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Taylor

CHAPTER TWELVE

I’ve been kissed plenty of times since my teen years. Even with all the problems at home and my father’s illness, I was curious—it was almost always just clinical interest in the act. I never felt my heart racing, and now I know why.

I’ve been kissed, but I’ve never been devoured .

William grips my jaw with one hand and pulls me in by the waist with the other.

He doesn’t just press his lips to mine—he consumes me, turning my blood into liquid fire and my body into a boneless mass of flesh, pliable as modeling clay, conforming to his as though that were my one true purpose on Earth.

It takes only a few seconds for me to match his pace, because he awakens something so intense in me it feels like an electric charge shooting through my body.

He steps backwards with me, and I assume it’s to hide us from the rest of the theater, moving into the space between the curtains and the outside hall.

He sucks and bites my lower lip, his tongue giving me no reprieve, and I melt completely.

I never imagined a single kiss could do this.

Just as I’m about to lose all sense of where we are, we hear footsteps, and then the curtain is drawn.

I’m the first to pull back, and when I look at William, his glare could set fire to the poor waiter who just stumbled upon us.

Perks and pitfalls of being rich, I think, because despite my nerves at being caught like this, the situation’s also a bit funny.

“Would you like something to drink?” William asks me.

“Actually, I’d like to find the ladies’ room,” I say, feeling like some Victorian-era lady.

Who on earth still says “ladies’ room”?

Maybe it’s the influence of this classy environment.

He once again sets his hand on the small of my back, unbothered by the heads turning as we make our way down the corridor.

I feel my cheeks heat up because I’m pretty sure I know what they’re thinking: What is a famous surgeon like him doing with someone like that?

I tune out the curious onlookers and focus on the venue.

Everything is so beautiful. I was speechless when I arrived and saw the chandeliers and that grand staircase. I had to force myself not to ask someone to take my picture in every corner, because I really wanted a keepsake but I didn’t want to seem like I’d just crawled out of the woods. Certainly, people would laugh if I asked for something like that.

When I showed my ticket to one of the ushers and she pointed me to an elevator, I was expecting a seat in the audience, so I nearly fell over when someone guided me to a private box.

Before William arrived, a waiter came by several times asking if I wanted water, champagne, or another drink.

I was tempted to ask for champagne, but I’ve never had alcohol, so I was scared of getting drunk and tripping on that thick carpet on the way out of the box.

In the end, I decided not to. I wanted tonight to be unforgettable in a good way.

I walked into the opera house with my head held high, pretending my dress didn’t cost only twenty-five dollars at an eighty-percent-off Macy’s sale, but that was when I was alone. Now, next to him, I’m drawing unwanted attention.

“You shouldn’t touch me.”

“What?”

“People will talk. They know I don’t belong in your world.”

“That might be what I like most about you, Taylor.” He says nothing more until he’s guided me to the bathroom. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

“I didn’t think you were coming in with me,” I joke, but he leans down and whispers in my ear:

“Don’t tempt me. In a bathroom stall or back in the box, all I need is a signal from you and I’ll take you right there, standing up.”

I nearly choke at his crude words but hide my shock—especially because, shamefully, I’m not offended; I’m turned on.

I lock myself in the stall, taking several deep breaths to calm down.

God, what have I gotten myself into? Does he think that just because of one kiss, the two of us...?

Or worse, is he assuming I’m that experienced?

I’m honest enough to admit that if there was ever a time in my twenty-three years I’d consider sleeping with a man who’s practically a stranger, it’s right now.

I’ve never met anyone who got under my skin the way he does. With a single kiss, he had me forgetting my own name.

I step out of the stall and see a few women waiting in line. Another three are touching up their lipstick at the mirror.

Only then do I realize my own lipstick is smudged.

I grab a tissue and discreetly wipe the corner of my mouth, but as I begin to reapply my lipstick, a tall blonde next to me—probably in her forties—says, “That was some kiss, honey. You forgot all about your lipstick.”

Despite my embarrassment, I can’t help smiling. “Yes, it was the best kiss of my life.”

Joking around like that helps me relax a little.

He’s gorgeous, powerful, but he’s still just a man of flesh and blood—even if his grandmother told me that her grandson and his two friends, who are also doctors and his partners, are nicknamed the “White Gods,” each being the top specialist in their field.

Live for tonight, girl, I tell myself, feeling bold. You’re overthinking this, as usual, Taylor. Just let it happen.

Exactly.

For one night, I’ll forget everything and dive into my “princess moment.”