The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

The world stopped.

All was silence but for their hearts trying to synchronize their crashing.

Whispering her name and kissing her softly, Michael eased out of her body and carried her into his bedroom. He settled her on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. He disappeared into the bathroom, and water ran. Before she could start to miss him too much, he returned and crawled into bed so they were facing each other.

He ran his fingers down her cheek and pinched her chin.

“Does my Stella want to stay or go home?”

She felt a grin forming on her mouth. When had he started calling her that? My Stella. Did he know there was nothing she wanted more than to be his? She wanted to ask what he meant by it but was afraid he’d stop saying it.

“I can stay the night here?” In his apartment, in his bed where clients weren’t allowed? Was she rubbing off on him, then? Maybe there was hope. Maybe he really could be hers.

“If you want to. None of your things are here, though. You’d have to use my toothbrush, and you don’t have any pajamas. You might have to sleep naked,” he said with a suggestive arch of an eyebrow.

Those things bothered her, true. She’d probably sleep terribly and feel off all day tomorrow. But it would be worth it to be with him. And to put her mark on his apartment like wild animals did—probably even the pugnacious honey badger.

“I want to stay.”

His smile alone made her decision worth it.

{ CHAP+ER }

20

Over the next week, Michael learned Stella’s rhythms.

In bed, she responded best when he went slowly and whispered dirty things in her ear, but if he wanted something more intense—anything—she was game and eager to please. He couldn’t have asked for a better lover. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Out of bed, she thrived on routine. She got up at the same time every day, showered away evidence of their morning sex—he loved starting the day off right—had yogurt for breakfast, and stayed at the office until six o’clock. Her evenings belonged to Michael. When they weren’t messing around like hormonal teenagers, they filled the time with long dinners, meandering conversation, and companionable silences that Michael had never experienced with a real girlfriend.

Saturday night, after spending the day perusing one of the San Francisco museums and taking turns making outlandish comments about the art, they watched another episode of Laughing in the Wind in bed. Well, she was watching it. He was watching her as he combed his fingers through her long hair.

She rested her head against his shoulder, eyes on the large screen mounted on her bedroom wall. From time to time, she gasped or stiffened in reaction to the film, and her bare legs shifted beneath the hem of the oversized white T-shirt she wore—his T-shirt from the very first night they’d spent together.

He didn’t know how to describe the way he felt seeing her in his clothes, knowing she’d kept his shirt and had been wearing it to sleep all this time, but it was really good. He’d been feeling like this a lot lately—basically, anytime Stella smiled, demanded a kiss, or crossed the room to be near him, but also when they weren’t together. He’d spent the entire past week in a euphoric high, grinning for no other reason than he was thinking of her.

No doubt about it.

Michael was stupid in love.

He knew this was temporary, knew it wasn’t real, knew it couldn’t possibly end well, but he’d done what no escort should do anyway. He’d fallen for his client.

“So she saved his life, but now she’s hiding behind that curtain pretending to be a grandma. Is he ever going to see her face?” Stella asked, drawing his attention back to the screen. “Is she the one he falls for?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?”

She thought about it for several seconds before nodding. “Yes. Tell me.”

He laughed as he pulled her closer and kissed her temple. So thoughtful and serious but so quirky, too. He loved that about her. “Too bad. You’ll have to watch it to find out.” Because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her jaw and nipped at her ear. God, it felt good having her near. He’d been made to love her.

She crossed her arms. “Why won’t she let him see her? It’s clear she likes him.”

“It’s because she knows they can never be together.”

“Why not?”

“Her dad is a villain.” Which reminded Michael of himself and his own fuckhead of a dad and shredded his insides to pieces.