Page 75 of Snowed Inn

I barely have time to obey before his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and claiming. His lips move against mine with a confidence that destroys me, his tongue sweeping between my lips before I can even take my next breath. He kisses like a man who doesn’t ask—he takes.

And I let him. Gladly.

My head tips up, my fingers scrambling for purchase on his broad shoulders because, holy hell, they feel like steel. My hands clutch at him, needing something to hold on to as my entire body goes weightless beneath his touch. He’s kissing me like I’m the only thing that exists, like the entire world has condensed into this moment, this kiss, and I swear to God, I’m about to melt into a puddle at his feet.

He tilts my head, angling me for something deeper, dirtier. I feel it everywhere. The heat of his body pressed flush against mine, the pressure of his hips pinning me in place, the way his tongue slides against mine, teasing, coaxing, and devouring me.

I whimper, and he deepens the kiss like he’s been waiting for it, to ruin me.

His hands drop to my waist, fingers gripping tightly, thumbs pressing into my hips like he’s fighting the urge to pull me even closer. My own fingers slide into his hair, knocking off the ball cap, anchoring, begging for more. And he gives it to me.

His groan vibrates against my lips, and it sends a shock wave straight to my core.

Jesse Butler is kissing me like he’s starving, and I’m his last meal. It’s even hotter than I imagined.

Just when I’m sure I’m about to go up in smoke . . . he pulls away.

I hate it.

My lips tingling, my fingers still fisting his shirt like I can keep him here if I just hold tight enough. I want more.

I need more.

His breath is ragged as he stares at me, his forehead almost touching mine, his chest rising and falling fast.

“There,” he rasps, his voice wrecked, his eyes so dark they almost don’t look blue anymore. “I kissed you.”

Yes. Yes, he did.

And I am ruined.

I struggle to look normal, to act like that didn’t just obliterate me from the inside out.

He gave me what I wanted. But I already know. One kiss with Jesse is not enough.

Not even close.

Chapter 27

New Year’s Eve (morning)

I wake up smiling. That’s the first red flag.

I’m not a morning smiler. I’m a morning grunter, a where’s-the-coffee zombie. Today I’m smiling like I just won the lottery or got a five-star review from Anna Wintour or Nicky Campbell.

And then I remember.

The kiss.

I bolt upright in bed, hair wild, heart racing like I just sprinted for the subway and barely made it through the closing doors.

I kissed Jesse.

Worse . . . I wanted to.

Even worse . . . it was good.

Like, capital-G, fire-in-my-veins, butterflies-in-my-stomach, my-skin-still-tingles Great.