Page 66 of Role Play
“It wouldn’t be authentic.” I swallow hard, the lie feeling bitter on my tongue. “I mean, for this to work, there would need to be actual chemistry between us. And I’m just not… I don’t think you’re my type.”
It’s possibly the least convincing lie I’ve ever told. Judging by the slow smile spreading across Forrest’s face, he knows it too.
“Is that so?” he asks, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver up my spine.
“Yes,” I insist, my cheeks igniting. “I mean, you’re objectively attractive, to other women I suppose. But I’m not personally attracted to you.”
“Objectively attractive,” he repeats, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Your flattery knows no bounds.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” I cross my arms defensively, aware that I’m digging myself deeper with every word. “I’m simply saying, for your role-play idea to work, we’d need to simulate real feelings to spark creative inspiration. And not to mention, I don’t want to get slapped with an invoice every time we kiss.”
“Receipts,” he teases. “You’ve already prepaid for quite a few kisses.”
“That you still haven’t delivered on,” I quip back. “Can we circle back to you returning my money?”
“Nope. But I suppose we should test your theory,” he says, his tone silky smooth. “To see if it could work.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Forrest stands, leans across our tiny table, and cups my face in his hands. His touch is gentle but firm, his eyes questioning, his pupils bouncing back and forth between mine. He’s giving me a chance to pull away.
I don’t take it. Mostly because I’m completely frozen in a frosty mix of intense nervousness and excitement. My heart hammers almost painfully against my lungs as he closes the remaining distance between us.
The first touch of his lips against mine is soft, tentative—a question rather than a demand. Then, as I respond with a small, involuntary gasp, his tongue slips into my mouth, deepening our kiss. His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head as he angles his lips over mine with devastating precision.
This is not the kiss of a man going through the motions. This is not a performance.
Forrest kisses like he’s discovering a secret, something he’s been desperately searching for. His mouth is warm and insistent against mine, coaxing me to relax into him, yet there’s an underlying grisly hunger that makes my toes curl in my boots as his hand powerfully holds my cheek, preventing my head from falling right off.
I’ve written dozens of first kisses in my books. None of them prepared me for this reality—the heat pooling low in my belly, the way time seems to stretch and compress simultaneously, the soft groan that escapes him when my tongue meets his.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing heavily. The Lucky Moon café has gone utterly silent, every patron staring at our display with varying degrees of shock and appreciation. The teenage barista behind the counter gives Forrest an approving thumbs-up.
“Well,” Forrest says, his voice rougher than before as he sits back down, “you’re right, that was awful.” At first I’m shocked until his smug, playful smile takes the stage and he continues. “Clunky, way too wet, and kind of gross. You kiss like a fish, Sora.”
I blink at him, still dazed. “You jerk. You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you,” he teases. “And don’t worry, we’ll get you there. A few dates with me and we’ll have you kissing like a pro.” His eyes gleam with satisfaction. “So, do we have a deal?”
I should say no. I should absolutely, definitely say no. This man is an escort who seduces women for a living. This arrangement has “disaster” written all over it.
But my lips are still tingling from his kiss, and the memory of his hands in my hair sends another shiver through me. More than that, the promise of finding new inspiration for my writing—maybe salvaging my career—is too tempting to resist.
“Fine.” I try and fail to sound reluctant. “We have a deal.”
His answering grin is equal parts triumph and genuine pleasure. “You won’t regret it.”
I already suspect that’s not true, but I’m too far gone to care.
“But I think we need some ground rules. This is strictly professional, right?”
“Of course.” He nods assuredly.
“All right, so…just research. And kissing is fine, but as far as anything else…maybe we should leave that off the table.”
“That’s your call,” he answers with pursed lips. “My only rule is we shelter Dakota from the details of this arrangement. She can’t know what I do, or what we’re up to.”
“Agreed. Absolutely.”
See?He’s responsible. Considering his daughter. This is fine. This is actually a smart plan… Or maybe I’m just rationalizing a terrible decision because the man kisses like sin and looks at me like salvation.
