Page 57 of Paper Roses

“We’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”

He gives a pitiful moan. “I’m not feeling so great now. What was in those drinks?”

“Lost dreams and a vat of grenadine.” I blanch. “Did I really just try to teach you to dance the quickstep?”

“You got a bit derailed, but it was a very nice idea.” He pets my head gently.

“I’m sure it was, but it’s a bit puzzling because I’m not actually very good at dancing.” I pause. “Maybe don’t try and do it that way if you ever makeStrictly.”

He snorts. “My hero.”

I struggle to my feet and hold out my hand to him. He puts his in mine obediently and when our fingers twine it feels so right. I pull him up, but he’s lighter than I estimate, and we both fall against the wall.

“Ouf.” I groan as he lands against me, and I bang my head.

He looks up at me with those big eyes and I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol, or whether it’s because I’ve been waiting to do this for what seems like forever, but I lean down and finally take his lips with mine.

We’ve shared a few kisses over the last few weeks, and so now I know the feel of him in my arms, his tight body, the scent of his cologne, and the silkiness of his skin. But this kiss is different, because there’s no one to pretend for.

His lips are full and soft, and he stays still for a stunned second. For a moment, I think I’ve made a mistake. But then he surges up and kisses me back, winding his arms around my neck and urging my mouth to go deeper…harder.

I eat at his mouth, revelling in his soft, pillowy lips, and I realise the growling noise I hear is coming from me. He opens his lips and his hands roaming up my chest feel like fire on my skin. I suck on his tongue, grabbing his narrow hips and hauling him closer so I can grind my aching dick into him.

At first, I think the ringing I hear is my pulse pounding in my ears. But Artie suddenly pulls away, reaches into his coat pocket, and pulls out his phone.

“Daisy?” he says hoarsely, his hair mussed and his cheeks cherry red.

Forty percent of me is reeling at what I just did, but unfortunately, the other sixty percent is urging me to do it again. The sight of him isn’t helping matters.

He offers me an apologetic face as he listens to his stepsister. I wave a hand at him to carry on. My drunken brain needs to come back online and remind me that I am a fucking idiot who just mauled my fake husband who also happens to be my assistant.

I take a deep breath and then another, feeling myself settle.

Artie hums and listens to Daisy, making consoling sounds. I straighten, running my hand through my hair and pulling my jumper back into place.

Artie is responsible for my disarray. This fact has the potential to derail all my calming work so far, so I take some more deep breaths.

Assistant, I say in my head.Assistant.

He finishes his call.

“Everything okay?” I say, my voice thick.

He studies me for a long few seconds, and I ready myself for questions and demands—those are what typically happen when I’m with a man and he’s disappointed with me.

But Artie only taps his lip thoughtfully with his phone. I note that his lips are swollen, and I realise that it’s because of what my mouth did to him. An electric shock zaps down my spine.

“I’m tired,” he says. “Are you?”

I try to pull myself together. His question is so far from what I thought he’d say that it takes me a few seconds to register his words.

“I am,” I say hoarsely, the incipient hangover beginning to pull at my bones. “Artie, I?—”

He holds up his hand firmly. “It’s okay,” he says.

I relax immediately at the surety in his voice. “You don’t want me to apologise?”

Something flares in his eyes. “No, I donot.” He comes close and takes my face in his hands. “I know you were thinking of Mick, and it got out of control,” he says earnestly and so sweetly that it makes my heart sore. “Please don’t feel bad for that. I know how much you loved him. Now I need sleep, if it’s evenpossiblein this house.” He starts up the stairs.

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