After the Kiss
Page 11
She let out a low laugh. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”
Mitchell shook his head, annoyed that she had such a cynical outlook, and more annoyed to realize that her approach to relationships might echo his own. Everything in his two-year stint with Evelyn had been planned. He’d even had checklists.
She narrowed her eyes and poked him in the arm. “Don’t tell me there’s a romantic under all that Wall Street.”
Mitchell resisted the urge to squirm. She had no idea exactly how unromantic his intentions toward her were. “You make it sound like I spend all year cutting out doilies for homemade Valentines,” he said by way of distraction.
She lifted a shoulder. “All I’m saying is that dating is an art form. So is falling in love.”
Her confidence was alarming. Almost as though she really could determine who’d fall for her.
“Explain,” he said cautiously.
Julie’s eyes lit up as she set her box of food aside and tucked her knees beneath her. “Well, see, everyone seems to think that there’s some sort of lightning bolt that zaps us when we’re with the right person. But the truth is, it comes down to signals. Signals that we can control, although most people don’t seem to bother trying.”
Mitchell narrowed his eyes. She was cocky, all right. “Okay then, expert,” he said, setting his own carton aside and leaning back on the couch. “Show me your stuff.”
Julie gave him a knowing look. “Now see, you’re assuming I’m going to throw out a bunch of seduction moves and you’re going to get lucky. No, I’m talking about Stage One stuff. Eye contact, the accidental touches, the first kiss.”
“Sweetie, it might be time to rethink your day job. This is our second date now, and I can’t say I’ve had my socks knocked off by a so-called love expert. You’re the one who invited me here tonight, remember?”
Her lips tightened briefly, and he nearly smirked. This woman was a hell of lot more interesting when she wasn’t getting what she wanted.
She recovered quickly. “Well, that’s because I wasn’t trying to make you fall in love with me. If I was, you’d have for sure gone in for a kiss by now,” she said with a wave. “I thought I’d go slow with you. You’re so . . . stodgy.”
Mitchell’s cocky grin slipped. Stodgy? He wasn’t stodgy. Was he? Surely she was just getting back at him for his rejection last night. Then again, she did strike him as a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
Was he being played more adeptly than he realized?
He cleared his throat. “So you’re telling me the only reason I’m not falling wildly in love with you right now is because you don’t want me to?”
“Exactly,” she said. “If I wanted you to fall in love with me, I would’ve never let you see me without makeup this early in the game. Seeing a woman without her armor should be a gift saved until at least the seventh date. And I wouldn’t have shown you my lack of cooking skills. If I thought you’d dig the domestic thing, I would have ordered in and then transferred it all into my own cookware. And I most certainly wouldn’t have let you see me in the ratty shorts that I save for PMS and cleaning days.”
Mitchell couldn’t decide whether to laugh or strangle the outrageous ego out of her.
So he did the only other thing he could think of that would catch her off guard.
He kissed her.
* * *
Julie had written the book on first kisses.
Well, okay, technically not a book. But she definitely had no fewer than four different articles in her portfolio that outlined the nuances and categories of the first kiss.
In the bad category:
The Slug. Involves a tongue that is shoved into one’s mouth and just . . . stays there, completely immobile, as though its very presence is supposed to light your fire. It doesn’t.
The Labrador. Also referred to as Bad Dog! Another tongue offender. Hint: if either party’s face is wet after a kiss, you’re doing it wrong. Julie carried baby wipes for just this sort of occasion.
The Heavy Breather. No. Just . . . no. Your short-rib-scented breath should never be all up in someone else’s business.
The Dentist. This one has multiple meanings. It can refer to trying to clean someone else’s molars with your tongue, or repeated grinding with the front teeth. Saliva exchange is acceptable. Plaque? Not so much.
Poke and Swirl. Self-explanatory. Also, horrifying.
The Biter. A gentle nip is okay, but drawing blood? Only sexy if it involves one of the hot guys from Buffy.
And Julie’s personal least favorite . . .
The Moaner. Sure, a sexy moan here and there can be a turn-on—when it comes from the woman. A man going all Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally? So wrong.
There were fewer types of good kisses than bad, because, well, kissing was hard to do well. But that’s not to say there wasn’t plenty to look forward to. In the good category:
The Tease. Playful and light, this is like the romantic comedy of first kisses. The best ones involve intentional hesitation in which there is a beat of tension before the meeting of lips. Playful nips, teasing pecks, and flirting tongues are all allowed.
The Hot and Hard. A favorite of alpha men. Typically a precursor to sex. Enough said.
The Dream Sequence. Practically requires its own dramatic ballad. Long, steamy, and lingering, best suited for sultry summer nights or lounging by the fire. Not welcome first thing in the morning.
