Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

“Are you still sure?” A shiver races down my spine. From the corner of my eye, I can see his lips moving. So close and yet so far away. Deep down, I know that if I told him this wasn’t okay, he’d put an end to it all immediately. “Yes,” I reply in a hushed whisper, tilting my head to line us up. And that one word is all it takes for Rhys to close the few inches between us. The first press of our lips borders on chaste, but heat suffuses every limb. The pressure recedes ever so slightly, and then I kiss him back. Our lips move in perfect synchronicity, with more urgency than I expected and less fervor than I crave. His stubble tickles my face, and I can taste his minty breath. His hands pulse where they hold me, and I hear the deep groan that rumbles in his throat—I feel it in my jaw. It twinges between my shoulders, twists in my hips, and curls my toes. I can’t help but match his vibration with an impulsive whimper of my own. My hands slide up over the lapels of his rented tuxedo, my fingers gripping and pulling him closer. Just a little bit more. A loud hoot from the crowd that sounds an awful lot like West draws us back into reality. Our lips part and our foreheads press together for a beat, as though we both need a moment to recover. There was no tongue, and it didn’t last long, but something about the kiss rattles me in a way I can’t make sense of. Doris’s simple “I now pronounce you husband and wife” pulls us back a respectable distance from each other. Cheers, whistl...