His eyes jump to mine and I see his pulse quicken at his temples. I’m not entirely sure what to read into that, so I just keep rambling awkwardly while he stares at me.
‘I don’t know. I just always wondered what it would be like, you know? Humans are… well, they’re messy and they’re real and they’re raw and it always just makes me wonder’—I almost whisper the last bit—‘what it would be like to feel someone’s heart beating for you through their skin?’
Quinn doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t stop staring at me, either. I see a muscle ticking in his jaw, see his fists subtly clench, the muscles in his forearms flexing as they do. I pretend not to notice. That tension is back, stretching tightly between us.
He doesn’t look away. I don’t either. I’m not convinced either of us can.
Then slowly–soslowly– he begins to move.
Without breaking eye contact, his hands go to the buttons of his shirt and unfasten the top button, then the next, then another. One hand reaches for mine and begins to pull it towards him.
There’s a question in his eyes and I know he’s giving me a choice, a chance to take my hand back. But I don’t. Instead, I nod. It’s so slight, barely even a movement, but the way his hand momentarily tightens around mine, I know he’s seen it.
I watch as he places my hand on the bare skin of his chest, just over his heart, and holds it in place with his.
His heart is pounding.Racing.
A hundred beats per minute, maybe more.
I find his eyes again, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and though I’m vaguely aware there’s a line and we just crossed it, at this moment I can’t find it in me to care. So, I don’t pull away. I don’tlookaway. Instead, I revel in the feel of him, in the warmth of him, in the slightest drag in his breathing as his chest rises and falls under my touch.
I hear my name, but it doesn’t sound as if it comes from him. And then I’m moving too, leaning closer and closer to him until I can feel the heat of that same breath on my face.
I can’t say which one of us closes the gap first. I think perhaps it’s me. All I know is that my lips are on his and my free hand is fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt and he’s kissing me back. It’s gentle at first, slow, testing movements of our mouths until I sigh and he groans and then all of a sudden it isn’t slow or gentle at all. It’s needy and frantic and just a little bit dirty.
I’m losing myself in the slip of our tongues and the tug of his fingers in my hair. He’s kissing me like it’s been a hundred years since he’s wanted anyone like this, and I’m meeting him with the same energy because for me, it has.
It’s as if time freezes, just for a few moments, and all the reasons and the fears fall away until all that’s left is the heat of his mouth on mine and the faintest taste of spearmint and sea salt on his lips.
And beneath it all, the wild thump of his heart underneath my palm.
It’s beating for me, just like I imagined.
ChapterSeventeen
QUINN
I’m kissing Florence. It’s happening.
And it’s the best fucking kiss I’ve experienced in my entire life.
I’ve told women I love them on the basis of kisses half as good as this one. I feel like she’s rewiring me from the foundations up, and after this, no kiss in existence is going to measure up.
Actually, let me rephrase that: nowomanin existence is going to measure up.
I want her. Wait, no. Ineedher.
But when I open my mouth to tell her as much, she suddenly pulls back, and the hand that was pressed to my chest slips out from under mine. It feels like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over the roaring fire of my desire and now I’m sitting in a pile of ashes, wet through and utterly bewildered.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters, her voice rougher than usual. ‘We weren’t meant to be doing this, were we?’
I can do nothing at all except stare at her. Weren’t we? I don’t remember. I had a full factory reset back there. Notdoing this feels like a stupid idea. We shouldalwaysbe doing this.
Then again, a stupid idea? That does sound like me.
She’s looking at me for an answer, but I haven’t got one for her. I could tell her I love her, that’s my usual move, but from the stricken look on her face, I don’t think that’s going to go down particularly well. Not to mention that now I’m rethinking every single time those words have left my mouth.
Because if the other times were love, then what the hell is this?