Page 107 of First Chance

“One more,” I beg, before she’s even pulled back a millimeter. I sense her smile more than I can see it as she delivers another butterfly kiss to my bottom lip, and then the corner of my mouth, the scar on my chin, and lastly, the scar on my cheek.

Every time her lips touch me, my soul recharges, and I feel like a new man.

If only it were that easy.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Jo

Sometimes I catch him looking at me closely, introspectively, and now I know he’s imagining the lines he would draw to replicate the image of me he’s seeing in this moment.

The curve of my waist, the flow of my hair across my forehead, or the dimple in my cheek.

When he watches me from across the room, he’s capturing the illustration in his deeply mistrustful and closed-off mind.

I take up space where most others won’t ever get a glimpse.

And it’s a privilege to be his muse.

I shuffle and bounce around all of the bodies in this packed ballroom, making my way toward the man at the center of my mind. We’re at the elaborate Biltmore Estate again, for an end of summer event that most people die to be invited to, only to see the legendary gardens and historic archistructure.

I can’t seem to care to be here because all I can think about is the man so trapped behind his walls that he pretends to be a villain when he’s really a savior with a bleeding heart.

Lochlan’s sitting at the bar with the rest of the guys, staying as far away from the other guests as usual. I don’t blame himfor it, I like him the way he is in his big, standoffish brute ways.

He can hate everyone else. As long as he keeps his one soft spot reserved for me.

His grandmother’s ring sits heavy on my finger, and the weight of this predicament hovers over me, but I’ve stopped being concerned about it. No matter what happens in the future, I know Lochlan won’t hurt me.

“Are we celebrating?” I ask, shimmying between Lochlan and Seiver, where they sit on their bar stools. They all have shots sitting in front of them.

“Nah, we’re just keeping the bar in business,” Seiver says.

“This is an open bar.”

He shrugs and laughs, getting up from his stool and offering it to me with a sweeping gesture. “I need to find some grub.”

“Are you going to take your shot?” I set my empty cocktail glass on the bar top, sneaking the cherry out and biting it off the stem.

“I don’t need it.” He holds up his shot glass with his thumb and pointer finger, offering it to me.

“I’m not very good with shots.” I throw it back anyway, my entire body cringing when the bite of alcohol shocks my system.

“Did just fine,” he says, leaning in and kissing my bare shoulder.

“Be careful, people might actually think you like me,” I whisper, placing my chin on my shoulder so our heads hover within inches of each other.

“That’s the point, right, being my fiancé and all,” he whispers against my skin, making me shiver. He smirks.

“I don’t think anyone is paying attention.”

“They’re looking at you, I guarantee it.”

“You’re very good at this, you know?”

“What?”

“Acting like a man in love.”

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