Page 33 of Boss of the Year

So this was what the fuss was about.

I’d thought it would be messy. And maybe it was, a little. But like that gelato, even if it was a bit of a muddle, it was too delicious to stop.

Lucas’s lips fitted with jigsaw precision while his tongue twisted around mine again and again, searching for its twin, searching for something deep within me.

“Fuck,” he growled, like it physically hurt to keep the word in. Then, with the first evidence that his careful control was starting to shred, he grabbed my face between his palms and resumed the kiss as though he would die if he didn’t. “That mouth.”

Kissing was the wrong term.

I was reminded of the first time I tried a perfectcrème brûlée, topped with Ondine’s strawberry compote.

I hadn’t just tasted the dessert.

I’d devoured it.

Which was exactly what Lucas was doing to me as his teeth worried my lower lip, then nipped at the fuller top one with a groan. To my surprise, however, I was devouring him right back, enjoying the way the slight stubble on his chin dragged over my smooth skin and the hints of champagne and, yes, strawberries, mingled between us.

For the first time in my life, I was acting on instinct. Who knew how my arms had even found their way around his neck? But I was glad they had as I yanked him closer and let my fingers weave into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Lucas,” I gasped before attacking him again.

His bottom lip was surprisingly full. Luscious, even. Like a perfectly ripe plum eager to be bitten.

The thought made me moan.

I wasmoaning. Like a silly girl in a silly movie, I melted under that firm, demanding touch.

The sound broke whatever spell we were under. Lucas stopped the kiss on a labored breath and stepped away, leavingme to figure out where I was and what had just happened and where the hell Marie had gone and who had I become in the space of the last thirty seconds.

Or thirty minutes.

I honestly could not tell.

When I looked up, Lucas was watching me as he pulled at his collar. His chest heaved with several more deep breaths, and his eyes dilated like a panther on the hunt.

What did that make me? The prey?

“I…I…” I blinked, dumbstruck.

Lucas’s hand was pressed to his mouth, his other tugging on his crooked bow tie as he continued to stare. His combed hair was mussed from my efforts, and there were traces of lipstick staining his skin. For the first time since I’d known him, the unflappable oldest child of the Lyons dynasty looked bewildered. And a bit of a mess.

“Marie.”

My name was a whisper. His eyes were burning. My entirebodywas on fire.

“I—thank you,” I said.

The words slipped out, hushed, but there. Immediately, I flushed and whirled around to face a wall of propagating tropical plants.

OhGod. I get my first kiss at the wizened age of twenty-five, agoodfirst kiss, one for the record books, and the first words out of my mouth are “Thank you?”

Should I just go fullOliver, hold my hands out, and request in a quaint British accent, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

Lucas, to his credit, didn’t seem to my humiliation. When I forced myself back around, he had mostly put himself back together. His bow tie was straight again, his hair smoothed back into place as he rebuttoned his jacket, cleared his throat, and faced me like I was a room full of board members.

“You’re welcome,” he said calmly, as if he’d bought me a coffee or cleared his own plate. Not as if he had just kissed every coherent thought out of my inexperienced mind.

The red lipstick still smeared around his mouth was the only sign he’d been just as thoroughly debauched as me in his family’s greenhouse.