“Yes,” I said, willfully ignoring the fact that thisneverworked in romance novels. “Absolutely. One kiss will—”
“Get it out of our systems,” he said, parroting my earlier words.
“You can say no,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t.
He swallowed. “I don’t want to say no.”
“Then why are you fighting it?”
“I don’t want you to regret this later.”
I shook my head. “I won’t.” A thought occurred to me. “Will you?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Definitely not. But you’re wrong about one thing.” He leaned in, tracing the column of my neck with the tip of his nose. His touch was gentle, but electric with promise. “Kissing you won’t evenbeginto get you out of my system.”
He pulled away from me then, a war flashing in his eyes. Before I could react, before I could say anything more, Peter let out a soft groan.
“Fuck it,” he muttered—then pressed his lips to mine.
Everything I thought I’d known about this situation, everything I believed I’d wanted, flew from my head. The kiss was gentle, a barely there touch of lips that was over almost as soon as it began. It shot through me like wildfire all the same.
When he pulled back, Peter’s eyes were a dark maelstrom of want and torment. I had no doubt the desire I saw in them was mirrored in my own. He waited a heartbeat, and then another,scanning my face for my reaction. When I didn’t push him away—when I wound my arms around his neck to pull him even closer, to urge him to kiss me again—his resolve snapped.
He let out a shaky exhale. Slid his hands up to cup my cheeks like I was something precious.
Then he tilted his head andkissedme.
Oh, I thought.
Yes. This.
Peter kissed me the way a man on the cusp of drowning breathes. Gasping and desperate. His mouth tasted of the meal he’d drunk before finding me in the bar, of the breath mints he’d probably chewed to cover it up, yet I burned for this. For him. I was trapped—between the hard lines of his body and the solid wood of the door behind me, between wanting his mouth on mine and the sudden realization that continuing to kiss him like this probablywasa terrible idea after all.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathed against my mouth. My heart was jackhammering against my rib cage so loud I barely heard him.
“I don’t want you to stop.” I reached up and wove my fingers into his hair.Gods, it was just as soft as it looked. I tugged on the messy strands, reveling in the broken sound he made in response.
“Ihaveto stop,” he rasped. A moment later he pulled back from me on a quiet groan. “We don’t know who I used to be. Or if you’ll stop wanting me once we do. My heart doesn’t beat anymore, but it can still break.”
The vulnerability in his words touched something inside me I’d thought long dead. With aching tenderness, he untangled my fingers from his hair and placed my hands back down by my sides. Then he gently moved me away from the door.
Without another look at me, he opened it and stepped into the hallway.
“Wait,” I said, confused. “Where are you going?”
“Out.” He hesitated, then half turned until I could see his face in profile. If I thought he’d looked agonized before we kissed, it was nothing compared to how absolutelywreckedhe looked now. “It’ll be better for both of us, I think, if I go for a walk.”
I watched him move down the hall towards the elevator. Once he’d disappeared inside it, I slowly closed the door to our room.
It had only been a few moments, but already I missed the press of his mouth on mine.
In the time-honored tradition of people everywhere who’ve just made a colossal mistake in affairs of the heart, I flung myself face down onto my bed. Then I groaned and pulled one of the soft down pillows over my head.
With that kiss I had stupidly instigated, everything between Peter and me had just irrevocably changed.
So much for getting it out of our systems, indeed.
When I walked into oursuite’s common room a little later, thinking a minibar snack was just the ticket for dealing with my confusing mess of emotions, Peter was perched on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees.