Mine Would Be You (54)

With no more hesitation I lean in and press my lips to hers.

She lets out a deep sigh that I catch as our lips move together, and I can’t help but smile against her lips as she melts into me. Her hand cups the back of my neck, burying her fingers into the base of my hair and pulling me closer. She tastes like chocolate and sweet wine, and I could get drunk on her alone. I step between her legs fully, pressing myself against the counter as close as I can get to her, and my free hand trails up the outside of her leg and to her waist, and I feel a shiver go through her.

I swipe her lips with my tongue, once, twice, teasingly until she parts them for me. Nina kisses like a slow catching fire. Gently at first, hesitant, until she lets herself burn in it. She kisses like she doesn’t want to be forgotten, and I kiss her back to assure her that she never will be.

My thumb rubs right below her ear, and I feel the goosebumps form under my touch. I let out a soft groan at the fact that she, like me, is unable to fight this. Her nails scratch lightly at the back of my neck as she grips me, my skin white hot from her touch, sending all the blood in my body down south as my need for her grows.

I slow the kiss down, pulling back and teasing her, nibbling on her bottom lip and gripping her thigh. I’m not sure what does it, but she lets out the softest moan, and my smile follows immediately. I’d been fighting for that sound since our lips touched. She gave it away, and I’m never letting it go. Slowly, I’m learning her, and I’ll continue to until it’s committed to my memory.

She pinches my chest in response to my grin, and I chuckle, pulling away. Slowly, she uncurls her hand from my neck, dragging her fingers down my chest, through the flour, and I fight to catch my breath, my entire body hard and tight from the weightless feeling her kiss causes me.

“Quick question,” I mumble, my lips brushing hers.

“Okay . . . go ahead.”

“That word you call me . . .” Her eye widen, and I pull back to see it. “Do you really think I’m a prince?”

She groans loudly, pushing me back, and covers her face with her hands, and for the second time tonight, I laugh deeply. Again, she attempts to run away, jumping off the counter, but I grab her, pulling her closer.

“You don’t get to run away that easily.”

“You can pry the answer out of my cold dead body.” Nina forces her lips in a tight line.

“Well, I already know the answer since I looked it up.” I cock my head jokingly, and she hits my chest, glaring at me. “Come on, don’t be mad. You can’t be mad at me.”

I lean in, determined to pull a smile from her face, knowing she’s not actually upset. My hands go to her sides, tickling there until she starts squirming.

“Jackson,” she breathes. “Stop it.”

Instead, I grip both her hands in mine, interlocking our fingers, and pull her closer. Her skin is flushed and her eyes excited despite the frown she’s trying to force. Gently, I kiss the corners of her mouth before pausing right above her lips. Finally, the corner of hers twitch up, and I kiss her again. Softer, slower, wanting to savor it, but it’s just as addicting as the others we’ve shared. Except this one, it feels like she’s taking all the tension, all the anger and frustration from when I first walked in the door, and making it go away, like magic.

If I ever thought she was just a girl in a bar, someone who wouldn’t have been significant in my life, I’m being proven wrong every time I’m near her. Because every day I learn something that only makes me want her more.

I’m hoping that she wants me just as much.





The September issue comes out in a week.

Seven whole days.

I just finished my last interview because Marc Jacobs is a very hard man to pin down. And even harder to schedule an interview with. From his previous, vague statements on fur, he was the perfect closing to the article. The one I must have on Miss Bisset’s desk at exactly nine a.m. tomorrow morning. I shove the tape recorder into my bag and swing it over my shoulder.

The early August heat instantly surrounds me with humidity as I step out of the building onto the city street. Hot air lands heavily on my skin, and I immediately pull my hair back into a ponytail. My phone dings with a text from my mom asking me about dinner next Friday again. She is insisting I bring Jackson so she can meet him before Labor Day, see if he can hold himself to the standard she’s created in her head.

Despite all my reservations and arguments insisting it was far too soon, my mom didn’t care. She ignored every one of my attempts at avoiding it or making excuses, and honestly, I’m more scared of what she’ll do to me at if I don’t.

Of course, Jackson being Jackson had no qualms over this. So not only do I have to stay up finalizing this article and stress about it for the next week, at the end of that week, I’m taking a man to meet my parents. Way earlier than I would’ve liked, and there is absolutely no getting out of it.

Unless I was dead. Even then, my mom would probably pull me out of the grave by my ear lobe. Just as I’m about to text my mom back, Emma’s name pops up in a phone call, and I don’t hesitate to slide my finger across the screen and answer it.

“Emma, hi,” I say, already chewing on the inside of my cheek. We’ve been meaning to get together for lunch or breakfast or something since the Hamptons, but between both our work schedules and my new dating life, it’s been difficult.