and make her stop putting into words truths that he didn’t want to know. A kiss would put a stop to the fear and would put a stop to his thoughts. He didn’t want to think, and he didn’t want to be afraid, and he didn’t want to care.
And so he kissed her, hoping that it would make her hate him so that it wouldn’t matter if he cared or not.
Phillip had never been struck by lightning before, but he imagined that it might feel something like this. The second their lips touched, he felt a hot, sharp sting rocketing through him, followed by an intense surge of heat and energy and the sensation of every nerve in his body vibrating. Inflamed was such an inadequate word to describe the fire he was feeling. It was a fire so roaring, so uncontainable, that there was nothing to do but let it burn.
Still, he tried to control it. He struggled not to completely consume her, because God knew he wanted to, and because she was right. He didn’t want to hurt her.
His lips parted, as did hers. He slid inside, and she did the same. To taste her, to be inside her, was like adding gunpowder to that fire that was burning him up. A blinding, deafening explosion. The kiss deepened. Phillip gave himself up for lost. But if he was going to be burned alive by this kiss, then he was going to take her down with him.
She did not resist. Not in the slightest.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands—God, her skin was soft—because he needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor, because he was starting to feel lost and adrift. And if he was going to feel lost and adrift, then she would have to go with him. Angela placed her hand on his chest, right above his heart, which was beating double time. Her hand slid higher to rest at the nape of his neck. She pulled him closer. Another explosion.
And then oblivion. Sweet, sweet, pure oblivion. No thoughts at all. There was no past and no future, just pure bliss in this moment.
It could have been an hour, or it could have been a minute, Phillip knew not. He just knew that it was not long enough.
Angela murmured his name, once, twice. It took him a second or two to recognize it.
Reluctantly, he pulled back so that she could speak.
“We . . . I . . .” she stammered and then gave up trying to form words and just looked at him, wide-eyed and wondering. Words were beyond him, too. So Phillip just nodded to say, Yes, me, too. I can’t speak because I can’t think of anything but kissing you again.
He leaned in toward her, because the idea of kissing her again had taken hold and refused to go away. Not that he wanted it to.
He stopped inches from her mouth; she placed her finger over his lips.
“I must go now,” she whispered. “I must go,” she said again as she stood. The cards that had been resting on her lap fell to the floor. “I can’t stay here anymore.”
She hurried out of the room without another word, and Phillip blew out the candle burning on the bedside table and reclined back on the bed.
Phillip closed his eyes, and all he could think was that she was going to hate him in the morning, all because of that kiss. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, but he questioned it and himself. What if he had waited a little longer? What if he had never pressed his mouth to hers at all? What if she didn’t hate him in the morning after all?
Why the hell did he have to give a damn? Why here, why now, and why her?
Phillip opened his eyes, but it was so dark that he might have just kept them closed. He could see nothing. But he continued to lie on his back, eyes open, staring up at a ceiling he couldn’t see.
He had never had a kiss like that one before. And that made him think of Esme. She had no last name that anyone knew of, which didn’t matter. All she needed was one name: Esme. She was a Parisian courtesan and reputed to be the best lover on the Continent.
Phillip had not been in Paris long before he heard of her. He had been there for three weeks
And so he kissed her, hoping that it would make her hate him so that it wouldn’t matter if he cared or not.
Phillip had never been struck by lightning before, but he imagined that it might feel something like this. The second their lips touched, he felt a hot, sharp sting rocketing through him, followed by an intense surge of heat and energy and the sensation of every nerve in his body vibrating. Inflamed was such an inadequate word to describe the fire he was feeling. It was a fire so roaring, so uncontainable, that there was nothing to do but let it burn.
Still, he tried to control it. He struggled not to completely consume her, because God knew he wanted to, and because she was right. He didn’t want to hurt her.
His lips parted, as did hers. He slid inside, and she did the same. To taste her, to be inside her, was like adding gunpowder to that fire that was burning him up. A blinding, deafening explosion. The kiss deepened. Phillip gave himself up for lost. But if he was going to be burned alive by this kiss, then he was going to take her down with him.
She did not resist. Not in the slightest.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands—God, her skin was soft—because he needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor, because he was starting to feel lost and adrift. And if he was going to feel lost and adrift, then she would have to go with him. Angela placed her hand on his chest, right above his heart, which was beating double time. Her hand slid higher to rest at the nape of his neck. She pulled him closer. Another explosion.
And then oblivion. Sweet, sweet, pure oblivion. No thoughts at all. There was no past and no future, just pure bliss in this moment.
It could have been an hour, or it could have been a minute, Phillip knew not. He just knew that it was not long enough.
Angela murmured his name, once, twice. It took him a second or two to recognize it.
Reluctantly, he pulled back so that she could speak.
“We . . . I . . .” she stammered and then gave up trying to form words and just looked at him, wide-eyed and wondering. Words were beyond him, too. So Phillip just nodded to say, Yes, me, too. I can’t speak because I can’t think of anything but kissing you again.
He leaned in toward her, because the idea of kissing her again had taken hold and refused to go away. Not that he wanted it to.
He stopped inches from her mouth; she placed her finger over his lips.
“I must go now,” she whispered. “I must go,” she said again as she stood. The cards that had been resting on her lap fell to the floor. “I can’t stay here anymore.”
She hurried out of the room without another word, and Phillip blew out the candle burning on the bedside table and reclined back on the bed.
Phillip closed his eyes, and all he could think was that she was going to hate him in the morning, all because of that kiss. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, but he questioned it and himself. What if he had waited a little longer? What if he had never pressed his mouth to hers at all? What if she didn’t hate him in the morning after all?
Why the hell did he have to give a damn? Why here, why now, and why her?
Phillip opened his eyes, but it was so dark that he might have just kept them closed. He could see nothing. But he continued to lie on his back, eyes open, staring up at a ceiling he couldn’t see.
He had never had a kiss like that one before. And that made him think of Esme. She had no last name that anyone knew of, which didn’t matter. All she needed was one name: Esme. She was a Parisian courtesan and reputed to be the best lover on the Continent.
Phillip had not been in Paris long before he heard of her. He had been there for three weeks
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