Page 53 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
“I want to kiss you.” It sounds like a command, but that’s not how he means it. I know this with absolute certainty.
Like a racehorse at the opening of the gate, those words were all I needed to hear as I spring toward him with what feels like a wonderfully reckless smile on my face.
I enjoyed kissing him, but it was reserved, tame. I want the full Beau Hammer kissing experience. To be kissedbyhim.
I cannot hold back. Losing control, I go at him in a frenzy. The feeling must be mutual because our lips mash together. My hands search for solid ground—acres of toned muscle under my palms. My fingers thread through his hair, his beard. Now that I’ve been granted access, I’m on an exploratory adventure.
I can count the guys I’ve kissed on one hand, but it was never like this. The blush on my cheeks spreads across my body, heating me up, but that doesn’t stop me.
Nothing can. I’m going to steamroll this man with kisses. Practically panting, he’s caught up in the fervor, matching my feverous attempt to know him entirely through this kiss alone.
Then he stops abruptly. My palm is on his chest and if I didn’t know better, I’d think his pounding heart went still.
His breath whispers against my cheek when he says, “Remember? I said I wanted to kissyou.”
The entire situation turns tender as he brushes my neck with his nose, kissing along my collarbones before finding his way behind my ear, to my jaw, and to my temple.
Eyes open, his gaze holds mine for one long intense moment that brings me to the edge.
“You are so soft. So smooth.” He combs his fingers through my hair, drawing my lips to his and the kiss resumes. Now, it’s a slower pace, as he takes his time, admiring each stop along the way.
Breathing uneven, I’ve never felt this way—so desired, so appreciated. The kiss deepens, dragging me under, but I’m not drowning. With Beau, I can breathe underwater. I can float on top or dive under the waves, then bob to the surface with ease.
He smells like crisp northern air and wheat-dried-in-the-sun. He’s rock solid, a rock I didn’t know how badly I needed. There’s something unbelievably attractive about his strong muscles and immovable physique. He could wrap me in an envelope of protection.
Even though goal tender gear regularly covers him from head to toe, the package underneath is very nice to look at. Very much appreciated.
The gentle, tender, loving kiss continues like a riverboat cruise. A Sunday drive. It’s not lazy, but it is leisurely.
I love it.
His fingers smooth through my hair and mine loop around his neck, feeling his pulse under his skin. For a moment, I forgot that this is actually happening. It’s like reality just did a switcheroo on me. If I’m not mistaken, fake fiancés don’t do this for no good reason.
And the way his hands slide across my skin, his mouth searches mine, and the throb of his heart explodes against my chest, I wouldn’t be mad if Beau were my real fiancé. Just saying.
Am I objectifying him? Sort of. His stoic personality isn’t everyone’s cup of coffee with cereal milk. There’s a lot to him under the pads and guards, the armor he wears to protect himself physically and emotionally. As he lets me in, I’m only just discovering what it is.
Turns out talking isn’t the only worthwhile thing people can do with their mouths.
However, I’m afraid that when this bubble bursts, I’m going to get sent back into low-motivation mode. I never want to revisit the time in my life after I found out Jonathan had used me, and then tossed me out like a dishrag.
I tell myself that I’m merely playing my role in this marriage of convenience game. This is practice so we can pull off theYou may kiss the bridemoment on the altar. But that’s it. Then it’s over. I know this and tell myself to forget about it until it’s time to part ways.
My heart opens and I snap it shut. Knowing it’s fake, I can enjoy this now.
And do I ever.
The kiss develops its own rhythm, seeks its own tune. I can hear the chorus though. It sounds like my singing voice and the refrain goes like,I want to do this forever with this man ’til death do we part.It’s not too catchy, but it works for me. I wantit to work for us. But we can’t build something real on a fake foundation.
Despite how unexpected and wonderful Beau’s mouth on mine feels, another voice inside raises uncertainties and insecurities, sending them swirling around in the back of my mind before rushing forward.
Reluctantly, I pull back.
Beau’s green eyes are dark.
“Should we be doing this?” I ask.
His gaze dips to my lips and up again. “We’re engaged.”