The I Love You. The unicorn of first kisses. Julie was reasonably sure it didn’t exist. Grace had made her include it.
The Teen. Reckless, a little messy, possibly in public. Hard to get right, but a personal favorite of Julie’s when done correctly.
But Julie was stunned to realize there was a first kiss she hadn’t yet experienced: the first kiss that didn’t feel like the first kiss at all.
Kissing Mitchell was so right and so unnervingly familiar that she almost pulled back. The sheer rightness of it felt wrong. She didn’t even know him. Where was the curious exploration? The trial and error?
Try as she might to analyze the peculiarity, Julie was finding it hard to think at all, because the kiss felt so damn good. It was as though he’d kissed her a thousand times before and knew exactly what she liked.
The hand on the back of her neck held her still as he took her mouth with devastating confidence. His lips brushed back and forth against hers several times, each touch making her more and more desperate to be closer. She tried to pull him closer, but he pulled back to sip at her lips with soft, pleading motions. Every touch was deliberate, every move perfectly calculated for her pleasure.
He seemed to know the moment she wanted more because his tongue touched the center of her bottom lip for the briefest of seconds. Open.
She did, and his hand slid to her jaw as he tilted his head and took the kiss deeper. His tongue moved along hers softly and she let out a tiny whimper.
Great—now she was the moaner.
His teeth found her bottom lip gently, perfectly, and this time she let out a gasp. She might be able to identify the different types of kisses, but Mitchell had mastered them. He’d taken everything she’d ever experienced, picked out the best parts, and delivered them perfectly.
And it was effective. Too effective. His time was up. Julie had a steadfast rule that the first kiss should never last more than two minutes. Enough to get a feel for the other person, but just enough mystery to leave him wanting more.
Pull back. Pull back now.
Instead she dug her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. She had no finesse, no awareness, no control. Julie tried to pull Mitchell on top of her, but he resisted. She pulled back slightly and frowned. How was it that he still had some restraint while she was practically panting?
He gazed steadily into her eyes, looking completely unfazed. Correction: looking completely smug.
No. Hell, no. If she was losing her mind, she was taking him with her.
Forgetting all about the types of kisses, both good and bad, Julie launched herself at Mitchell, pinning him to the couch while she climbed on top of him like a horny teenager. His eyes flashed in surprise, and she very slowly, very intentionally brushed the front of her ancient boxers against the front of his jeans. His expression went wary. This time it was Julie’s turn for the smug smile.
Mitchell shook his head, annoyed that she had such a cynical outlook, and more annoyed to realize that her approach to relationships might echo his own. Everything in his two-year stint with Evelyn had been planned. He’d even had checklists.
She narrowed her eyes and poked him in the arm. “Don’t tell me there’s a romantic under all that Wall Street.”
Mitchell resisted the urge to squirm. She had no idea exactly how unromantic his intentions toward her were. “You make it sound like I spend all year cutting out doilies for homemade Valentines,” he said by way of distraction.
She lifted a shoulder. “All I’m saying is that dating is an art form. So is falling in love.”
Her confidence was alarming. Almost as though she really could determine who’d fall for her.
“Explain,” he said cautiously.
Julie’s eyes lit up as she set her box of food aside and tucked her knees beneath her. “Well, see, everyone seems to think that there’s some sort of lightning bolt that zaps us when we’re with the right person. But the truth is, it comes down to signals. Signals that we can control, although most people don’t seem to bother trying.”
Mitchell narrowed his eyes. She was cocky, all right. “Okay then, expert,” he said, setting his own carton aside and leaning back on the couch. “Show me your stuff.”
Julie gave him a knowing look. “Now see, you’re assuming I’m going to throw out a bunch of seduction moves and you’re going to get lucky. No, I’m talking about Stage One stuff. Eye contact, the accidental touches, the first kiss.”
“Sweetie, it might be time to rethink your day job. This is our second date now, and I can’t say I’ve had my socks knocked off by a so-called love expert. You’re the one who invited me here tonight, remember?”
Her lips tightened briefly, and he nearly smirked. This woman was a hell of lot more interesting when she wasn’t getting what she wanted.
She recovered quickly. “Well, that’s because I wasn’t trying to make you fall in love with me. If I was, you’d have for sure gone in for a kiss by now,” she said with a wave. “I thought I’d go slow with you. You’re so . . . stodgy.”
Mitchell’s cocky grin slipped. Stodgy? He wasn’t stodgy. Was he? Surely she was just getting back at him for his rejection last night. Then again, she did strike him as a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
Was he being played more adeptly than he realized?
He cleared his throat. “So you’re telling me the only reason I’m not falling wildly in love with you right now is because you don’t want me to?”
