Page 46 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

A laugh jumps out of me, so hard I wheeze. It’s the last thing I expected him to say. “Will Orsino, what am I going to do with you?”

Our eyes meet. Will’s expression is intense, unblinking.

I feel myself blush, self-conscious under his scrutinizing stare. “What is it?”

“You just…” His gaze dances over my face. “You gave the best damn laugh.”

My heart jolts and clatters, like it missed a step and went tumbling down the stairs. “I’ve been told it’s loud.”

“Oh, it’s loud all right. But it’s…right, how it should be. Like…fireworks. When you’re staring up at the sky, watching them light up the night, all sparkle and glitter, there’s nothing elsethat should follow that beauty but an epicboom. That’s…what your laugh feels like, like it should be—as loud as it is pretty.”

“Oh boy.” A shaky exhale leaves me. “That was a great compliment. Ten out of ten, no notes.”

“I wasn’t…” He swallows thickly. “I wasn’t practicing compliments, there.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But if I tell myself you were, then…then I won’t want to kiss you so much.”

Will’s gaze darkens. He takes a step closer to me. I grip the hem of his shirt, anchoring myself, trying hopelessly to pin myself to reality.

“What ifIwant to kissyou, too?” he whispers.

I lick my lips, my body listing toward his. “We agreed we shouldn’t.”

“We did.” He brushes back wet hair from my temple.

“Because it wouldn’t be for practice,” I tell him. “And practicing is the only reason we’re ever supposed to act romantic.”

“True,” he says quietly.

“Then again…” I stare at his mouth. “Friends kiss sometimes. We’re friends.”

A lowhmmmrumbles in his throat.

I’m full of shit, and we both know it. We wouldn’t kiss like friends. We’d kiss like people who want to tear each other’s clothes off.

I should pull away. He should, too. But we don’t. We stare at each other, chests rising and falling as we breathe.

And then Will’s hand slips into my hair, fingers sinking deep. His gaze searches mine, then he whispers, “Fuck it,” and wrenches me against him.

I whimper in relief, throwing my arms around him, clumsy, desperate.

Our foreheads meet, breath sawing out of our lungs. Our noses brush. I cup his neck, my fingers sinking into his hair, too.

And then finally,finally, his mouth brushes mine, faint for just a moment, then more, pressing deeper, longer. Warm, soft, so impossibly good. Air rushes out of Will as I open my mouth, as his tongue strokes mine. Another whimper leaks out of me, fire racing through my veins, pooling deep in my belly, as he sinks his hand deep into my hair while the other cradles my face. I lick into his mouth and he groans, then deepens our kiss, so deep it feels like sex, the kind that makes you feel taken, consumed, shattered, and put back together.

I whine as he draws back, tenderly kissing the corners of my mouth, my cupid’s bow, my bottom lip, which he tugs gently between his teeth. Clutching at his shirt, I draw him closer, desperate not to lose him, to lose this. I never want it to end.

I’m practically scaling him like a tree, pressing up on tiptoes, yanking him toward me. I need more—more of his body against mine, his weight and heat and strength.

Will wraps me in his arms, crushing me to his chest, and my knees nearly give out. The moment our mouths meet, our tongues flick and dance, building to a slow, sensual rhythm—hot, deep strokes that grow hotter, wetter, faster, until each breath is a gasp against each other’s mouth. Will’s hands are warm and strong, the faintest tremor running through them as he glides them up and down my arms, along my throat, into my hair, cradling my face again, then down my body until they’re wrapping around my back again to draw me into him.

I arch up as he presses me closer, my breasts brushing his chest, his fingertips grazing my ribs. “Will,” I gasp against our kiss. I cup his cheeks and take his mouth with mine.

“Juliet,” he whispers.

Slowly, we break our kiss. I think it’s because we both know that if we keep kissing, it’s not going to stop there.

And it has to. Because this isnotwhat friends do—at least, notfriends who are helping each other find their way to a path of happiness that doesn’t end with each other.

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