Page 35 of On the Edge

“Yes.”

“And I still want to kiss you.”

It’s a question even though it isn’t, and Henri gives it the same amount of thought he’s given everything tonight. After a few moments of quiet pass, he whispers, “Yes.”

My stomach jolts like I’ve just missed a step walking down a staircase. I hadn’t come here intending to ask that, and I most definitely didn’t expect him to agree. If everything goes according to plan, by this time tomorrow Henri Vasel will be kissed right out of my system.

I’m already close enough that I don’t have to stretch far to reach him. He looks down at my hands as I put them on his waist, as though he’s surprised I’m touching him. I wait for him to look back up at me, blue eyes meeting mine, before I move one hand to his neck. His breath hitches and he cocks his head to the side again, eyes bright in the dim of the room.

He stands perfectly still as I lean forward and press my mouth to his. The moment I do, his breathing stutters again, and he makes a soft gasping noise in the back of his throat. I pull him toward me until our chests are pressed together, and tilt my head, teasing the seam of his lips with my tongue to try and get him to open.

The smell of him is overwhelming, with my nose against his face, and his scruff scratches deliciously against the pad of my thumb. I want to kiss him hard enough to feel it against my lips. I want him to kiss me back.

Leaning back until I can see his face, I frown at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing,” he says, completely without guile. I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Really? Because I’ve kissed mannequins with more lifethan you.” I glance down at his arms, which are hanging loose by his sides. “You can touch me, if you want.”

“Why are you kissing mannequins?” he asks quietly.

“I told you: I’ll hit on anything when I’m drunk. Stop dodging the question. Why aren’t you kissing me back? You can be honest—if the problem is me, just say it.”

“It is not you,” he whispers. “I am not sure what to do.”

Frowning, I lean back a little more, trying to get his damn lemon-scented skin out of my nose so I can think.

“Henri, just kiss me back. It’s not rocket science. Do whatever you usually do. Whatever feels right.”

“I have never before.”

I realize I’m still touching his damn face, thumb sliding back and forth idly over his scratchy jaw. Dropping my hand down to his shoulder where it’s safer, I let go of where I’m also still holding his hip. I don’t need to have my hands all over him if we’re not making out, but I can’t bring myself to break all points of contact just yet.

“Okay, I’m sorry, are you telling me you’venever kissed anyone before?” He nods. “How thefuckis that possible? You’re weird as shit, sure, but you also look like a fucking movie star.”

I can see it on his face that he’s about to say something literal and ridiculous. Putting my palm over his mouth, I give him a stern look.

“Are you a virgin?” He nods, lips warm on my hand. I curse under my breath and let him go, backing up a step. He licks his lips and my heart rate speeds up dangerously. “Are you serious? How? What about all these dates you’ve been going on?”

“I am sorry,” he says, looking crestfallen. “Perhaps Ishould have told you. But I thought I might like to kiss you and you did offer.”

He looks so apologetic I can’t help but laugh, even as a small seed of worry sprouts in my stomach. I just gave him his first kiss. Under no circumstances should I be providing anyone’s first anything. I’m a plague, and a scourge. I’m the place love goes to die.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to be sorry,” I tell him, rubbing a hand over my eyes.

“I have never been interested in kissing before, until I met you,” he says, head tilted and eyes contemplative on mine. His gaze drops to my mouth. “But I like your hair, and I like talking to you even though you can be rude and think I’m strange. I like looking at you.”

“Oh, well, sure. All of that makes sense.” Shrugging, I offer him the smallest of smiles. I never smile, but I’ve also never kissed a guy, so I guess tonight is a night for trying new things. “You should always determine attraction based on hair.”

Henri sighs. “I am hearing sarcasm.”

“You’ve got good ears.” Reaching up, I tug gently on a wavy lock of caramel hair. “You’ve got good hair, too. And…sorry about calling you weird. You’re not, I’m just a dick.”

Pulling away from him completely and taking a few steps away feels like I’m a planet trying to wrench itself out of orbit. He looks a little forlorn as I back away. If he had floppy ears, they’d be drooping to the floor. Again, he’s giving off puppy vibes, and, again, I donotfind it adorable.

“You are not wanting to do more kissing,” he states glumly. I shake my head.

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