1.
ALICIA
I’m not the kind of girl who makes out with a stranger in the back of a dark alley. Especially not a devastatingly sexy, dark-eyed stranger who I’ve barely known for five minutes flat.
I’m the kind of girl who does the right thing, I play by the rules. I bring hostess gifts, send thank you notes and get well cards; I hand wash my delicate laundry, and get my dental check up like clock-work every six months.
If a guy hits on me, I politely turn him down -- I don’t turn to molten sugar under his touch, stumbling back until our bodies slam hard against the brick wall. I don’t open my lips to him, running my fingers through his mussed-up dark hair, my head spinning, my body trembling and alive under his blazing kiss.
Except I do. I am. Right now, I’m that girl, and God, I can’t think straight long enough to remember why not.
The stranger grips my waist with strong hands, crushing me against his body. His tongue probes deeper, and I can’t help but part my lips to let him in, dizzy from the taste of him, and the sudden rush of heat like wildfire in my veins.
He lets out a low growl, knotting one hand in my hair, his tongue sliding sensuously against mine.
Dear Lord.
I’ve never been kissed like this, not even close. His mouth is branding me, consuming mine. It’s a reckless kiss, a desperate plea, and in the hazy part of my mind not completely overwhelmed by sensation, I wonder.
Is he kissing to forget something?
Someone?
Just like me.
I don’t even know how we got here. One minute, I was fleeing the party, desperate to hide my anguished tears. The next, he was right here in front of me, looking like everything my mama warned me not to touch. Black leather jacket, tousled hair, the ink of a tattoo twisting up the side of his neck, and a wicked look in those dark eyes the devil himself would have envied.
“You look like you could use a cigarette,” he drawls, stepping out of the shadows.
I whirl around. “You scared me!” I quickly wipe at my face, trying to hide the traces of my misery. Inside, a hundred people are toasting to celebration and family, but I’ve never felt so alone in all my life.
I swallow back my tears, looking at him properly for the first time. That’s when I feel my heart skitter in my chest, a quick jolt of nerves, of unease.
Of pure desire.
I quickly shake the thought away. He’s holding out the cigarette packet. “No, thank you,” I tell him politely. “I don’t smoke.”
“Neither do I.” The stranger gives me a twisted grin. “Don’t you know these things will kill you?”
I pause, curious. “So why do it?”“Why do we do anything that’s bad for us?” he asks me, his voice a deep, honeyed drawl. “Because we like how it feels, living life on the edge.”
I sigh. “Speak for yourself,” I tell him, thinking of my own, perfectly-ordered world. “I like it safe. Predictable. Easy.”
He closes the distance between us in a couple of long strides, until he’s standing just inches away. “That’s a shame,” he whispers, staring down at me with those dark eyes -- black as night. Black as sin.
“Danger would sure look good on you.”
Before I can think, he reaches out and brushes a stray lock of hair from my cheek.
His touch spirals through me, a bolt of liquid heat. My breath catches in my throat.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, but I don’t move away. I’m caught in the dark pools of his stare, paralyzed by some electric force. His thumb slides to my lower lip, and he gently brushes across the skin.
Oh, how I feel it, everywhere, the one whispered touch making my whole body weak.
“What do you think?” His lips curl in an amused grin.
I flush, feeling like an innocent school-girl suddenly way out of my depth. “I... I don’t know you.” I stammer, wishing straight away I could take the words back. I sound so naive, but it’s true. I’ve never felt a desire like this; such a basic hunger, tight between my shaking thighs.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t let him touch me like this.
“When was the last time you did something crazy?” the stranger asks, his eyes still fixed on mine. His fingers trace lower, down the sensitive skin of my neck, and I shudder to feel them slide hot against my skin.
“I don’t do crazy,” I whisper back, struck with a sudden pang.
“So try it,” he says, a note of challenge in his voice. His fingertips tease lower, across my collarbone, along the high edge of my neckline. “I promise I won’t tell.”
I stare at him, torn, wishing with every fiber of my being I could be the girl he thinks I am. Wild and bold and brave. But I have to look away.
“You don’t know me,” I say quietly, full of regret. “This isn’t... I’m not that kind of girl.”
His hand drops from my skin, and I feel like crying out in protest. But it’s too late. I can see from his face, he’s disappointed in me.
Bitter regret crashes through me.
You had the chance to be reckless, and you chose to play it safe. No wonder you’re always alone.
“I’m sorry.” I step around him, hurrying back towards the door before I can feel any more of a fool.
“Wait!” I hear his voice behind me, a harsh order. But before I can turn, his hands are on me again -- those masterful hands -- pulling me around and into his arms, claiming my mouth in a searing, heart-stopping kiss.