The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)
Michael raked a hand through his hair as he stared at the suits hanging in Stella’s closet, trying to pick out the one he’d wear to the benefit tonight. He was going to meet her parents. Every nerve in his body told him it was going to go terribly, but he would still drag himself there.
Stella had asked him to come.
She peeked into the doorway, grinning. “Can’t decide which one?”
“You pick.”
Shyly, she stepped into the closet. She was holding the dress he’d made to her chest. “Zip me first?”
Because he couldn’t resist, he kissed her neck, sucking on the sweet skin as he searched underneath the loose bodice and palmed her tits. When he pinched her nipples, her breath hitched in the sexiest way.
“We’re going to be late if you keep that up.”
“Everyone’s late to these kinds of things.” He bit her nape as he stroked a hand over her belly and prepared to slip into her panties. He loved touching her there, loved the way she responded.
“My parents are never late. They want to meet you.”
His hand froze in mid-descent. Because he couldn’t bring himself to say he wanted to meet them—why would he want to meet people who were bound to disapprove of him?—he said, “It should be interesting.”
“Thank you for coming with me. I know you’d rather do other things.”
He’d rather do prom fittings, but he didn’t say that. “You know how I like to wear suits.” That, at least, was true. He withdrew his hand from her dress and pulled the zipper up.
“A three-piece. I love you in three-piece suits.”
“The black one, then. It’ll look good with your dress.”
She grinned as she turned to face him. “Everything looks good with my dress. People are going to ask where I got it. Can I tell them it’s a Michael Larsen original?”
He hesitated as he heard his full name on her lips. “You know my real name.”
Her eyelashes swept downward. “It was on your electric bill and the uniform in your picture. Are you mad?”
“Are you?” Had she Googled him or his family? There were articles in the local papers that outlined in detail all the shit his dad had done. Had she read them? No, she couldn’t have. She wasn’t looking at him with veiled suspicion. It was only a matter of time though.
His heart crashed, and his skin went hot. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. But the clock wasn’t ticking down to the time when he exploded and hurt everyone. Now, it was ticking down to the time when she learned everything and it was
over between them.
She lifted a shoulder, but she didn’t look at him, and she didn’t speak.
“You are mad,” he said in realization.
“Mad isn’t the right word.”
“What is the right word?”
“I don’t know. I felt like you didn’t trust me.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “Like you were making sure I won’t be able to find you when things end between us.”
“No, I trust you. I was just . . .” Afraid of losing her. “I hate my last name.” That, too.
“Why?”
“It’s my dad’s.”
She searched his face with her eyebrows drawn together. “Why do you hate your dad? Because he left your mom?”
He swallowed hard. If he answered that question truthfully, he’d lose her today, right now.