Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

I swallow my frustration, my fingers gripping my handbag tightly where Dolly’s poking her little head out, happy and oblivious to the fact that we’re about to be exposed in Home Depot by a nosy woman with mean eyes.

Do I turn and run?

Or grin and bear it?

Before I can make up my mind, Noah’s moved in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the woman. And hers of me.

“Brace yourself, princess,” he says softly.

I open my mouth to ask For what, but before I can get the words out, Noah bends his head and stamps his lips against mine.

It catches me by surprise. Obviously.

The kiss is all business at first. I can tell by the impersonal press of his lips against mine, the way his hands stay at his sides, his posture tense, as though he’s barely enduring the contact.

But as we stand there, two strangers who don’t even like each other, impatiently waiting for a nosy woman to take her camera phone and be on her way, something shifts.

My breathing quickens a little as I register the feel of his firm lips on mine, and his quickens in response before his lips begin to move.

Slowly. Slowly his lips drag over mine, from one side of my mouth to the other, as the kiss goes from being an immobile, get-it-over-with affair to being gently exploratory.

His lips are just slightly rough, as though he rarely thinks to put on Chapstick, possibly doesn’t own any, and the friction against the minty glossiness of my lips is electric.

Noah’s hands find my hips, nudging me forward slightly as his tongue slips between my lips, confident and unapologetic. I let out a quiet moan as my hand lifts to his chest, fingers clenching at the soft fabric of his T-shirt, wanting him closer.

The guy knows what he’s doing.

I lose track of how long he kisses me, and let’s be clear, he’s kissing me; I can do little more than stand upright, his tongue hot and wet and hungry against mine, his fingers equally greedy against my hips.

It’s not until Dolly lets out a little yip that I remember I have a dog in my bag. Heck, I barely even remember I have a dog.

But her sharp bark’s enough to make him draw back, his eyes lingering on my mouth just for a second, avoiding my eyes.

Noah turns his head slowly, and I realize he’s looking for the woman.

He steps back, and I sneak a peek around his shoulder. The woman and her camera are nowhere to be seen. I feel a little thrill of victory that if she did get a picture, it would have been of a redhead and her boyfriend locking lips in the electrical aisle of Home Depot. Without a clear shot of my face, Jenny Dawson was never here.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He shrugs, seeming a hell of a lot less affected by the kiss than I am, but then again, he’s still avoiding my eyes.

“Figured I owe you,” he says. “For the jerk comment I made in the car earlier about married guys.”

I nod slowly. It was an asshole thing to say, but I can’t deny that the guy just did me a major favor to make up for it.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, trotting after him as he begins pushing the cart toward the front of the store.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t tell me to shut up, so I ask the question anyway. “How was it? The kiss, I mean?”

Noah doesn’t look back. “What, you want like a star rating?”

“No, I just…you kiss different from the boys I know.”

“Well, maybe that’s your problem,” he says, still not looking at me. “You’ve been kissing boys.”

I want desperately to shoot back something witty, but he’s right. He just set a new gold standard for kissing in my book, and my pride insists on knowing if it was the same for him.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “Give me a star rating.”