After the Kiss (7 page)

He tried to ignore this. She’d said it only for effect, and damned if it wasn’t working. His body craved a woman. He was beginning to worry that it craved Julie specifically.

But even with his cock threatening to make a spectacle, Mitchell wasn’t about to be anybody’s puppet. Not even for the sake of this compellingly rumpled sexpot.

“I see.” He chewed slowly, carefully pushing the image of naked Julie from his mind. “But how do you come up with fresh content every month? I mean, dating’s been around forever. It’s not like you can reinvent the wheel. There’s only so much that can be manufactured.”

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 glanced down at where his own hands had landed on her hips as though surprised to find them there. Julie moved slowly, sliding his glasses off and setting them carefully on her coffee table. Her breath hitched as she got the first close-up look of his eyes. No wonder he kept them covered. Eyes like that could kill a girl.

Julie suddenly became uncomfortably aware that she was straddling a virtual stranger without so much as a swipe of mascara or a bra, and her hair hadn’t seen a straightener since yesterday morning. No wonder he hadn’t exactly lost himself in the kiss. She looked like a bag lady.

Giving him an embarrassed smile, a first for her, she started to climb off his lap, but his
fingers tightened around her hips in silent demand.
Stay
.

He straightened so that they were eye to eye, and slowly, deliberately put his hands on either side of her face before jerking her head forward and fusing their mouths.

Julie’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t pegged him as classic alpha, but the truth was in the kiss.

He was going for Hot and Hard.

And he did it well. Really well. If the previous kiss had been strangely familiar, this one was pure passion. All Julie could do was hang on to the front of his shirt as he took her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers in silky strokes as her hips began to move against his in a matching rhythm.

When they needed to breathe, they pulled back just slightly, reluctantly, catching their breath in between teasing flicks of slow, brief melding of mouths. What was this? It was like the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss in between, all rolled into one hot, bizarre moment.

His hands began a slow trek upward and Julie arched into him, wanting his hands over her. On her.

Something prissy and nagging tickled the back of her mind.
Too fast. This is date three material
.

But she couldn’t quite make herself obey her own rules of dating. In fact, if he would just take off these damned jeans, she could wiggle and—

His hands were bracketing her rib cage now and she caught her breath, waiting, wanting. And then he moved again, but not in the direction she wanted.

No!

Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted her up and off him and she was slouched in the corner of her couch, feeling very much like a cat in heat. Alone.

They stared at each other for several moments, and Julie read the same confused expression in his eyes.

What the hell just happened?

Mitchell let out a long breath and leaned forward to grab the glasses she’d set on the coffee table. He slid them back on before looking at her, and she felt a small surge of regret. His mask was firmly in place.

Wall Street was back.

He slowly extended a hand toward her, rubbing a thumb over her bottom lip.

“I should go,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip and refrained from asking why. Why stop something that
good
? If this was how relationships were supposed to progress, she wanted no part of it. She had a major case of blue ovaries.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?”

Mitchell’s eyes fell on her mouth before finally shaking his head. “
Want
and
should
aren’t the same thing in my book.”

She sniffed. “No wonder you look so stuffy.”

Strange man that he was, he grinned at that. “Do you have running shoes?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. All she wanted was a normal, boring date with this guy, and instead he was running circles around her. “Running shoes? Is that a hint?”

“Yes or no, Ms. Greene.”

“Yes, I own sneakers,” she said, sitting up straighter and trying to keep up.

“Good,” he said, watching her mouth. “Take the A or C train up to Columbus Circle tomorrow. Eight o’clock.”

Her jaw dropped. “Eight in the
morning
? Nothing will even be open. What would we possibly do in Central Park at that time on a
Sunday
?”

He grinned and ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. For a moment she was a little dazzled by the pure excitement on his face. “What do you think? We’re going for a run.”

And just like that, he’d done it again.

Julie was completely and utterly flummoxed by a man.

At 7:55 on Sunday morning, Julie was sitting on a bench near Columbus Circle, trying to figure out at exactly what point she’d lost her mind.

For starters, she was up before nine on a Sunday. Everyone thought New York was the city that didn’t sleep, but it totally did. It slept on Sundays. Or at least it was supposed to.

And if she was up before nine, it should be to primp for a four-star brunch with the girls. Instead, the most exciting part of Julie’s outfit this morning was her hot pink sports bra. For a run. With a man who she wasn’t even sure liked her.

Everything about them was incompatible, and in any other situation she’d have moved on. But moving on was how she’d gotten herself into this mess in the first place. She had absolutely no experience in sticking it out, and it was time to face the music. Even if the music was of the boring, classical variety.