Page 67 of To Hate Adam Connor

He gestured to the script. “Read.”

And of course, right there at the top, it said, Damon kisses her on the forehead

Putting my game face back on, I tried to keep my cool.

He kissed me again, his lips surprisingly soft on my forehead, and I tried to stay as still as possible with his face so close to mine.

Then he forced me to meet his eyes. Yes, he forced me…I was pretty sure there was some sort of magic involved because I was barely able to breathe with his hands cradling my face and his eyes pulling my soul closer to him.

Asshole.

I swallowed, then cleared my throat for good measure.

“You’re my sister, Laurel. I love you,” he said with a soft smile on his lips. “I love you, but I’m done. Don’t make me choose. I can’t do this anymore, not when I have so much to lose.”

I glanced down at the script as my brain was having difficulty functioning properly. “What about me, Damon? What do you expect me to do? Go on with my life? Act like her family never ruined ours?”

Adam’s thumb caressed my cheekbone and my entire body started to burn up. Was that in the fucking script? Then his head was coming toward me, and I was bracing myself for a kiss on the nose or something equally innocent like that.

Weird sibling relationship, but whatever, right?

Our eyes locked and, never breaking eye contact, his lips softly touched mine. I froze.

Me. Lucy Meyer, the girl who would have loved nothing more than to kiss Adam Connor just a month before froze with that same Adam Connor’s lips on her lips. My traitorous body took a step toward him to keep the connection.

Definitely weird siblings.

For a few dangerously long seconds, he let me feel his lips on mine as they moved ever so slowly. Then there was a gentle nip on my lower lip and before I knew what was happening, he was kissing me for real, coaxing me to open my mouth.

Gently.

But I felt his tongue. I swear to you, I did.

I inhaled sharply and before I could react in any way, he was pulling back.

Let’s get this straight. I did not follow his lips. Neither did I sway toward him like a love-struck teenager. Nah, I’m not that girl. It was just a trick of the eye.

As soon as he let me go, I ducked my head and started turning pages like a madwoman. When I couldn’t find what I was looking for, I simply raised my hand and slapped him. Hard.

For a long moment, neither one of us moved. Frank was ending another song like a boss, and other than my heavy breathing, he was the only thing we could hear.

Finally, Adam asked, “What was that for?”

“What do you think?” I managed to croak out. Even though I’d been standing in the same exact spot for the last few minutes, I felt like I’d run a marathon—and that was from a small kiss where I didn’t even get to taste him properly. I cleared my throat. “You just kissed your sister.” I pointed a finger at him. “And don’t try to tell me that was a peck either. How do you think she’ll react?”

The record player started playing Frank Sinatra’s “It Was A Very Good Year”, my favorite, and Adam gripped my chin with his fingers and tilted my face up. It wasn’t a gentle chin grip either. His big, warm hand practically engulfed the lower half of my face.

It was definitely a panty-melting moment. Who doesn’t love a man—especially a man who looked like Adam Connor—taking control of your body—in a sexy way, of course.

“I didn’t kiss my sister, Lucy,” he murmured, leaned in, and then kissed me. Again. Like full-on kissed me. His fingers holding my face in place, he tilted his head and sneaked his tongue inside my mouth.

That kind of kissing.

So that’s what he tasted like. Warmth. Silk. Addiction. Sex. Danger. Insanity.

The script in my hand fluttered to the floor.

My brain was a complete mess, giving me all kinds of danger warnings.

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