Shock - Marie Johnston Page 0,17

So why his vehement reaction about not wanting to see anything that’ll make my ass shake?

A woman with a camera pops up at our side. “Hey, you lovebirds. Give me one for the kiss cam.”

Hearing lovebirds and kiss cam yanks me out of the fog of lust I can’t seem to shake.

We stop moving, but Ford doesn’t let me go. He echoes, “Kiss cam?”

“Yeah,” she answers with the vibrancy of someone young and getting paid to do what she loves. She flicks one of her two braids over her shoulder. Her green dress is a perfect subdued tone. Not bright enough to be garish but not so dark its funereal. The perfect wedding photographer, blending into the surroundings, all the better to ambush people. “I’m surprising the happy couple with a love-inspired theme to their wedding dance photos. You know, showing the bride and groom how their celebration has inspired others to display their love.”

My mind is still reeling over “kiss cam.” I can’t register what she’s saying.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come by later and get the story of how much the bride and groom mean to you for their wedding dance scrapbook. So…” Her grin widens and she puts the camera to her eye. “Give me a kiss.”

The word kiss rebounds through my brain like a rubber ball in a circular room. It’s not just a kiss. It’s kissing Ford. We’re pretending to date. Where does that say we have to pretend to kiss? And how the hell can one pretend to kiss? It’s like pretending to be pregnant.

With one simple flex of his muscles, I’m plastered to Ford, closer than I thought possible given we were already dancing.

“Give me one for the camera, babe.”

I have only enough time to flash him a scowl before he lowers his head. This is the only time I’ll ever curse my height with a guy—he doesn’t have far to go. Then his warm lips are on mine and I melt into his embrace.

It’s not a tentative touch, but he stops at a light press. Until a whimper escapes me and I’m molding around him. Between his secure hold and the firm, commanding touch of his lips, I’m a goner.

And he answers by deepening the kiss. I open for him as my brain shuts everything off but the pleasure center. My nerves are on fire and they want more of what he’s giving.

His tongue sweeps in and I meet him, tasting the sweet champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries he shared with me and his mother. I twine my tongue with his, wanting more of his flavor, more of that hot velvet against me, and more of what Ford can do with that tongue.

And then he did this thing with his tongue—

But even the reminder of exactly who he is and the trail of broken hearts he’s left around town isn’t enough to make me stop. I’m learning what he can do with that tongue and I’m an avid pupil. I fist my hand in the fabric of his coat.

He gently twists my other hand in his and lowers our arms until he’s got me securely in his hold, my arm partially around my back. I’m stuck in this position and I don’t want to move.

I’m slowly inching my fingers into his hair and angling my head to take him deeper when the photographer’s voice breaks through. “That’s good for me. Any more and I’ll need to put a warning label on the album.”

We break apart to her departing laughter. Ford’s gaze slashes across my kiss-swollen lips and we’re both panting, his chest rapidly rising and falling against mine, increasing the sensitivity of my puckered nipples.

He loosens his hold, snapping his hands away from me. Since we were bound together so tightly, the action sends me stumbling back a step. He catches my arm, but pulls his hand back once again, squeezing it into a fist.

“We should go,” he says abruptly.

After the rapid escalation of that kiss left, I was worried I’d be churning to keep up, but his short dismissal after the hottest kiss of my life has me rooted in place. What the hell is going on?

As if he senses my internal struggle, he cups my elbow and steers me toward the exit.

I’m frowning at the floor, not seeing anyone we’re passing, when he tilts his head toward mine. “I don’t want to have to pretend about how much the happy couple means to me.”

Pretend. That’s right. We’re just pretending and the kiss meant