Sinful Ever After - Vivian Wood Page 0,44

me off of you when we were in Whiskey Bend.”

Her eyebrows fly up and she starts to flush. “He did? Why?”

Taking a slug of my whiskey, I shake my head. “I don't know. Maybe he saw me looking at you.”

She glances down, her irises concealed by her long, dark-rimmed lashes. She toys with the rim of her glass, her full pink lips parting. When she speaks, her voice is so soft it’s almost a whisper. “What did Grayson say exactly?”

Leaning closer to her is only natural, like a flower opening to the sun. I catch a whiff her natural scent — she smells a bit like jasmine and soap. My words leave my chest as almost a growl.

“Well… he said that I’m no good for you.” She looks up, her breath catching in her throat when she realizes how close I am. I look into her eyes, pure desire crackling in the space between our bodies.

Her words are breathy as she leans in, close enough to touch. I can feel her body heat from this far away. “Do you agree?”

I look at her lips, swallowing. At the way she ever so hesitantly bites her lower lip, hard white against supple pink.

“That I’m bad for you?” I ask, licking my lower lip. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

And that’s what breaks something in Olivia. She closes the gap between us, pulled to my lips like the ocean at high tide. She stops a second before her mouth actually touches mine, but I press my lips down onto hers without a moment’s hesitation.

There’s a moment of pure electricity between us, like lightning struggling to find enough air to pull itself to earth. It crackles and cracks as I feel her hot lips beneath my own.

Shit. I should not have done this. I shouldn’t have let my lips touch hers. I know that Olivia is off limits. I know it in my gut.

But my gut seems faraway, compared with this living, breathing person who is digging her fingers into my arm, begging me subconsciously for more.

Though I’d like nothing more than to fuck her, to give her everything she’s asking for and more, I won’t.

I can't.

But I can kiss her properly. I open my mouth, teasing my way between her lips with my tongue. She tastes sweet and earthy, the heady mix of her drink and her need bursting on my tongue like fireworks. I cup her jaw and lean closer, drinking her in.

Images flood my brain, pictures of all the things I would like to do to her.

If she were anyone else, I would be fucking her already.

Then again, if she were anyone else, things would never have gotten this far. I would have already had her and discarded her.

Maybe she tastes extra sweet because of who she is, then.

There’s a change in her breathing, a question unspoken. I break off the kiss and pull away, already knowing the answer. Scanning her prettily flushed face, the words are pulled from my chest. She looks so hopeful, so open and honest and fresh.

I can't let her down, but I know that taking this any further would only be more of a blow. So I say it.

“We can’t,” I rumble.

Olivia’s face caves in. She turns red. “Oh.”

She pushes me away, standing up and gathering her stack of papers with shaking hands. I am shaking too, adrenaline rushing through my system.

“Olivia,” I try to say.

She bites her lower lip, her expression pained. She pushes past me. “I have to go.”

I catch her by the elbow, trying to think of what to say. Anything to comfort her. “It’s not anything about you. You have to understand…”

“I think I understand perfectly,” she says, tearing up. “Now let me go.”

She yanks her elbow free of my grip and hurries out of my apartment. I stand there for a half minute, staring at the door. I feel guilty and ashamed, for reasons I can’t even fully articulate. I also feel like I let Olivia down somehow.

Turning back to the chairs, I pick up her glass, slugging it back. The rinse of cool, overly sweet ginger ale does nothing to relieve the churning in my stomach, though. Shaking my head, I pluck my glass from my chair and head to put them in the sink.

Chapter Seventeen

Olivia

For the next few days, I keep myself locked up in the ballroom during work hours. Staying busy, darting down to the library for a new stack of papers occasionally, I nurse my wounded pride.

Outside of work hours, I barricade