightly strung coil. “Every person who’s ever made you feel ‘less than’ is an asshole.”

She meets my stare, and the slopes of our noses collide in a gentle bump. “The list is mighty.”

“Ignore them.”

“Already done.”

“I’m not”—I skim my hand up, cupping her jaw—“I’m not like them, Mina.”

“I know,” she whispers.

Beneath my palm, her pulse flutters like a butterfly trapped in a mason jar. I study her features, tracing the lines of a face I thought I knew as well as my own. Twenty-four years, and yet it feels like I don’t know her at all. Not the almond shape of her eyes or the sparse split of hair in her left eyebrow, near the tail. Not the tiny scar on her right cheek that’s shades lighter than her olive skin or the slight widow’s peak of her hairline.

Opening my mouth, I let the admission escape that could ruin us both: “I’m dying to know how you taste.”

Her chest heaves and grazes mine.

Above her head, I curl my fingers inward. “I don’t give a damn about the deal.” My lips press to her forehead. “I don’t give a damn about who owes who what.” Down I travel, over the crooked bridge of her nose, purposely pausing over the bump. “I don’t give a damn about what Effie might say or that I’m not supposed to want you.” A lingering kiss to her cheek. “And I don’t give a damn that I’m not the kind of guy who does flings and you’re not the kind of girl who does long-term.”

I move east, teasing, with my lips hovering over hers. I soak in her shuddering breath that wafts over my mouth, and I fucking relish the way her nails bite into my skin, anchoring my hand to her jawline.

“I need to kiss you,” I murmur, refusing to eliminate the final distance between us. I need her desperate like me, as stripped down to the bone as I feel. Nothing less will do. Purposefully, I press my weight into hers. And her throaty moan is a melody I could play on repeat for the rest of my life.Goddamn perfection. “Tell me no and we’ll stop this right now. No one will ever know that we almost—”

“Stop talking and kiss me, Nick.”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice.

I crash my mouth down over hers and let myself freefall into possibly the worst decision of my life. But, hell, kissing her doesn’t feel like a mistake. No, it feels like we’ve spent years working toward this one moment, dancing around each other, throwing barbs that carry more meaning than either of us have ever admitted.

It feels like fate.

My fingers bury themselves in her thick hair, winding those silky strands around my balled fist. And then I pull my hand back, sharp enough that a delicate gasp breaks from her mouth and she clutches my shoulders like I’m the only thing keeping her from tumbling down the flight of stairs.

I take full advantage.

I graze my tongue along the seam of her lips, demanding entry.

And she gives it with the neediest, sexiest whimper I’ve ever heard.

Oh,fuck.

The sound goes straight to my dick. It strains against the zipper of my jeans, hard and throbbing. I hear nothing but the whirring sound of blood thundering in my head. My lungs squeeze, and I think of nothing but the delicious hint of coffee on her breath and the way she’s clasped one hand to the base of my neck. Reckless. Impulsive. Mina tugs me closer, as demanding as ever, and swirls her tongue with mine, playing, pushing me to give her more.

In this moment, she isn’t Effie’s best friend. She isn’t the thorn in my side that she’s been for over twenty years, always digging her way under my skin and spiking my temper at the slightest provocation.

If you had asked me ten years ago if I’d ever consider kissing Mina Pappas, I would have laughed in your face.

No, you wouldn’t have.

As though to prove me wrong, my imagination takes me through a wheelhouse of memories. Memories of us in Greece with Mina in a bikini and me fighting the desperate need in my veins to look and keep on looking. Memories of us here in Boston, me walking Mina home after school, the way heat stirred low in my groin whenever our fingers accidentally brushed together.

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