Page 43 of Take 2
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d like for you to not have to be wasted to want to kiss me.”
The sun is baking me. That’s the reason for my temperature rising. Yep.
I want to yell at him for making this so difficult. I want to shake him and tell him this is a terrible idea. But I also want to kiss him. It’s the shoot giving me butterflies. His proximity is just confusing things. It was the listening to the actors and discussing the character arcs that was sexy, not his broad chest I could melt onto or his lips that look soft in contrast to his sharp jawline.
“Do you want me to now?” he asks.
Avoiding the idea was possible. Barely. Lying about this is beyond my capabilities. “Yes.”
His smile makes my heart speed up, but when it lands on my lips, everything freezes. My heart, my lungs, my brain. Especially my brain.
Everything stops. Nothing exists except his lips on mine—soft and gentle but pushing for more. Then his hands exist too. One weaves into my hair, and the other slides around to my back. My foot comes out of the water as he pulls me against him. His tongue brushes mine, and every lie I told myself about this trip melts into a puddle that’s starting to dampen my panties.
A quiet moan rumbles in my throat.
The cool breeze on my skin is a perfect contrast to the warmth of him against me. The rolling of the boat over waves is like a preview of how our bodies could move together.
Let me guess, you met him while you were yachting in the Mediterranean?
My stomach plummets. A joke made in another life tears through me, and I pull back.
Preston takes a deep breath before attacking me with those green eyes that are warmer and hence more dangerous now. Until he narrows them. “What’s wrong?”
What isn’t wrong? My mind is jumping to all sorts of things it’s supposed to stay away from. Memories clash together like cymbals in my head. As I look back out over the water, I could almost cry for the naïve girl I was. For him … “Isn’t this all a littletoomovie-perfect?”
Preston’s shoulders relax. Little does he know I can seriously sabotage this by thinking it’s too perfect. “Is it?”
“I mean, we’re yachting on the fucking Mediterranean. It was movie-perfect enough for you to literally write it into a movie.”
“So, you’re upset that this is too perfect?” He rubs his forehead. “Okay, sure. I can see that. Perfect setting, perfect kiss—”
“Um, you’re putting words in my mouth now.”
“Hmmm.” He taps his chin in an overdramatized show of thinking … and pushes me off the deck.
Chapter Seventeen
“IwishIdidn’thave access to dry clothes,” I say as I get into the passenger seat. “I’d be willing to suffer through being cold if it meant you’d have a pay a shit ton of money for soaking the seat of the rental.” James was worried about this trip being Preston’s opportunity to kill me, but it’s going to be the other way around.
Preston closes the door behind himself on the other side. “Your priorities are excellent.”
The pants from costuming are way too long for me, but otherwise, my damp hair is the only sign of Preston’s douchebaggery. The top of the convertible slides back, but hair dried by convertible is something that can only come out good in the movies. Mine will be a rats’ nest.
“You’re just upset Chris didn’t jump in to rescue you,” Preston says as he pulls out of the marina parking lot.
“I’m upset I couldn’t pull you in when you helped me back onto the boat.”
“It was really cute of you to try.”
“You know what wasn’t cute?” I say. “You pushing me off the fucking boat!”
“I mean … it was though.”
I sigh and sink back farther into the seat. “The range of shit you’re willing to try to hook me is really out of control.”
