Page 105 of Unwrapping Deviance

It’s remarkable how much he resembles Daniel and not at all. The lips, nose and eyes were definitely the same, but Christian has the face of a poet. I never knew what that meant in books, but I see it in him. There are hard points and deep grooves, rugged, yet soft features where Daniel is all sharp, deep angles that could cut a person.

“Penny for your thoughts, Goldilocks,” he says with a husky drawl that makes my skin tingle.

My gaze inadvertently drops to his mouth, the thin upper, full lower and a reminder of them on mine not that long ago with such sweet care, yet had been merciless this morning at the truck.

Nothing about Christian makes sense. He’s a puzzle that never seems to add up.

“See something you want?”

His eyes draw my attention back up to them and I’m lost in their landscape.

“Yes,” I hear my traitorous mouth whisper.

His grip on me tightens. “Well, what are you going to do about it, sweetheart?”

My lips tingle even before I touch them to his.

“I don’t know,” I murmur before closing the sliver of space.

He kisses with such soul. There’s no other way to explain the wave of everything that follows every motion of his lips. He’s painting his pain and happiness against my mouth. There’s so much of it I’m gasping for air when he frees me.

“Christian.”

His heart is thumping against my side, as wild as mine.

This is not good.

I know I’m not supposed to fall for him, but has Daniel warned him about me?

“Promise me something,” I blurt.

I can see him searching my face, trying to determine my level of seriousness.

“What?” he says at last, and my brain panics.

How presumptuous am I to think he would fall in love with me after two days? It’s wild and horrifying to imagine myself so attractive that he’d simply fall to his knees and beg to stay in my life.

Christian is fucking gorgeous. The kind that dark romance novels are written about. He’s funny and charming, and dirty. He’s also kind and gentle, and sweet. There is no doubt in my mind that there is a line, a football stadium of women back home dying to be with him. Why on earth would he pick me?

He’ll forget me the second he leaves.

“Hey,” he gives me a playful shake, “get out of there.”

I blink and try not to look as broken as I feel inside. “Sorry.” I force a chuckle. “I lost my train of thought. Do you want to walk for a bit?”

He doesn’t believe me. It’s blatant in the narrowing of his eyes, but he sets me down gingerly.

I start around the lake with him next to me. There’s a hole in the hem of his t-shirt and I poke my finger through it.

We avoid the neatly marked paths dotted with parents pushing strollers and walking pets. We stay on the soft grass, bypassing clusters of toddlers and angry geese.

Christian tells me about his job, his apartment, the gray cat that comes to visit him from the apartment above.

“Lord Whiskers is a hostile guest,” he informs me with too much casualness. “I’m pretty sure he’s part of the mob. Demands his protection money in cat treats.”

I’m in fits. My earlier slip is history as he keeps me on the verge of tears.

“Once, he brought backup because I didn’t have treats for him the day before. Didn’t end well.”

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