Page 26 of Texting My Valentine

“A laugh is a laugh,” I say with a shrug.

“My poems are… depressing. About something that happened when I was a kid, mostly. I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Of course,youdon’t,” she grumbles cutely.

“Am I missing something?”

“You’re Mr. Serious.”

“I don’t have to be serious all the time,” I say, passion burning in my voice as I give in to my desire, let my hand slip down herbody and over her hip. I grab her fleshiness greedily, massaging her, staring into her eyes.

She gazes up at me, looking shocked and excited, like she can’t decide which mood to settle on, her poetic mind clashing, her lust tempting her.

She settles her hand on my chest and squeezes, her fingernails scraping against my shirt. “What do you think you’re doing, doctor?”

“You really don’t know how irresistible you are, do you? How beautiful you are?”

I grab her other hip, greedily holding her in both my hands.

“I…” She looks down as if suddenly afraid. “I…”

CHAPTER 9

TORI

Atouch shouldn’t be able to do this.

His hands press warmly through my shirt, burning against my skin, the sensation sizzling all over me as I try to tell myself this is exactly what I wanted—a casual hookup with a man who makes me wet with excitement.

When he tells me I’m perfect, though, suddenly, it’s like I need to hit the brakes. I care too much. Well, notcare. Come on, Tori. Be honest. Okay. I care. It means something, this dashing doctor telling me I’m irresistible. The meaning amplifies when he glides his hand around to the small of my back, inching toward my ass.

I squeeze my legs together as my sex aches, my clit throbbing like I’m going to, you know, right here, without him even touching me. I can’t let somebody have this much power over me. Am I overthinking it? Probably.

My hand tightens against his chest. His muscles press against me like they’re going to snap my fingernails.

“You’re not going to tell me you don’t want this.” His voice is a husky drawl.

“Don’t talk like you can read my mind,” I snap.

“I don’t need to read your mind when I can read your body.”

He pulls me closer. I gasp, then shut my mouth. This is all becoming very ‘swept off my feet,’ and I can’t let that happen.

“I’m not going to sleep with you on this beach, smart guy.”

He leans down. As we stare into each other’s eyes, suddenly, Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem so silly. His lips brush close to mine, a tempting taste, but the feeling of powerlessness stops me again. He can’t be in charge.

I’ll be left a crumpled mess like Mom. Struggling to make sense of what happened, crippled with emotional whiplash.

I push myself away while I still can before the heat reaches a tipping point. In my head, Cleo is watching me judgmentally, annoyed that I wouldn’t just give myself to him.

My body feels pretty bothered by it, too. My heart is pounding hard; my inner thighs are aching, my lips tingling like some primal part of me is anticipating the kiss.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers, taking my hands as I create some distance between us.

“I’m sure I’m not much more beautiful than your last girl.”

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