Erasing Faith(46)

I blushed, of course.

“You’re a contradiction.” He said, leaning in so our faces hovered millimeters apart. “A gorgeous nerd. A terrified adventurer. A clumsy cultural-expert.” He moved closer and I felt his breath on my lips when he spoke again. “It’s strange and unexpected and beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

I tried to slow my racing heartbeat. Tried not to hear his words or stare too deeply into his eyes as he said things I’d been waiting my whole life to hear. Because if I looked, if I listened — I knew I’d fall.

Too fast. Too hard.

I’d blink and, before I knew what was happening, I’d be in love with this man who was, in many ways, still a total stranger to me. And I couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t allow my study-abroad-dalliance to become something much more permanent. I wasn’t a dumb princess in some fairy tale and, as he’d already told me, he was certainly not my prince.

This was a fling. No strings, no labels, no promises. Just a short-term love affair I’d look back on when I was a wrinkled old lady in a rocking chair on the back porch, telling tales to my thousand grandkids.

Right.

My traitorous, treacherous heart cackled hysterically at me from within my chest.

You’re dumber than Aurora and Cinderella put together if you think you’re not already half in love with Wes Adams, it taunted deviously.

I chewed anxiously on my bottom lip, riddled with worry, until Wes closed the gap between our faces and pressed his mouth to mine in a consuming kiss that made me forget all about my heart and, instead, start thinking with certain other, less judgmental, parts of my anatomy.

***

I wasn’t sure how we got back to my apartment. The entire trip was a blur.

All I knew was, once Wes kissed me, once I got a taste, there was no stopping it. No way to sate my appetite for him. A wave of shored-up lust that had been trapped carefully behind a dam of self-control for the past month tore through my body like a tsunami after a year-long drought.

Buda Castle was left in the dust. The Turul statue was forgotten. Habsburg Gate faded into the distance as we ran, laughing like fools, down the steps of Castle Hill. Our hands tightly entwined, we cast surreptitious glances at each other as we raced through the city toward my apartment. It took forever, but only because we stopped so many times. We couldn’t go more than two minutes before the need to crush our lips together became unbearable.

It was crazy. Out of control. Indecent. Immodest.

I didn’t care.

At the bottom of the steps, Wes pulled me against his chest and kissed me so deeply, so passionately, I forgot to breathe. Deprived of oxygen, I might’ve passed out in his arms, had he not broken away. Tourists were looking at us — snapping pictures, shielding their children’s eyes. It didn’t matter. I was so caught up in him, I would’ve stripped naked on the cobblestones if he’d asked me.

I’d never even let Conor kiss me in full-view at a high-school football game.

We reached the middle of the Chain Bridge, and I couldn’t take another step without touching him. I tugged Wes to a stop and pulled his face down to mine, slamming our lips together hungrily. It was far too much for a public display of affection; and yet, it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy me. Pressing my mouth to his, I let myself float away as our lips devoured and discovered one another. I was so I dazed I couldn’t have told you my first name or my favorite color, but I’d never felt more complete than I did at that moment. Only the threat of toppling over the railing in a lust-fueled stupor was enough to force us onward.

We made it another block before the wave crashed again.

A single, heated glance passed between us, and then Wes was yanking my hand, dragging me into a narrow stone-paved alleyway, and pressing me against the wall with the entire length of his body. I could feel his hardness, knew his desire matched mine in every way. Our lips met again, his tongue entered my mouth, and I had to grip his shoulders so I wouldn’t crumple to the ground in a pile of strength-sapped limbs. I arched into him, needing more — more lips, more skin, more everything. My hands traced down his back, under the hem of his henley to skim the bare flesh beneath. He growled and tore his lips from mine, panting hard into the crook my neck.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered. His teeth scraped my earlobe and I moaned so loud a woman peered out her first-floor apartment window at us with a disapproving look.

Shit.

“Let’s go.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him from the alley, sprinting down the street as fast as possible in flimsy sandals. He was right beside me, step for step — just as eager to get behind closed doors, where our last vestiges of restraint could be shed like the unwanted clothes still concealing us from one another.

When we finally reached my apartment, he kissed me as I fumbled blindly with the key. I struggled for several long moments until Wes, officially out of patience, took over for me. The lock turned and, lips still fused together, we fell through the front door as a messy tangle of arms and legs, hitting the floor before we’d made it two steps beyond the threshold. Wes kicked the door closed with one foot, threw my keys and purse across the room, and rolled on top of me in a single swift move that made my stomach clench with delicious anticipation.

“Red, Red, Red,” he chanted under his breath, his eyes on my face and his hands in my hair. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”