Page 30 of Tangled With the Wrong Guy
He frowned. ‘A what? And can we just find out if this key actually opens this door?’ He stood up, pulling her with him.
‘Right, yes, but like I say … Joel, do you believe that everything happens for a reason?’
‘No, I don’t – that’s bollocks.’
‘I don’t know; maybe you’re right. But I have this odd feeling something’s at play; like, I’ve been sent here tonight, to … talk to you. To make you think properly about what you’re about to do.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
He wasn’t getting into the spirit of this. Not at all. She pursed her mouth. ‘So I’m not in fact an angel sent from heaven?’
A smile pulled at his lips. ‘I didn’t say that. I think you may well be. Or perhaps it was the other way round. MaybeIwas sent to helpyourediscover your sense of humour?’
She rolled her eyes. He was deflecting her again. He didn’t want to talk. He was actively avoiding it, pushing against it. Perhaps she should just give up. Maybe like he said, this in fact wasn’t a special moment in time, a real-lifeMidnight in Paris/Brief Encountermash-up. Maybe there was no magic in the air, no unseen force propelling them together. The probability of a full moon turning the cemetery into their private silvery wonderland was one in twenty-eight. Quite high, really.
And it wasn’t fate but just coincidence that the guy she was shackled to wasn’t a minger, or dangerous, or stupid – that he was in fact gut-meltingly gorgeous and nice and funny and …
‘Or maybe I was sent to help you rediscover something else,’ he said.
Chapter Nine
There was a question in Joel’s eyes. She shivered, caught in his gaze. And then he brushed his fingers down her cheek.
His smile was tentative. ‘Can I kiss you? I realise, given your own exper–’
Chloe pulled his head down to hers. She didn’t care about her own experience. She didn’t care that he was getting married. She didn’t care if he probably preferred men. The only thing she cared about was the sublime sensation of his mouth on hers, here and now, and the fire that was raging through her, ignited on Oscar’s bench, fanned by Monsieur Noir.
The kiss quickly progressed from hesitant to passionate, his teeth briefly clashing with hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Well, theywerein France.
That was her last coherent thought before a powerful wave of desire – an absolute tsunami of it – obliterated her ability to think, sweeping away her awareness of anything other than Joel’s body pressed against hers, his soft lips exploring hers, his hand sliding down to her bottom, pulling her closer before moving to her breast, caressing it, stroking it gently as electric shocks ripped like lightning from his fingers to her groin, opening her up like a flower.
He pulled off her jumper, which took the beret with it, then undid her shirt and slipped his hand inside, circling a nipple with a finger, brushing it, then pinching it … harder, until a moan escaped her.
Then he backed her up against the wall, his shackled hand on her waist, the other making its way inside her shirt again, and kissed her neck.
‘Bite and suck,’ she breathed. ‘Do it, Joel.’
His low laugh was muffled as he licked her skin, the tip of his tongue travelling slowly up to her jawline. He sucked on her lips, bit them gently, his teeth sending more of those shocks south, opening her up further and her knees began to tremble. He kissed the hollow behind her collarbone, then moved down, taking her nipple in his mouth, sucking it, biting it gently. She moaned with pleasure as the remaining strength drained from her knees.
‘I’ve got you,’ he said, holding her up, ‘unless you’d like me to lie you down on a tomb.’
For a moment that thought was disturbingly enticing, but then, somehow, she remembered her manners. ‘That would be disrespectful,’ she panted, ‘and we might get haunted.’
‘Really?’ he whispered into her neck, gently biting her again. ‘Would the idea of two people making out on your future tomb make you angry, or strangely happy? Or even exceptionally horny.’
Her excitement ratcheted up another notch. There were hardly any notches left. She was close to the edge. ‘Well, if you put it like that …’ she gasped.
He stopped for a moment and fixed those eyes on her. They were molten in the darkness. They were temptation personified.
‘Would you like to fuck on a tomb, Chloe?’ he said softly, as those eyes seared her retinas. Her skin broke out in goosebumps; his voice was rich, dark chocolate, sourced from an as-yet undiscovered cocoa bush in a dark, wet, equatorial rainforest.
Fuck yes. I want to fuck you on a tomb.
‘Joel? What’s happened to you?’ she breathed.
‘There’s two sides to us all.’
‘I know. And I need to talk to you about that.’
