Page 38 of Checking Mr. Wrong
My gaze falls on her full, slightly parted lips that tempt me in a way that twists something low in my chest. Without breaking eye contact, I slide my hand behind her head, fingers threading into the warmth of her hair. It’s a simple motion, but it feels like crossing a line I didn’t even know was there, a line I want to cross a thousand times over. Wash, rinse, repeat. All day long.
Mabel’s gaze meets mine, and with one tiny smile and the sweetest of sighs, I have all the permission I need.
I lean in slowly, savoring every fraction of an inch until my lips meet hers. The kiss is gentle at first, but it grows with a quiet urgency, a heat that spreads through me like wildfire. It’s slow and deliberate because I want to burn the sensation of her lips into my memory.
Her hands slide up my arms, light but firm. This woman is steadying me, grounding me in a space that suddenly feels like everything. She breathes out against my lips, and just as I lean in deeper, she stops me and whispers, “We shouldn’t?—”
“Mabel.” I silence her when I press my forehead against hers, the world narrowing. “Stop talking.”
Slowly, I brush the stray strands of hair away from her eyes, careful and deliberate, like I’m savoring every second, her breath hitching in anticipation with each movement. Then, with a tenderness that belies everything simmering beneath the surface, I slant my lips across hers.
Her mouth is electric, sweet and delicious. It’s a spark that ignites a fire, a warmth that spreads through me and roots me here, in this perfect, impossible slice of time.
Her hands tighten on my arms, and I feel her melt into me as if she’s been waiting for this as long as I have. The kiss deepens, our movements growing bolder, hungrier. My hands slide to her waist, gripping and pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. Every brush of her lips, every soft sound she makes, sends heat racing through me.
I don’t even notice my hands have traveled back into her hair, holding her against me like I can’t bear the thought of letting go. Her fingers grip my shoulders now, steady and strong, steadying us in a heartbeat of time that’s slipping quickly from careful to consuming.
And then, I’m not sure which one of us hears it first: the sound of keys in the lock before the front door crashes open andshatters the silence, the cold air from outside rushing in like an unwelcome guest.
We spring apart, breathless and wide-eyed, just as Carson’s voice booms from the entryway. “Hey, man! I’m back. Smells good in here—did you save me some?”
I’m busy raking a hand through my hair as Mabel sinks into the back of the couch, looking anywhere but at me. My heart is racing, and I can feel the heat still pulsing under my skin as Carson appears in the doorway.
“Hey, Mabel, I thought I’d beat you here.” He jerks a thumb my way. “Has this one been nice to you while you waited?”
She gulps, casting a quick look my way as her cheeks flare bright red. “Yep. Very cordial.”
“Sweet. Let me get a plate and we can start.”
Mabel hops up and grabs her bag, digging into its depths and pulling out her phone, while Carson trots to the kitchen. I wait to hear him clanging some plates around before I get up and walk over to the other side of the room where she stands.
“No,” she hisses, holding a hand out. “I don’t care how good that kiss was, no more.”
“So you liked it?”
She tries to purse her lips but can’t when she’s smiling. “Stop it, Asher.”
“Come on.” I can hear the oven door bang, which means Carson is only now getting the dish out for his serving. “One quick…”
“No!” She laughs, walking away and putting the couch in between us. “I’m here for work.”
Carson walks back into the room, gripping a plate stacked high with lasagna and a grin that tells me he’s as oblivious as ever. He stands in front of me, completely missing the tension still humming in the air. “Man, I forget how good your cooking is, Asher. Have you ever thought about giving up hockey and opening a restaurant?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, distracted, my gaze flicking to Mabel.She’s busying herself with her phone, but I can see the faint smile tugging at her lips, betraying her attempt at nonchalance. “Be a good retirement plan.”
“Yeah, it would,” Carson says, mouth half-full as he indicates to Mabel. “Okay, Mabel, ready to do this?”
She nods quickly, grabbing her bag and heading for the hallway. “Yep, let’s get started. Where do you want to do this?”
“Dining room okay?” he asks, already heading in that direction.
She follows, but not before giving me a quick glance, her cheeks still flushed. I lean against the arm of the couch, watching as she disappears through the doorway with Carson, and it takes everything in me not to pull her back and finish what we started.
I can’t stop replaying the way her lips felt on mine. Warm, soft, and completely addictive. It’s the kind of kiss you never ever want to stop thinking about. As I hear their voices fade into the other room, I can’t help but grin to myself. She might have said “no more,” but the way she smiled, the way she blushed? I’d bet everything I own she didn’t mean it.
And if she did? Well, I’ve got time, and I’m not giving up that easily.
The fire crackles softly behind me as I glance toward the dining room, a warm contentment settling in my chest. This isn’t over with her. Not by a slap shot.
