Page 62 of The Dating Game

Her amber eyes are still on me, waiting for an answer. Something wild and reckless brews in my chest, driving my next words.

“The truth about what I think when I look at you.” I lower my voice. “Be prepared to be scandalized.”

“Scandalized?” she breathes, pink splashing across her cheeks.

“At a very PG level,” I amend because maybe scandalized was slightly too suggestive of a word. “Like Victorian era scandalized.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Oh, I see. This is about your obsession with my ankles. You’re shocked I don’t cover them with a thousand petticoats.”

“Oh yes,” I agree, glancing down at the offending ankles. “Shocked yet also appreciative.”

She laughs, the sound of pure delight. “Thatisquite scandalous.”

“Just wait until I get started talking about your fine eyes.”

“Oh yes, please do channel your inner Mr. Darcy on my account.”

“Talk Darcy to you?” I wag my eyebrows. “I can do that.” I lower my voice. “Pemberley. Piano forte. Tenthousandpounds.”

Brooke pretends to swoon, pressing a hand to her chest and swaying backwards. But then her foot catches on the volleyball and she really does start to go down. Her arms pinwheel at her sides, trying to keep her standing. My own arms shoot out and grab her by the waist, steadying her.

She gasps, her hands raising to clutch my forearms as she regains her equilibrium.

“Are you okay?” I ask, hoping the lightness of my tone hides the way my heart picked up speed as soon as my hands found her waist. I should let go of her now that she’s got her balance back.

But I don’t.

“Yeah.” Her voice is breathy again, like I’m affecting her too. The realization is emboldening, and all of my reasons for maintaining physical boundaries between us floataway.

No, they don’t float away. They explode to pieces, impossible to put back together again.

“Brooke,” I murmur, tightening my hold on her waist. In response she sinks into me, her hands sliding up my arms to settle around my neck. The last shreds of my self-control disappear under the weight of her touch. With a desperate groan my eyes dip to her pink lips then rise back up to hers, asking without words if I can kiss her.

In answer she tightens her hold on me, then, instead of waiting for me to close the remaining distance between us, she takes charge, pressing her mouth to mine and unleashing a passion I didn’t even know I had inside of me.

Every nerve in my body sings with the pleasure of kissing this woman. She’s completely intoxicating. The adventure I didn’t know I was missing. The adrenaline rush to end all adrenaline rushes.

It’s more than the way she makes my body feel, it’s the way that she makes my very soul feel—like it’s been waiting for her. Like she’s my person. It’s such a raw and vulnerable feeling that it’s almost scary. Scratch that, to feel this connected to another person is terrifying.

But it’s also exhilarating. Exactly like those moments of free falling before your parachute opens.

Brooke lets out a low moan and my hands instinctively wrap more tightly around her, holding her in place. I deepen the kiss, slowing it down but giving even more of myself to her. How long can this kiss last? Forever? Because I would be on board for that.

“What do you say, Lee, marks out of ten. Ranking technique and execution, but don’t forget to take complexity into account. The height differential, for instance, should be noted.” The familiar, loud and very gleeful voice of Silas Nash interrupts our kiss, making us spring apart as we both remember where we are and who we’re here with.

“Shoot,” I mutter under my breath, then turn to face my reckoning. I should probably be looking sheepish or apologetic, but instead I can’t keep my smile in check. Brooke kissed me. She kissed me and it wasamazing.

“Well, Silas,” Lee continues their ridiculous kiss judging banter bit, “I’ve got to agree with you on the importance of taking complexity into account here. I mean, how this guy manages to get a kiss from that woman or any woman at all really…it’s a tough nut to crack. Of course even with that in mind, you’ve got to agree that his technique was not on par with what we’ve come to expect in this competition.”

“True, Lee. Sure, French kissing is nice, but no need to show her the whole country all at once, if you know what I mean. Don’t gag the poor woman.”

Next to me Brooke snorts out a laugh before covering her mouth with her hand. I look down at her, a faux glower on my face.

“You think this is funny?”

“Oh no, not at all,” she says, lips twitching.

“You know,” I lower my voice, “personally, I feel I didn’t get to show you nearly as much of France as I would’ve liked.” The laughter vanishes from her face as color flushes across her cheeks.

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