I shake my head.
“Because I can tell from just a quick glance that there isn’t an interesting bone in that woman’s body. She’s the sort of woman who counts shopping as a hobby and agrees witheverything other people say because she doesn’t care about anything enough to form her own opinion. You’re much more beautiful than that woman, but more importantly, you’re far more interesting than her.”
While I appreciate his encouraging words, the doubt that’s etched all over my face can’t be avoided.
He continues, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “I bet she’s never even been to a pie contest, much less cheated her way to the grand prize.”
I lower my chin, breaking eye contact with Ethan and laughing quietly. To onlookers, we probably look like a couple having an intimate conversation rather than what we really are: a boss and his assistant on a practice date that suddenly isn’t going very well.
“And she probably hasn’t even considered what size of a penguin army would be required to overthrow the country of Ireland,” Ethan says, his face suddenly an inch or two closer to mine.
“That’s probably true,” I agree.
Ethan gives my hand a gentle squeeze. We both glance down at our intertwined fingers. When we look up again, Ethan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He looks like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. Curiosity and anticipation trip over each other inside my chest, but I don’t move a single muscle. I know it’s wrong, but I like the feel of Ethan’s hand wrapped around mine, and I’m not particularly sad that Jeremy is here to witness it.
If it pisses him off, even better.
“I have an idea,” Ethan finally says. “But you’d really have to trust me.”
I’m not sure what Ethan’s idea is, but the heat in his eyes makes my pulse spike.
“I trust you.” I do trust Ethan, probably more than I trust anyone besides Emma. “What’s your idea?”
“Let me kiss you.”
A small, embarrassing gasp parts my lips. Ethan flashes a devilish smirk in response.
I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a squeak. I have no idea what to say. Do I really want to piss Jeremy off by doing this? Do I want to make him jealous?
More importantly, do I want to kiss Ethan?
My brain screams at me that this is a terrible idea, while other parts of me,lower partsof me shout out a resounding yes. For once, I decide to throw caution to the wind and listen to those parts.
“Okay,” I nod slowly.
If Ethan is remotely surprised by my answer, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he moves closer to me, his knees coming forward to bracket mine. The hand that isn’t holding mine moves to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he stares into my eyes. My pulse goes wild and my skin tingles with anticipation.
He’s convincing, I’ll give him that.
His face hovers inches from mine. Hazel eyes hold my gaze, filled with heat but also with reassurance. His thumb lightly traces the line of my jaw, the touch melting away any last shred of doubt. I want to kiss Ethan. The real question is: why do I want to kiss him so badly right now? To get back at Jeremy, or just to see what it’s like to kiss Ethan North?
With his lips a hair’s breadth from mine, he mutters, “Ready?”
I give an imperceptible nod, and then his lips brush against mine, confident but gentle. They linger on mine then slide down to capture my bottom lip between his, planting another slow, savoring kiss there. The tenderness is unexpected, making my chest squeeze tight with a new appreciation for Ethan. With all of his experience, I knew he would be a decent kisser, but Iexpected him to skip ahead to the part where he’s claiming my mouth. Instead, he lets the kiss build slowly.
When his lips nudge mine apart and his tongue glides across mine, a spark erupts low in my belly. I’ve never been a fan of whiskey, but the taste of it on Ethan’s tongue changes my mind. Suddenly, I’m ravenous for another taste. Parting my lips a little wider for him, I swipe my tongue across his in a slow, devouring stroke. The fingers at my jaw press a little firmer into my skin, pulling me even closer as our lips continue to explore each other.
This is fake, a tiny voice in my head reminds me as that little spark in my belly begins to spread. The way that Ethan’s mouth presses more firmly to mine feels like a solid counterargument to my silent commentary.
There should really be something to denote when a kiss is fake. Some fancy maneuver with one’s tongue that explicitly saysthis is only for show. Or maybe a lack of tongues entirely would be better suited as a reminder.
Well, too late for that now.
The slow, deep kiss continues, and the rest of the world seems to fall away. Everything goes quiet, the low music and chatter of the bar fading. It feels like there’s nothing at all but the taste of Ethan’s mouth on mine and the feeling of his hand cupping my jaw.
Then it’s ripped away abruptly by the sound of a familiar—and very angry—voice.
“Margot? What the fuck is going on?”