Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(25)

She took a deep breath. He had to close his eyes. She was too delicious to look at. He wanted to devour her, which made him sound like something straight out of the blasted Twilight books, making him moan even deeper.

He opened his eyes, hoping she would look different now that the fog of lust had lifted. Instead she looked better.

“Bloody Hell,” he said under his breath.

And then Kessen laughed.

“That…” she said, still breathlessly, “was a good curse.”

“Apparently, I just needed something to be upset about,” he admitted, looking away.

“Upset we nearly lit the house on fire with our kissing?” she teased, patting him on the head. She was so patronizing; forget kissing. He wanted to trip her.

“No, upset we stopped.” He turned around to challenge her, but she was already walking towards the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” he heard her say.

“Well, there’s always flour,” he muttered, following her in.

****

Kessen was surprised she could walk straight, let alone remember her name.

He kissed her like he was going off to war.

And she kissed him back like it was true.

She had barely kept her composure in that living room; if he wouldn’t have said anything, well, she shuddered at what could have happened.

She was not that type of girl—she didn’t do things with guys, especially fiercely attractive British ones with titles in front of their names. It had to be that. Some part of her wanted to be in that book. It was his stupid last name. She moaned as she heard his steps behind her. They needed distance, and they sure as heck needed to stop all the kissing.

It was unnervingly distracting.

Yet every time they touched, it was as if nothing mattered anymore, which again made her feel like she was part of a cheesy romance novel. She hit her head against the wall just as Christian walked in.

“Perfect timing.” He passed her and slapped her on the butt.

“How dare you!” She lunged for him, but he already blocked her with his arm and put her into a chokehold. She tried to reach for sharp objects, and he laughed.

“Come on, Kessen. How dumb do I look? I had them remove all weapons before we came.”

“Stupid British piece of—” She was still yelling when he released her.

Her stumble made him laugh until she crossed her arms and sent him the iciest glance she had in her repertoire. He straightened and forced a smile. “What is it, America?”

“This has to stop!”

“What has to stop?” He turned around and rummaged through the cupboards.

“This.” She pointed at him then back at herself.

“Talking? You want us to stop conversing?”

Kessen groaned. “No, Christian. I want us to stop kissing. What is wrong with you?”

Apparently he didn’t care for that accusation, because as soon as the words were out of her mouth, he was in front of her, seething. “What’s wrong with me? What about you? You’re responding!”

She took a few deep breaths, and then let out a little sigh; he was inches from her face. Christian looked at her lips, then at her eyes, then her lips again as his forehead rested gently against hers.

“Okay,” he said huskily. “I may regret phrasing it like this, but you are right.”

Her humor had left her, just like her memory and good sense. She could only nod and continue to stare at his gorgeously shaped lips.

Christian cleared his throat. “Um, are you still hungry?”

“Hm, yes,” she teased.

Ignoring her sarcasm, he went back to the cupboard and hunted. “We have nut spread, some wine, crackers, and I think there is some cheese in the cooler.”

Kessen’s eyes lit up. “Cooler?”

“You know, where you store all the things to—”

“Keep cool?” Kessen interrupted tilting her head to the side, as mocking as she could possibly be.

“Push off.”

“Okay, Harry, whatever you say.”

His expression turned complex. “Why did you call me Harry?”

Should she strike his pride again? Yes. Yes, she should. “Because you just sounded like Harry Potter.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Perfect.”

“I always did like that movie.”

“I hope you mean that in an un-creepy way, such as you enjoy the special effects, but don’t have a crush on Harry Potter himself.”

She sighed. “Well, he does have those glasses.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, then pulled out the contents of the pantry. “Now that I’m ignoring your baited sarcasm, I’ll have you know I actually do have more than just cards planned for us. And because of our recent agreement, I’ve decided it’s best for us to proceed outside, where it’s raining, and your body will be bundled up rather than … that.” His voice cracked a bit as he pointed at her.

Pride welled in her belly; it wasn’t every day a future duke had to fight to keep his hands off her. It’s also not every day she wanted to also return the favor. She straightened and grabbed the basket while he stacked food inside.

“So can we go for a walk?”

He nodded and off they went. He was a man of few words when he wanted to be, which was irritatingly annoying. She hated silence. Silence was of the devil. What she wanted was good conversation, good food, and his lips, but that was out of the question.