Page 143 of My Merry Mistake
“Ah”—he lifts his chin—“so it’s a control issue.”
“No, it’s—” But I go quiet. Because maybe it was? Maybe it still is. When our eyes meet, and I find his filled with concern and understanding, and I see a future where I don’t have control.
And that’s terrifying.
He moves closer, looking at me so intently it makes my toes curl. He reaches up and brushes my hair away from my face, fingers skimming softly against my cheek as he does.
“I would never do that,” he says.
I drag my gaze to his. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” The words are firm, but his touch is soft. He brings his free hand to my waist, eyes fixed on me as his thumb sweeps across my bottom lip.
I look into his eyes and silently count to three. “What are we doing?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he says, with a smile. “What areyoudoing?”
Trying not to think about how much I liked having your arms around me on that ice rink. Trying not to let myself get swept away in a moment that I know will end badly. Trying to remember all the reasons that you and I don’t make sense. Trying to stay in control.
But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I say, “I’m not sure.”
Warmth from his hand on my skin radiates through my entire body. The heat of his grasp on my hip makes my pulse quicken. Without letting go, he moves in closer, his feet bracketing mine, and I inhale his familiar, masculine scent.
“This is crazy,” I say, desperate to access the part of my brain where the common sense lives.
“Because you don’t want to feel anything,” he says, still watching me. “Right?”
“Right.” My voice is so weak even I don’t believe me.
“So you don’t want me to do this—” He leans in and presses a kiss to the soft spot under my ear. Then he hesitates, like he’s giving me an out.
I don’t take it.
“Or this—” He drags his mouth down my neck, pausing at the dip in my collarbone, then looks at me again. Again, I remain still. “And youreallydon’t want me to—” His hand tightens around my waist as he reaches up and moves my sweater asideto reveal my bare skin, kissing all the way to my shoulder in long, drawn out movements. He stops and looks at me. “Right?”
I shudder a breath. My face is hot, my palms are sweating, and the only thing I can think is,do that again.
Instead, I whisper a quiet, thin, “Right.”
One more soft kiss, then Finn carefully shifts my sweater back over my shoulder. “Okay, fair enough.” He takes a step back. “You’re in control here.”
Disappointment floods my entire body, and my muscles tense at the realization that I did not want him to stop. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted his body even closer.
I want Finn.
Oh my gosh. I want Finn.
He drops his hand from my waist, but before he moves away, I grab his arm. “Wait.”
He turns back, and for once, I don’twantto listen to the voices telling me all the reasons this is a terrible idea. I just want Finn.
I grab onto his sweatshirt and pull him flush against me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, looking at me like if he blinks, this will all go away.
But it won’t go away. I’ve tried to make it go away.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says, breath ragged, like it’s taking every ounce of willpowernotto.
I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want reason and logic to be a part of the conversation in my mind.
