Runaway Groom (I Do, I Don't 2)

“What?”

“Ellie.”

My eyes close a second, then I take a deep breath, force myself to quit being a ninny chicken, and lift my gaze to his.

“Yup, avocado,” I say with a smile.

He doesn’t smile back. “About the boat today…the women I kissed…”

“I get it,” I say on a rush. “You told me the other day that the producers were complaining because you hadn’t kissed anyone yet, so you did that and one better, kissing multiple women. They must have been thrilled.”

“They were,” he says quietly.

It’s not what I want to hear, not at all, and I yank my hand away and spin back toward the door. “Congratulations.”

I open the door, and he shuts it again. “Would you just fucking admit it?”

“Admit what?” I tug on the doorknob, but he leans a shoulder against the door, holding it closed with his weight.

“You were jealous.”

I scoff. “No.”

“No?” He touches my ear gently, and it shouldn’t be sexy, because it’s an ear, but his fingers are warm, his touch gentle, and my eyes close. “They kissed me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly see you shoving them away,” I say on a whisper.

“I’m an actor, Ellie. Kissing for the camera is part of my job. It’ll always be part of my job.”

“I know that!” I practically shout, turning toward him and batting his hand away. “I get that. What I don’t get is why we’re talking about it! I didn’t ask you not to kiss them. I didn’t even bring it up, you did! You can kiss whoever you want. You should kiss the women. If you’re going to freaking marry one of them, you should kiss all of them, you should—”

Gage captures my face with both of his hands, derailing the rest of my rant with a kiss so unexpected and demanding that I gasp against his lips.

My hands lift, my fingers wrapping around his wrists as I open my mouth to h

is.

The second I do, Gage groans and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine. His fingers tunnel into my hair, and my hands slide from his wrists and up his arms until I can wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer.

I’ve had my fair share of kisses in my life, with a lot of decent ones, I’d thought at the time, but kissing Gage is on a whole other level. The man knows what he’s doing, because I feel like the only woman in the world—the only woman in his world.

One of his arms drops around my waist, pulling me against his hard body, his other hand cupping the back of my head as he takes the kiss from deep and sensual to light and teasing and back again.

It’s the perfect kiss, as though he were made for me, and I for him, except…

I open my eyes.

Except we aren’t made for each other.

He’s a good kisser not because of some magical chemistry between us but because he’s had so much practice.

I can’t do this.

I’m not the kind of girl Gage Barrett wants, and I don’t say that in a self-disparaging way so much as…well, he’s the Sexiest Man Alive, and I sell T-shirts. He lives in a mansion, I live in a studio apartment. He’s gorgeous, I’m…regular.

But none of that’s even the agonizing part.

It’s that I could lose myself in him, which is dangerous. He’s the type of guy who can and will walk away without a backward glance, and I’d be left to pick up the pieces.