Page 44 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

They’re coming from Jared, but really, they’re from Monroe.

And they’re for me.

Impulsively, I tug on the lapel, dragging him a touch closer. “Maybe it is.”

He runs his thumb down my cheek, making me shiver. Stopping at my chin, he says, “Good. Because I can tell you for sure that there’s one thing bad boys do better.”

16

THE GOOD STUFF

Monroe

Screw the experiment. I might regret this in a minute. I might regret this in the morning.

If I were a better man, I’d stop right now, but I’m not a better man. I’m the man who wants this woman. Badly.

I shut down all the rational thoughts as I run my thumb over Juliet’s bottom lip.

I’ve missed these lips. Missed this mouth. Wondered too much lately if she tastes as tempting as she did years ago.

I need the answer now, but I also want to take all night finding out. Somehow, I resist for another few seconds, letting the want build as I touch her once again.

She feels extraordinary.

Anticipation thrums between us, a buzzing in the air, a charge in my cells.

She looks up at me, waiting, eager. Trembling. Words press against my brain, trying to make landfall on my tongue. Like I can’t stop thinking about you. And it drives me crazy that you’re dating. And is it the same for you at all?

I can’t risk voicing those thoughts, especially when I can’t back them up with action. But this action? I can do this. I spread my hand across her cheek, hold her face and drop my mouth to hers.

Everything spirals away in the press of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft body melting against me.

She tastes like lipstick and Woodford Reserve. And the biggest-hearted person I’ve ever known.

I don’t want to stop kissing her, so I don’t rush. I brush my lips over hers, exploring every inch of her mouth, kissing the corner here, the corner there, then tugging on her bottom lip before I cover her mouth again. I take my time, savoring every sip of this kiss like it’s the good stuff I just ordered at the bar. She is the good stuff.

And I luxuriate in every detail of Juliet Dumont. The soft gust of her breath. The sweet sound of her sighs. Most of all, the way she grips my jacket.

Like she doesn’t want to let go either.

Then, how she moves with me, parting her lips as I kiss her more deeply, more insistently.

My hand roams to her hair, playing with the soft little tendrils framing her face. A pang of longing digs into my chest. It’s not even a longing for more kissing, though of course I want that. It’s a longing I can’t name. One I don’t fully understand.

One I just feel.

I kiss her harder, more passionately, memorizing every single second of this kiss as time falls through my fingers and becomes the past all over again.

Maybe that’s what I’m longing for—the present not to stop.

I try to imprint the details of this moment. Her scent, like vanilla and honey. Her hair, soft and lush. Her body, warm and inviting.

Most of all, the way she gives. Juliet is the most open person I’ve known. She opens her heart to people. Right now, she’s opening her soul to this kiss.

There’s no reticence from her. Just pure, unadulterated want. She responds like a dream, leaning back, roping her arms around my neck, trusting me, giving me all her kisses, all her touches.

I don’t deserve her, but I haul her against me anyway, our bodies colliding in a hot spark. Electricity sizzles so brightly up my spine that I break the kiss.