Page 85 of The Unlikely Pair

“Well, you’re a natural teacher with those inspiring words,” Harry says.

“It’s all about the shape of your mouth and the way you control your breath. Watch me.” I pull my lips together to demonstrate.

Harry follows my instructions, his lips forming an awkward shape. “Like this?”

“Close enough. Now, place your tongue lightly against the back of your teeth and blow gently.”

Harry takes a deep breath and blows, producing a weak, sputtering sound like a deflating balloon.

“That was…a valiant effort,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “But let’s try again. This time, relax your lips a bit more and focus the air through the center.”

Harry tries again, this time sounding more like a goose with a severe case of laryngitis. But hey, at least he’s now in the bird family.

As we continue walking along the riverbank, Harry practices, and his whistling begins to sound more like a tone-deaf pigeon, which is definitely an improvement.

Unfortunately, spending so much time watching Harry Matheson’s lips isn’t doing good things for my libido.

We stop to fish, and having him quickly haul in three good-sized perch doesn’t help because, apparently, I have some weird kind of fetish for people who are capable of providing food for me.

After we’ve lit a fire and cooked the fish, Harry relaxes back on his elbows, tilting his head to the sunshine and closing his eyes. The golden light bathes his face, highlighting the sharpangles of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. With his guard down and his features relaxed, he looks younger, carefree, and impossibly more attractive than ever.

Suddenly, I have a pulse of want so sharp it’s almost painful.

Harry lazily opens one eye, and whatever he sees on my face causes his other eye to fly open.

I take a deep breath. We’ve agreed we’re going to continue this. No time like the present.

I reach over and stroke my hand up this thigh until it lands on his crotch. “Do you want to…?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Is that your seductive technique?”

“Hey, it works for me,” I say.

“Sadly, I do think it is going to work for you today,” he replies. “Which will only reinforce a terrible technique.”

“I’m all about whatever gets me results,” I say as I crowd into his space, and his lips tilt into a smile.

“It’s a necessity, remember,” I whisper against his lips.

And it’s hard not to feel like this kiss isn’t a necessity.

How can Harry’s mouth, his infuriating mouth that can spew so much I disagree with, be so utterly captivating when it’s attached to mine?

We need this to ground us, to anchor us in the present moment, to keep the fear and uncertainty at bay, even if only for a little while.

Harry starts to kiss down my chest and stomach.

It’s a study in contrasts. The contrast between his soft lips and the rasp of his stubble. The contrast between the cool air and his warm mouth. Gooseflesh erupts across my skin and I’m hyperaware of every sensation—the brush of his long eyelashes against my skin, the slight scrape of teeth that makes me shudder.

Each kiss feels both too much and not enough, leaving me craving more.

He reaches the top of my trousers before he raises his gaze to mine, a question on his face.

“Well, I guess it is your turn,” I rasp.

“Um…it’s been a while, so you’ll have to excuse my technique.”

“Bloody hell, there’s always some excuse with you Conservatives,” I say.