CHAPTER 124: STUTTERS AND BLUNDERS

Of course her heart was beating so fast it felt like it might give her away entirely. She didn’t know what she was thinking.

Or maybe she just... wasn’t thinking at all.

His lips were soft. Shockingly so. Warm, too, like the heat between them had collected there and was spilling into her. But she didn’t get past that. Couldn’t.

Because the worst part wasn’t that she’d kissed him. Or rather... pecked his lips.

It was that he wasn’t doing anything.

No push. No pull. No answering pressure. He just... stayed there, letting her be the only one crossing the line.

The seconds stretched unbearably, her pulse roaring in her ears.

She slowly opened her eyes, just enough to peek, and almost died when she found his eyes open. A little wider than usual as though he was in shock.

He was watching her.

Her breath caught. She could feel the heat in her face now, burning hotter with every second she stayed this close.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and blinked at him.

He blinked back once, slow, like he was still processing what had just happened. Then, his voice came low and even, though something unreadable sat under the surface.

"...What is this?"

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Each time without a single coherent word making it past her tongue.

"I uh it’s... it’s not-, don’t make it sound like..." She tripped over herself, eyes darting everywhere but him, her fingers still stupidly curled against the back of his neck as if she’d forgotten she could move.

"It’s not anything, okay? I just... You were- I don’t know, you were looking at me like—" She broke off, catching her breath in frustration, her free hand waving vaguely in the air. "And then you were saying all that stuff about me ’m-melting for you’ which, by the way, is insane, and... and then—"

She realized she was still touching him, and jerked her hand back like she’d been burned. "And it’s not like I’ve been... I mean, I wasn’t. Oh my god, ttthis is so—"

Her words tangled into a breathless, mortified laugh that died halfway out of her throat.

Finally, she forced herself to meet his eyes, even though it felt like walking into a trap. "You know what? Forget it. Just..."

The problem was, he hadn’t looked away. Not once. And the weight in his gaze made it very clear that he had no intention of forgetting anything.

His head tilted slightly, eyes still locked on hers. "Do you have a fever?" he asked, his tone deceptively mild. "Are you sick?"

Her mouth opened to protest, but he cut in again, "Or maybe... sick in the head?"

Wow.

"I... excuse me?!" She sat up straighter, scandal mixing with the heat still clinging to her cheeks. "I am not sick in the head! I just... You—" She waved both hands in the air like she might physically grab the words she needed. "You were the one... you were— shit!"

Her voice climbed, then stuttered into nothing, her pulse still racing far too fast for her to think straight.

His gaze didn’t budge. "Why aren’t you saying sorry for what you just did?"

Okay... this was getting worse than she had anticipated.

He had no intention of letting it go. At all.

Her head snapped toward him. "Why... what... why should I—?" She made a helpless sound in the back of her throat, frustration bleeding into embarrassment. "It’s not like I— I mean, I wasn’t— It’s like this...!"

Then, quieter, almost like the words slipped out before she could think better— "I’m not s-orry."

"...Huh?"

She swallowed, her chin lifting a fraction. "You’ve called me a pervert, like, a dozen times to my face and in your head. So... fine. Think whatever you want. Besides..."

Her eyes flicked away briefly, her voice dipping even lower. "...we’re married, so what’s... what’s so wrong with wanting to kiss my husband?"

She was clearly aiming for confidence, but it came out wobbly, the tremor in her voice giving her away.

The light from the TV flickered over his face as he leaned back slightly, but his gaze didn’t soften. His quiet voice, paired with that steady, unreadable intensity, made her heartbeat pound in her ears.

Onscreen, the romcom had shifted back to ridiculous slapstick antics, the audience laugh track ringing out bright and hollow, completely at odds with the way the air between them had gone dense and unmoving.

His voice was low, deliberate. "We are married."

It wasn’t a question, and somehow that made it worse.

Alice’s brain was scrambling for an exit route, already calculating some excuse to slip out of this suffocating, dimly lit room, when he moved.

Before she could process it, he was on his feet. She instinctively leaned back on her hands, her pulse jumping, her body screaming danger, danger, danger without a clear reason why.

Then his shadow loomed, and the next thing she knew, his arms were under her.

"Wha— HEY!" she yelped, the shock snapping her voice up an octave. "What are you—?! Put me... Hades! This is—! What are you trying to do!?" She was half-flailing, half-clutching at his shoulder, unsure whether to fight him off or hang on for dear life. "Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay—"

He didn’t so much as glance down at her babbling. His hold was steady, unyielding, carrying her with infuriating ease across the room until they reached a sleek decorative console at the far end.

Then he set her down... no, placed her. On top of it.

Her eyes went wide. Her knees parted automatically from the narrow perch, and before she could scoot back, he stepped forward, slotting himself into the space between her legs. The edge of the table pressed against her thighs.

She was far more shocked than she’d thought possible. The air between them was suddenly so warm it almost buzzed.

One of his hands lifted, fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

"I must look like a priest to you," he murmured, almost thoughtful.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

This position... this was sus.

"Even if I don’t like you," he went on, his gaze unwavering, "you should be smart enough to know you’re not that ugly. And I..." The smallest pause. "...am still a man."

She swallowed hard. "I... don’t like you either," she blurted.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable glinting there. "Liar."

The word landed like a drop of ink in water, spreading through her chest.

Her pulse jumped, but she pushed back, her voice low, uneven. "...You’re a liar too."

Her last words hung between them like static, and for a long moment, neither moved.

The quiet hum of the TV on the other side of the room felt like it belonged in another universe. Far from this dimly lit space where she sat caged between his arms and the hard edge of the console.

His hand stayed under her chin, firm but not rough, tilting her head just enough so she couldn’t look away. His gaze burned into hers, steady, unblinking, stripping her of whatever flimsy defenses she’d been clinging to.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sharper tang of whatever else he used on him. Soap? Shampoo? Conditioner?

None of those were good for her senses and current mood.

When his thumb moved, barely, just enough to brush along the curve of her jaw, her breath hitched.

He leaned in, slow enough for her to notice, fast enough that she forgot to decide whether she should stop him.

And then—

His lips grazed hers.

Not a kiss. Not fully. Just the faintest, deliberate drag of warmth that sent a shiver darting down her spine.

Ah... so this was exactly what those words meant.

She had also used them endlessly in her books. But now... she had to feel it first hand.

Her fingers had curled against the table for balance, but before she realized it, they’d moved, sliding up to clutch at the front of his shirt, anchoring herself.

"You..." she breathed, but the word was swallowed when his mouth brushed hers again. This time with a fraction more pressure. Just enough to blur the line between accident and intention.

Her knees tightened against his sides, a silent betrayal of her insistence that she didn’t like him.

He drew back just far enough for their eyes to meet, his voice low, edged with something dangerous. "Still think you’re not a liar?"

Her breath trembled out of her. "...Yes."

His lips curved. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to make her pulse trip.

And before she could think better of it, her hand lifted. Hesitant at first, then surer, to press against his chest. Or rather, to feel him.