Page 47 of Doc Showmance
She ripped her mouth free but didn’t struggle to get away from me. Heaving for oxygen, she blinked up at me.
“Admit this is what you came here for.”
“I hate you.”
“But you want me.”
“Like hell I do.”
“You want me. It’s why you’re spitting mad.”
I kissed her again. This time her mouth opened. At first, she remained tense, not giving in to the touch of my tongue to hers, but within seconds, she leaned into me as her emotions superseded her will. Her fingers curled into my shoulders. For days we’d been dancing around each other, seeking an outlet. Now it was here.
When the kiss finally ended, she rolled her head to one side. “Stop.”
I did stop kissing her mouth, but only to lay kisses down the column of her neck in a path to her collarbone. “You want this as much as I do.”
A low groan escaped her. “We can’t do this.”
“Says who?”
“I refuse to be scripted into fucking you by a stupid TV show.”
“There’re no cameras here.”
“Ian, stop this.”
“I like when you say my name. It’s almost better than Dillweed, but you say it with such passion. Admit you want me.”
She fisted her hands into my shirt and twisted. Leaning forward, I lightly bit her lower lip. She inhaled sharply and released her grip on me.
It was she who grabbed my head and kissed me, seeking full open-mouth, tongue-searing kisses. Which I gave.
Abruptly, we broke apart, staring into each other’s eyes. Dazed. Shocked.
There was a hell of a lot more here than either of us expected.
“I should go,” she whispered. “I don’t want to…”
“Neither of us is ready for taking a next step. You’re right. Go. But, Amber…”
She paused before twisting open the doorknob. I waited for her to look over her shoulder at me.
I said, “You want me. You always have.”
“Go to hell, Dillweed.”
17
Ian
Icouldn’t believe it’d been four days since she barged into my apartment. Not one of them had gone by when I didn’t think about the feel of her lips. She could’ve kneed me in the nuts or slapped me in her kitchen. I’d expected it. Maybe I should’ve pushed harder when she was at my place. She would’ve kept going. I think.
But I didn’t want to. All I felt in that moment had freaked me the fuck out. It was too much.
Since the kiss, Amber and I danced around each other at work, sometimes collaborating, sometimes sniping at each other, and too often dealing with ridiculous set-up scenes forced on us by the production crew. There hadn’t been much called for other than “hot looks.” Which is asinine to force since both of us suck at acting, and Marianna makes it abundantly well known how much we’re terrible at it. But today was different. Today, they want “something more,” whatever that may be. Afterward, I’m supposed to ask Amber out.
And the staff? Awkward is an understatement. Everyone has asked what’s going on. I’ve kept my lips sealed, like Amber, but our saying nothing seemed to feed the wildfire of gossip. They’re watching us as much as the cameras, as if waiting for something dramatic like me to kiss her or rip her clothes off.
