Page 80 of Dating Goals
“I am Swiss,” she says primly. “I have a neutral opinion of you.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her stubborn wit, even as my heart hammers against my ribs. “Well, I’m Canadian.” I lean closer, drawn by the warmth of her skin and the challenge in her eyes. “So I feel the need to apologize for what I’m about to do.”
Her eyes shimmer. “And what’s that?”
“Give you the best kiss of your life.”
“I’ve never been kissed,” she says triumphantly, as if she’s just won an argument. “So the bar is pretty low.”
That stops me. I pull back slightly, searching her face. “Never?”
She shakes her head, a flush creeping up her neck.
I’m reeling. Her first kiss. The responsibility of that nearly knocks me sideways. “Then I better make it count.”
I lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away or punch me if she wants to. She doesn’t. Instead, her eyes flutter closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.
My lips brush against hers, gentle as a whisper. She’s so still I wonder if she’s breathing. I press a little firmer, and then…oh! She responds, her mouth softening beneath mine.
The first taste of her is like stepping into sunlight after months of darkness. Sweet, warm, life-giving. Her lips are soft, tentative at first, then increasingly bold as she follows my lead.
I cup her face with both hands now, thumbs brushing her cheekbones.
When she sighs against my mouth, it’s like someone’s knocked the wind out of me. A sucker punch straight to the solar plexus that leaves me dizzy and desperate for more. Herhands find my chest, fingers curling into my shirt like she needs something to anchor her in this new sensation, bunching the fabric between her knuckles until I can feel the warmth of her palms burning through the material. A small sound escapes her throat, half surprise, half pleasure, that vibrates against my lips and sends liquid heat coursing through my veins like wildfire. Igniting places I’d forgotten existed.
For someone who’s never done this before, she’s a remarkably fast learner. The initial hesitation in her movements has given way to something more curious, more confident. The way she tilts her head just so, the experimental pressure of her mouth against mine. It’s intoxicating, watching her discover this part of herself against my lips, feeling the moment when instinct takes over and her body remembers what her mind never knew.
The world narrows to just this. Her lips against mine, the mountain air sharp in my lungs, her heartbeat racing beneath my palm as it slides to her neck. Nothing else matters.
Just Anika, melting against me like she was made for me.
I pull back just enough to catch my breath, resting my forehead against hers. Her eyes remain closed, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed.
“You didn’t punch me this time,” I whisper, tracing the curve of her cheek with my thumb.
Her eyes flutter open, dazed and dark. “I’m still considering it.”
I laugh, the sound carried away by the wind. “Worth it.”
She smiles then, and something in my chest expands, warm and aching.
This wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan. I came to Switzerland to play hockey. Not to play spy. And not to fall for a woman who feels like forever in my arms.
“Griffin,” she whispers. I love the sound of my name on her lips. “What are we doing?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I don’t want to stop.”
A helicopter’s distant whirring breaks the moment. Anika pulls away, wrapping my jacket tighter around herself.
“That’s my ride,” she says. “I have to go.”
But I’m reluctant to leave this moment, this terrace, this bubble, where nothing exists but us. I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Not yet.”
“Griffin, please.”
“You can’t just leave after…after that.”
The helicopter’s whirring grows louder, its searchlight sweeping across the terrace.
