Kiss Her Once for Me (83)

She turns to face me. “Nothing can happen between us tonight,” she says over the sound of Burl Ives. “You’re still with my brother, and I can’t betray him like that, even if he did cheat on you with Dylan.”

“I know. I understand,” I say, even though I don’t. We’re standing two feet apart, close enough to touch in a dozen different places, but not touching anywhere.

“Why did you kiss me in the bathroom last night?” I ask.

“Elle, let’s not—”

“Honesty game.”

Jack stares down at her fingers, helplessly holding onto the record sleeve like it can protect her. She exhales. “I kissed you in the bathroom because I wanted to. Because I literally always want to be kissing you. Because seeing you with my brother did nothing to change those feelings, no matter how much I hoped it would.”

I try to take a deep breath, but I have too many ribs, too many feelings. Jack stares at me from two feet away. No, she stares at my mouth. I involuntarily swipe my bottom lip with my tongue. “Elle.” Jack says my name so delicately, I can barely stand it. “Why did you kiss me in the bathroom?”

I bite down on my bottom lip.

“Honesty game,” Jack says.

“Because I wanted to.” I breathe the words out. “Because I’m not over you. Because I realized I was never over you the moment I saw you at the cabin, because you’re all I think about, because being with Andrew could never change that, because—”

Jack is a blur of movement, her hands on my face, her body against mine, and this time, it doesn’t matter if she kisses me or if I kiss her, because we’re kissing.





Chapter Twenty-Four


There is something impossibly magical about knowing Jack is kissing me because she wants to.

Fingers in my hair, her mouth on mine. And oh. Oh, the taste of her whisky lips, the sweetness of her, the solidness and strength of her body holding mine.

This is even better than last night. She kisses me slowly, searchingly, like she’s rebuilding something between us with each gentle shift of her lips. Her thumbs stroke my cheekbones, and I melt into her. I’ll keep melting into her for as long as she lets me, savoring each kiss like she’s the world’s best slice of pie.

I let two fingers stroke her bare forearm until she shivers beneath my touch, moans into my mouth, and opens for me. My tongue slides along her bottom lip, and the indomitable, solid Jack Kim-Prescott mewls in my arms.

My brain feels like Pop Rocks, and I’m falling hopelessly headfirst into this kiss, holding back nothing, showing her that I want, I yearn. That I want and yearn for her.

When Jack jerks her head back to break off the kiss, I fall back on my heels. “Elle,” she says, and her voice is raw. “We can’t… I can’t do this to Andrew. I want to”—she trails one hand up my arm like she can’t quite help herself—“Holy shit, I want to. But what kind of monster hooks up with her brother’s fiancée?”

I look up at the tortured expression on her face. I think about the two hundred thousand dollars. I think about her hands still cupping my face. I think about Jack’s dream and my dreams. And fuck it—Andrew can find someone else to fake marry. “I’m not going to marry him,” I tell her.

I watch as the smallest shift takes place on Jack’s face, her mouth, begging to lift in the corner. “You’re not?” she asks, hopeful. It’s the damn hope.

I shake my head. “I can’t marry him when I feel this way about you.”

And then Jack lets loose her terrific smile. Her hands fall to my waist, and she shoves me urgently until my back is against the wall of the cabin, pinning me in place. She doesn’t kiss me right away. No, for a long minute, Jack simply stares at me, and I stare at her, too. Brown eyes and freckles and the tiny white scar. She’s hovering in front of me, close enough that I can see all her imperfections. The small pattern of acne scars on her chin, and the frown lines between her eyebrows, and the pores along the bridge of her nose. She’s so achingly beautiful.

Jack slides a knee between my legs and kisses me again, and this is the best two hundred thousand dollars I’ve ever spent.

We’re kissing with our whole bodies now, Jack pressing me harder against the wall, our bodies lining up like puzzle pieces that only make sense slotted together. The small swell of her breasts under my own. Her wide shoulders and narrow hips; my wide hips and narrow shoulders. Hip bones and pelvic bones, harmony and friction.

I deepen the kiss, and Jack meets me where I am, her mouth finding the pulse point at the base of my throat and sucking. I slide my hand under her sweatshirt, and her stomach is warm. I explore the inches of her, splay my hand across her back and hold her as close as I can, hold her until I get her whole body between my legs.

Our kiss turns sloppy. Tongue and teeth and her thumb on my bottom lip, the other hand gripping the front of my sweatshirt as she grinds herself against my thigh, and I move against her hip bone, and we’re both wearing too many clothes.

When I fit my hands into the dimples that bracket her ass, she gasps into my mouth. “Jack,” I pant. “Can I please take off your clothes?”

She takes a step back from me. I open my eyes, and fuck. Her mouth is pink and swollen, her eyes practically black.

“Elle,” she says, hesitant.