The Things She Says by Kat Cantrell

again and jolted them apart. Bleary-eyed, he fought through the lust-induced haze, taking in VJ’s mussed hair and swollen lips both screaming take me fast. He barely resisted yanking her back.
    “Good thing you’re so, um, reserved,” she said without a trace of irony, her irises molten and seductive. “That was so tame, I invited the Baptist Knitting Club over to watch.”
    A good, honest laugh burst out in spite of it all, and he winced as vibrations traveled through his throbbing erection. He’d never had a chance. Hadn’t wanted one. “Okay. You made your point.”
    And how.
    It was disturbing how easily she’d snapped his control and how much he’d liked letting go into that dark free fall of passion. Disturbing how accurately she’d gauged the truth. Disturbing and unprecedented.
    “Kissing is stage four,” she said. “By the way.”
    Of course it was. A sin and a shame he liked her so much because only the worst kind of slime could pretend to be engaged to Kyla while having an extremely satisfying side-thing with VJ. That wasn’t fair or respectful to either woman.
    No, VJ was the marrying sort of woman. He knew that. Now that his brain was functioning—the real one, not the one he’d been using five seconds ago—he had to face that he’d crossed so far over the line, it was but a distant slash.
    It couldn’t happen again. He probably wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror as it was. No matter how much he burned to dive into the pleasure VJ promised, he had to stay in control from now on. It was totally not cool to lose it like that. He kept himself in check for a reason, usually without any trouble. VJ was exceptionally unique in more ways than one.
    And he was still so hard, he couldn’t walk.
    * * *
    While Kris took a moment in the portable bathroom, VJ slumped on a bench with a great view of the Ferris wheel and fingered her chafed lips.
    The vilest word she’d ever said aloud slipped out. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Mama was surely rolling over in her grave. Her daughter was nothing but a cursing harlot. The only thing VJ had proven at the top of the Ferris wheel was that a small-town girl like her couldn’t handle the highly specialized, foreign engine beneath the hood of Kristian Demetrious.
    Kissing him had been like licking a nine-volt battery. A stun to the tongue and ill-advised.
    A man who could kiss like that, and likely had many other talents, chewed up women and spit them out on a regular basis. She’d set him free, all right. Naively, she’d assumed her vast understanding of men in books would transition to men in real life and the truth put a huge chink in her delusions.
    She was so out of her league.
    Kris came into view, his gait easy and loose and sexy. Ebony, glossy hair brushed his shoulders. Good night, the man was hot. There’d been a possibility the chemistry between them would disappear after her stage-four experiment. The exact opposite was what had happened. And now she knew what his golden hands felt like when they touched her. Just watching him move made her squirm.
    She was in so much trouble. People in Hollywood played at relationships, played at things she held dear, like long-term commitment. Kris had flat-out admitted as much, then she practically handed the man an engraved invitation for a one-night stand.
    Was that really what she wanted?
    “Ready?” she said and gave him an everything’s-cool smile. Ferris wheel music crashed through the midway, loud and raucous.
    He paused in front of her, crossed his arms and peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “Were you the slightest bit affected by that kiss or was it strictly designed to prove me wrong?”
    Her mouth fell open. “I’m not quite that blasé about having the inside of my skin set on fire. But I’ll take it as a compliment that you have to ask.”
    “Is that a yes?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Yeah.” He frowned. “Well, no. Not really. You and I both know the score here.