Page 25 of The Hotshot vs The Reporter

“No, of course not.” I try to flash him my most obnoxious smile, but I’m pretty sure I fail and just manage to look sick.

“I think you are,” he says, his voice solemn and his face determined. Damn him. He’s so fucking stubborn.

“I’m not mad. I’m annoyed because I wanted a night alone. If you would have accepted what that guy was offering, you could be there and not harassing me.”

Lies. Total damn lies.

The truth is, thinking about him with that waiter made me feel something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

Jealousy.

Why the hell was I so damn jealous? It makes no sense. I feel lost and out of sorts. Nothing like myself.

I look up, and he’s watching me intently. He studies my face, and I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. I’m used to people analyzing my surface—they do it all the damn time.

But that’s not what he’s doing.

He’s looking at me way too closely. Studying me. Trying to figure me out, and I don’t like it. I’m about to back away from him, get away, fucking run, but then he speaks. His voice totally calm.

“I think you’re full of it. I think you’re mad, but that’s not why.”

I stop and look him dead in the eye. “Why, then? You tell me.”

But I don’t want him to tell me. I don’t want him to see it because I don’t know how to deal with it.

I’m about to step back again, but his voice stops me. “Will you please just talk to me?”

I can’t stop staring at his mouth. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but at the moment, I just don’t care. I’m too raw. Too angry. Too out of sorts. And I can’t stop staring.

So instead of walking away—instead of running like I really want to do—I find myself putting one hand on his hip and the other on the back of his neck and pulling him into me. He opens his mouth to say something, I’m not sure what—but my mouth crashes down on his before I can think.

Before I can stop myself.

But he doesn’t push me away the way he should. Instead, I hear a soft whimper as one of his hands goes to my hair, and his body melts against mine as our lips move together in a rhythm that’s so familiar, so simple, I nearly cry out at how damn good it feels.

He’s not a passive participant. He’s not aggressive either. It’s just a soft, inviting kiss with his fingers sliding through my hair and his other hand resting on my shoulder. He tastes good. Way too damn good. Somehow sweet after our meal. His lips feel firm but pillowy soft, and he allows my tongue to sweep inside to swipe over his. I moan as his body sways slightly, his fingers clenching in my hair. It doesn’t last long.

The kiss was just a brief taste before my wits come back to me, and I’m pulling back slowly and gently. My other hand falls to his waist, so I’m still holding him close. He looks up at me, dazed.

His eyes are large, his pupils blown, and his lips are puffy and swollen from our brief interaction. “Royal,” he barely breathes.

I release him and take a step back, but not as far as I should. I kissed a guy. And I want to do it again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” I say idiotically.

I see a flash of anger and then confusion sweeping over his face as he stands up a little straighter and eyes me carefully. “Why did you?”

I shake my head, wanting to laugh and cry. I’ve really been fucking up lately. And not just out on the track. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have.” Horror washes over me as my eyes widen, and I take him in.

Oh, God. I didn’t even ask him if I could kiss him.

What if that’s not what he wanted?

Of course he didn’t want that. He can’t stand me. I’m just a goddamn job for him, and here I am, manhandling him and forcing my lips on his.

“Shit. I’m so damn sorry, Soren. I didn’t think. I should have asked you...”

He holds up one hand slowly, telling me to shut up with the gesture. “If I didn’t want the kiss, I would have told you to stop. Not kissed you back. I’d have pushed you away.”

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