Page 42 of Enemies to Lovers

“No, not just now.” I lift my hand from the countertop, using my hip to keep me steady as I cross one leg in front of the other. “Back in December. At my condo.”

“When Brewster interrupted us?”

I purse my lips together, but a small sputter of laughter dribbles out anyway. “I’ve never been so grateful for a puppy fart.” I run a hand over my braid. “You know I was ready to tug you into bed?”

His eyes widen to nearly perfect circles. “Then I’m grateful, too.”

My heart stutters. “Because I hadn’t withdrawn from the internship?”

“Because I was lying to you.” He frowns, that look of guilt and shame he wore that night coming back full force. “If Brewster hadn’t interrupted, I would’ve stopped it. I think.”

I hitch my hip. “You think?”

He lets out a frustrated growl, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Val, whatever spell you put people under, it sucked me in. Two dates nearly erased years and years of resentment I held toward you.” His eyes sparkle as he lifts them from the floor. “How… how do you do that?”

“I’m not doing anything, Miles.” And doesn’t he realize he’s putting me under? I’m supposed to hate him, yet I find myself sliding toward him. My heart pounds, clouding my brain with its thumps.What would the harm be?it says between beats.

I know the harm. Just like he had years and years of resentment, I’ve had years and years of admiration. I plastered him up on a pedestal, and that was my fault he didn’t live up to it. But it’s his fault he took advantage.

I study him like he did me not five minutes ago. Aside from looking sexy as hell, there’s a tension in the air around him I can’t ignore.

I irritate him. Fascinate him.

I never thought I’d have that power over anyone, let alone the guy I’ve fantasized about more than I want to admit.

And if he’s lying—which he very well could be—do I really want to know right now?

My shoulders straighten, my heart outwitting my brain. “Just one.”

His brows pinch. “Huh?”

“One kiss.” I scoot closer, enough to smell that inky scent. My head tilts back so I can meet his gaze, our height difference so much clearer with this proximity. “That’s it. One. Take it or leave it.”

Three years ago, I saw Val on the side of the road. Her car had gotten a flat, and she was down there, changing it. I was running late for work, and I gritted my teeth before pulling over and climbing out.

She flipped her hair back when she looked up at me, a wide smile stretching her lips. “Hey, Superman. I hate to break it to you, but you’ll have to rescue another damsel in distress.” She then tightened the last bolt and let the jack drop.

Dirt covered her jeans, and her jacket had fallen off one shoulder, revealing a bright pink tank top underneath.

“Shoulda known,” I joked, a bitter taste on my tongue. A blush ran over her cheeks, and she bit her bottom lip.

I’ve always known Val was pretty. Hell, there were plenty of guys I’ve seen attempt to date her, but she was either too oblivious to their advances or too focused on school and work. But something hit me squarely in the chest that day, and I hated it.

Val is beautiful.

My eyes drift to her pink tank top, the light in my bathroom coupled with age muting its original brightness. The white zip-hoodie slides from her shoulder, and the flash of her standing next to her car, a complete badass, nudges its way into my mind.

I push from the bathroom counter. She told me I get one kiss, and I won’t lie to myself or her anymore. I’ve thought about it more than once. Curiosity plagued me for the longest time—was she as perfect at kissing as she was everything else? The fleeting thought over the years is now overwhelmingly powerful.

I settle a hand on the countertop near her hip, boxing her in. A sharp breath slips past her teeth, her wide, doe-like eyes never blinking, watching my every move. I my fingers them not to scratch at my beard, and I pray my legs keep steady.

My other hand finds the counter as well, and I feel her petite body without a single bit of touching.

“Just one?” I ask for clarification. If I only get one, I’m going to make it last.

She lifts a finger, teasing me by setting it on my lips. She drags it across them, saying the word with determination. “One.”

My hands curl into fists at her sides, the cold marble in stark contrast to the suffocating heat coursing through my body. I inch forward, her hand falling naturally to my chest. The scent of vanilla floats between us, strong and intoxicating. My mouth pools, and I swallow hard.

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