“Wow, sounds great already.”
“But I do have a near-perfect memory,” he teased. I didn’t remember him stepping closer to me, but it seemed like his body was nearer to mine somehow. I swallowed to get rid of the dryness in my mouth.
“My. You’re quite the catch. Remind me why I want a dumb, insensitive man?”
“You’ll look so much better by comparison.”
A smile crept to the edge of my lips.
“So I should date the worst man I can find?”
“Exactly.”
I burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry I sent that guy packing, then.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m much worse than him.”
The hipsters had all gone back inside, and we were left alone on the sidewalk. The coffee shop was in an out-of-the way neighborhood just outside of Midtown, and right now the street was quiet. For a moment, I felt like New York had emptied out, and we were the only two people left in the city.
“So what do you say?”
“To what?”
“How about a kiss?”
He reached out and caressed my arm as he asked me. It was the first time he had touched me, and my muscles tensed as his hand cupped my elbow. His thumb stroked the back of my upper arm lightly, sending flashes of sensation through my body. He wasn’t pulling me at all, but I felt like his entire body was a magnet drawing me toward him. The distance between us seemed to crackle with energy.
“I don’t even know what you look like,” I said, stalling. For some reason, I felt like I was playing with fire. The way his hand cradled my arm showed his strength—but he was holding back.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Are you hideous?”
“No.” He smiled for only an instant, and then the smile disappeared into seriousness. “There’s another reason.”
“I can’t give my heart away to a guy who doesn’t show me his face,” I said, although if he had bent to kiss me right then I don’t think I could have pulled away.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your heart. I’m only asking for a kiss.”
“Just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss,” he echoed.
“What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Why do you want to kiss me?”
Why was I pushing back so hard? I didn’t know what I was scared of.
“Because of how you looked at me during my song.” His voice was soft and low, and his thumb never stopped stroking the back of my arm. I felt like I was being hypnotized.
“How did I look?”
“Like you knew what it was like to have an empty heart.”
My throat closed up. All of my air had gone from my lungs, and I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. When this man touched me, every part of me yearned to throw myself forward into his arms. And when he spoke, I wanted to drown myself in his words.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, speaking each word carefully. Again, I noticed the accent flickering in and out of his words.
I could have stopped him. I could have pulled away. I could have said no.
But I wanted him to kiss me so badly that I couldn’t breathe.
He was right. I had an empty heart, and I needed something to fill it. Even if it was only a kiss. Even if it was a stranger, someone I had never met before. Even if I didn’t know what he looked like.
His other hand came up to my chin and his fingertips ran lightly along my cheek, back behind my ear. He threaded his fingers through my hair as he cupped the back of my head. Then his mouth was on mine, and his other hand was clasping the small of my back. Every part of me burned as he arched me against his body.
His lips were hard and urgent, but he wasn’t only kissing me with his lips. He was kissing me with every part of himself—his hands, his arms, his chest. As he deepened the kiss, I felt him press against my thigh, hard and wanting.
I gasped at the intimacy of the touch, but the gasp was swallowed by his kiss. The electricity that had crackled in the air between us had met, the connection points arching energy through my nerves. It was late, but I suddenly felt more awake than I had in a long time. Each touch of his awakened a new part of my body.
Every bit of my mind was sent whirling away, and all that was left was pure sensation. His hand, strong and kneading at the small of my back. His arms like iron vises keeping me from falling. His chest, broad and muscled, turning me against the wall. I was vaguely aware of a small, greedy noise in my throat and then I realized that it was me, whimpering, pushing up against him, needing more.
He cupped my ass, squeezing, and I fell apart inside. I was wet, melting from the heat he was sending through my body. This—this was what I wanted. Someone who could take me in his arms and make me forget that the world existed. Forget maturity. Forget intellect. This was pure, physical need, and his kiss promised me complete satisfaction.
I don’t know how long he kissed me. It might have been a few seconds or a few minutes. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. And I realized what I had been scared of, why I hadn’t wanted to give him permission to kiss me.
I was scared of the desire that he awakened with the press of his hot lips. I was scared of the need that coursed through my veins, insistent and wanting.
I was scared that I needed more.
When he finally lifted his lips from mine, my knees were trembling. I leaned against the wall, unwilling to show how weak I was. From his smile, though, I could tell he knew what he had done to me. I tried to catch my breath as he loosened his grip from around me. His hands still rested on my waist, one on each hip. The touch of his fingers seemed to burn through the thin fabric of my dress.
I stared up into his eyes. The irises sparkled green-blue, like a stormy sky reflected off of a skyscraper. And I was struck with an intense desire. I reached up to his mask.
He caught me by the wrist.
“Please,” I said, my voice suddenly small and uncertain. “Show me your face.”
His mouth twisted, and he looked from side to side. The only people on the street now were the hipsters, who had come out and were walking away from the coffee shop. Finally, he nodded.
He slipped his hand under the mask and tipped it up, revealing his face.
His features were dark and defined. His eyebrows slanted down on his smooth forehead, and his nose and cheekbones were all strong lines. I don’t know what I’d expected, but I hadn’t expected this. He was attractive enough to be a magazine model. His light eyes searched mine.
“Well?” He seemed to be expecting something.
“Well what?”
His brows arched quizzically and a strand of his dark hair fell forward onto his face.
“Is that all you have to say?”
I laughed nervously.
“I don’t know what you were worried about,” I said. “You’re definitely not the ugliest man in existence.”
His words stopped on his tongue and he shook his head, like I had given the wrong answer.
“Is it the freckle on your left cheek?” I asked, letting a teasing note come into my voice. “You shouldn’t be so self-conscious about it. I mean, everybody has a freckle or two. Not me, of course, but then again, you did want me to look better by comparison—”