Page 40 of Holiday Romance
But looking up at that familiar face, I know it’s not what Iwantto do. And isn’t that just terrifying.
“You don’t think it would be weird?” I ask.
“I don’t think it will be any weirder than how you’re being right now,” he says flatly. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
I have no idea. But the man kind of has a point.
“Okay,” I say, calling his bluff. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Great idea.” I straighten my shoulders, hands clenching into fists at my side as I fight the urge to pull my hair back. “You should probably do it. Kiss me, I mean. Seeing as I kissed you the first time. Although I guess, scientifically, we’d need to go back to O’Hare and find the mistletoe, but I don’t think they’ll still have it by the time we— Okay, okay! Jesus.”
My back hits the wall as Andrew crowds me, stepping into my space until we’re as close as we can be without touching. My hands shoot out, grabbing onto his shoulders to hold him there as my pulse starts to race.
“This is an experiment,” I clarify, and I swear I see a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. For whatever reason, it makes me feel calmer. “It’s for science.”
“For science.” He echoes it like a vow. “Do you want to hear a chemistry joke?”
“No.”
He grins and I suddenly can’t breathe. “You sure? It’s a pretty good—”
I kiss him.
You know when people say that the anticipation of a kiss can be better than the actual event? Those people have never kissed Andrew Fitzpatrick.
It’s a light one. A tame one. And yet again my reaction is not what it should be, my heart vaulting into my throat, my body surging up to meet his, following his warmth. And I should be disappointed, because with everything else going on in my life, this, this right here is the last thing I need. The last thing I need and only thing I want.
That simple realization sends a spark of alarm through my mind, a blaringWoah there, timeout,but then Andrew shifts, his mouth slanting over mine as his hands leave my hips to cup my face. He tilts my head to deepen the kiss and I make a noise, a little, dare I say it, whimper, that has me so embarrassed that, again, I’m the first to pull away. This time Andrew lets me go and I open my eyes, ready to apologize and make excuses or just downrightlie, when I look up at him and see that I’ve wiped the smile right off his face.
A lock of hair falls across my forehead, tickling my cheek, and I watch as Andrew’s eyes track the movement, before he slowly, like I’m some sort of skittish animal (which, okay, yes), tucks it behind my ear. Goosebumps break out over my skin as he runs his fingers through the strands before dropping his hand to the side.
“No loose earrings this time?” I try to be sarcastic but only sound hoarse instead.
“Can only use that excuse once.”
Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. The corridor we’re in is bright and smells strongly of disinfectant. But it’s also empty and we’re both alone as we’re probably going to be for the next while.
“Feel better?” he finally asks, and it takes me a moment to figure out what he’s talking about.
“Yep,” I croak.
“All cleared up?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want to do it again?”
“Ye—No,” I amend quickly, and just like that his smile is back, the intensity in his expression vanishing like he just flicked a switch.
“Still confused, huh?” He sighs. “I knew it wouldn’t work.”
“Then why did you suggest we do it?”
“I wanted to see what it would be like.”
I stare at him. “And?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you mean,yeah?”