“Exactly,” she said. “If I wanted you to fall in love with me, I would’ve never let you see me without makeup this early in the game. Seeing a woman without her armor should be a gift saved until at least the seventh date. And I wouldn’t have shown you my lack of cooking skills. If I thought you’d dig the domestic thing, I would have ordered in and then transferred it all into my own cookware. And I most certainly wouldn’t have let you see me in the ratty shorts that I save for PMS and cleaning days.”
Mitchell couldn’t decide whether to laugh or strangle the outrageous ego out of her.
So he did the only other thing he could think of that would catch her off guard.
He kissed her.
* * *
Julie had written the book on first kisses.
Well, okay, technically not a book. But she definitely had no fewer than four different articles in her portfolio that outlined the nuances and categories of the first kiss.
In the bad category:
The Slug. Involves a tongue that is shoved into one’s mouth and just . . . stays there, completely immobile, as though its very presence is supposed to light your fire. It doesn’t.
The Labrador. Also referred to as Bad Dog! Another tongue offender. Hint: if either party’s face is wet after a kiss, you’re doing it wrong. Julie carried baby wipes for just this sort of occasion.
The Heavy Breather. No. Just . . . no. Your short-rib-scented breath should never be all up in someone else’s business.
The Dentist. This one has multiple meanings. It can refer to trying to clean someone else’s molars with your tongue, or repeated grinding with the front teeth. Saliva exchange is acceptable. Plaque? Not so much.
Poke and Swirl. Self-explanatory. Also, horrifying.
The Biter. A gentle nip is okay, but drawing blood? Only sexy if it involves one of the hot guys from Buffy.
And Julie’s personal least favorite . . .
The Moaner. Sure, a sexy moan here and there can be a turn-on—when it comes from the woman. A man going all Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally? So wrong.
There were fewer types of good kisses than bad, because, well, kissing was hard to do well. But that’s not to say there wasn’t plenty to look forward to. In the good category:
The Tease. Playful and light, this is like the romantic comedy of first kisses. The best ones involve intentional hesitation in which there is a beat of tension before the meeting of lips. Playful nips, teasing pecks, and flirting tongues are all allowed.
The Hot and Hard. A favorite of alpha men. Typically a precursor to sex. Enough said.
The Dream Sequence. Practically requires its own dramatic ballad. Long, steamy, and lingering, best suited for sultry summer nights or lounging by the fire. Not welcome first thing in the morning.
The I Love You. The unicorn of first kisses. Julie was reasonably sure it didn’t exist. Grace had made her include it.
The Teen. Reckless, a little messy, possibly in public. Hard to get right, but a personal favorite of Julie’s when done correctly.
But Julie was stunned to realize there was a first kiss she hadn’t yet experienced: the first kiss that didn’t feel like the first kiss at all.
Kissing Mitchell was so right and so unnervingly familiar that she almost pulled back. The sheer rightness of it felt wrong. She didn’t even know him. Where was the curious exploration? The trial and error?
Try as she might to analyze the peculiarity, Julie was finding it hard to think at all, because the kiss felt so damn good. It was as though he’d kissed her a thousand times before and knew exactly what she liked.
The hand on the back of her neck held her still as he took her mouth with devastating confidence. His lips brushed back and forth against hers several times, each touch making her more and more desperate to be closer. She tried to pull him closer, but he pulled back to sip at her lips with soft, pleading motions. Every touch was deliberate, every move perfectly calculated for her pleasure.
He seemed to know the moment she wanted more because his tongue touched the center of her bottom lip for the briefest of seconds. Open.
She did, and his hand slid to her jaw as he tilted his head and took the kiss deeper. His tongue moved along hers softly and she let out a tiny whimper.
Great—now she was the moaner.
His teeth found her bottom lip gently, perfectly, and this time she let out a gasp. She might be able to identify the different types of kisses, but Mitchell had mastered them. He’d taken everything she’d ever experienced, picked out the best parts, and delivered them perfectly.
And it was effective. Too effective. His time was up. Julie had a steadfast rule that the first kiss should never last more than two minutes. Enough to get a feel for the other person, but just enough mystery to leave him wanting more.
Pull back. Pull back now.
Instead she dug her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. She had no finesse, no awareness, no control. Julie tried to pull Mitchell on top of her, but he resisted. She pulled back slightly and frowned. How was it that he still had some restraint while she was practically panting?
He gazed steadily into her eyes, looking completely unfazed. Correction: looking completely smug.
No. Hell, no. If she was losing her mind, she was taking him with her.
Forgetting all about the types of kisses, both good and bad, Julie launched herself at Mitchell, pinning him to the couch while she climbed on top of him like a horny teenager. His eyes flashed in surprise, and she very slowly, very intentionally brushed the front of her ancient boxers against the front of his jeans. His expression went wary. This time it was Julie’s turn for the smug smile.
