Page 44 of Black Roses

This foreign feeling rushing through my body like a tidal wave—it’s not love. That I’m sure of. But what is it . . . Lust? . . . Desire? I’m positive I’m the only living twenty-two-year-old on earth who can’t discern these emotions.

“Piper?”

Oh, hell. He must think I’m an imbecile. “Right, my piercing. Uh, remember how I said I would work for shop owners? Mrs. Kranstein owned a boutique and spa in Berlin. I worked for her for about a month.”

“A month?” he questions. “Just how many piercings do you have? And, um . . . where are they?”

I can’t help my face-splitting smile. I’m just not sure it’s the result of his joke, or the way his thumb is now lightly caressing the back of my hand. “Just the nose. Well, and these.” I lift my free hand and point to my ears.

“Well, I like it—the nose piercing. Not too over the top and pretentious. It’s subtle. Intriguing. Sexy.”

More of those indescribable emotions course through me. I’ve never wanted a man to call me such things. I’ve never before strived tobesuch things.

I’m also one-hundred-percent sure I’m in for disappointment. I’ll disappoint him when he touches me. I’ll disappoint my sisters when they find out what a failure I am. I’ll disappoint my parents if I never make something of my life.

But more importantly, I’ll disappointmeif I don’t even try. So when he asks me once again to spend tomorrow afternoon with Hailey and him, I agree.

~ ~ ~

When we return to Skylar’s, I see through the sidelight that the townhouse is dark. Only the lights over the stove illuminate the kitchen in a soft glow. Skylar and Griffin must have turned in early. Little Aaron has been wearing them out.

Mason comes up behind me. His fingertips trail down my arms, sending quivers of anticipation charging through me. He takes my hand in his. “I’ll walk you in. Just to get you settled.”

The three glasses of champagne I had tonight unite and decide that allowing him inside after our date is not an abhorrent idea after all.

As I walk to the kitchen to deposit my purse on the counter, every hair on my neck is acutely aware of how he follows me, step for step. I steady myself against the cold granite, wondering if I can handle what comes next.

Kissing—that’s what comes next.

I slowly turn around keeping my eyes glued to the ground. I’ve kissed a few men over the past few years. Kissing is safe. Kissing doesn’t scare me. Probably because it’s the one thing that doesn’t plague my dreams. My lips belong tome, not them. It’s the stuffafterthe kissing that terrifies me.

Still, those I’ve kissed in the past didn’t stick around for an encore. And I could hardly blame them. Each benign encounter felt like a kiss from my father. No excitement. No fireworks. They were plain. Unexciting. Ordinary.

Part of me hates the thought of ruining what Mason and I have. Once we kiss, everything will change. It will be awkward and forced. I will stiffen like a board. He will pull away, feigning some kind of forgotten appointment or family emergency. It happens. Every time. Just because kissing is safe doesn’t mean I’m any good at it.

When I was little, before my life went to shit, I used to practice kissing my handheld mirror. I imagine the men who have endured my kisses have a similar experience—feeling as if they are kissing something inanimate. Empty.

“Don’t think about it, Piper. Just do it.”

Mason’s voice startles me, reminding me I’m not alone. It’s now I realize I’ve been staring at his lips. This whole time, I’ve been mindlessly staring at his full, firm, inviting lips, probably looking like a feline in heat.

“Mason, I’m not sure—”

Before I can tell him all the reasons for not wanting to ruin what has become a beautiful friendship, his lips meet mine.

And I don’t stiffen.

I melt.

I melt into his firm yet soft lips, the heat from them searing through my body, a tornado destroying everything in its path, leaving me utterly destroyed in its wake. Ruined for any other lips that may try to claim mine in the future.

Every atom in my small universe is focused on the movement of his mouth against mine. Every particle of my being is hoping he won’t ever stop. Every thought that infiltrates my head gives me reasons to pull away.

But I don’t.

I don’t.

Realization consumes me. I want this. I want him. I want normal.

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