Poison Princess by Kresley Cole

like a magnet.
    â€œI woan let you go back to that boy—not until you give me one bec doux .” A sweet kiss. Then he reached forward, unlacing the ribbon from my hair.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I murmured.
    â€œSouvenir.” He put it in his pocket, and for some reason that struck me as the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
    Energy began filling me. Sick and tired? No longer. I felt excited and alive for the first time in months.
    Where was the meh I’d been feeling about kissing and boys and sex?
    At that moment, I was dying for this Cajun boy to kiss me. I didn’t care about my reputation, the friends I’d disappoint, the popularity I’d lose, or the bragging rights he’d win.
    I had to know what the look in his eyes promised.
    He was staring at my lips, and before I could think better of it, I’d wetted them.
    â€œThat’s it, bébé ,” he said in a coaxing rasp. “Ma bonne fille.” My good girl.
    He wrapped one of his arms behind my back, cupping my chin with his free hand. “Evangeline, I’m goan to kiss you until your toes curl, until we’re breathing for each other.”
    That was the promise. . . .
    As if from a great distance, I heard someone yell, “Jack!”
    He ignored the voice, inching even closer to me.
    â€œJack!”
    Our lips were about to meet—
    â€œJACK DANIELS!” I realized Lionel was yanking on his arm.
    As Jackson turned, he flashed Lionel the most frightening look I’d ever seen on a man. “What you want?” he thundered.
    â€œTime to go, podna.”
    Jackson shook his head hard, his arm snaking tighter around my lower back.
    â€œWe’re done here. Time—to—go,” Lionel repeated.
    Whatever that meant. Yet Jackson was listening to him.
    Lionel said to me, “They’re looking for you inside, Evie.”
    â€œOh. Oh!” I shimmied out of Jackson’s grasp, but I couldn’t stop from glancing over my shoulder.
    When I bit my bottom lip, I thought he might come after me, but again Lionel hauled back on his arm. Jackson growled at his friend, “Want a taste of dat girl, me.” The look in his blazing eyes . . .
    Lionel said something I didn’t hear.
    Something that made Jackson scowl. “Go on, Evie,” he snapped. “Now! Go back to your friends.”
    His curt dismissal stung, bewildering me even more. I hurried back inside, pressing my fingertips to my lips. Oh, God, I’d almost kissed another boy. I’d nearly cheated on Brandon, who didn’t deserve that.
    I stopped in my tracks.
    Clotile was slinking up to Brand, and he looked thrilled, holding out his hand for her. My jaw dropped as he helped her do a keg-stand, with all the wardrobe malfunctions that entailed. Football players cheered.
    The humiliation! And in the midst of this embarrassing crisis, one mental plea stood out from all the rest: Please don’t let Jackson see this.
    I shoved through the crowd toward the keg. When Brandon caught sight of me, he flushed red, helping a giggling Clotile down.
    I was mortified that everyone had just witnessed this scene—and pissed off. Feeling reckless, I gazed up at Brandon. “Hey, big guy. Why don’t you give your girlfriend a kiss?”
    â€œHere? In front of everybody?” he asked.
    Hesitating? “Yes. Here. ”
    Finally, Brandon leaned down to slant his mouth over mine, once and again. With a stifled groan, he deepened the kiss, and I let him for a second, let him cover half of my ass with his palm. Then I smiled against his lips, nipping his bottom one with my teeth.
    But instead of chuckling, he drew back, his lids heavy. “Ah, Evie, you don’t know—”
    â€œWalk me to the river?” I interrupted.
    With a dazed look on his face, he murmured, “Girl, I’d follow you into hell itself.”
    Outside the mill, my satisfaction over my little victory