Page 122 of The Art of Ruin

His gaze holds mine.

There’s something in it that makes my pulse change, something I don’t have time to identify before the first distant cheer rises outside.

Then another.

And another.

Midnight.

I turn slightly toward the sound, and when I look back, he’s closer.

Close enough that I can see the firelight still caught in his eyes, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him.

“Casey,” he says, and there’s something rough in the way he says my name that I feel everywhere.

I don’t move away.

His hand lifts slowly, giving me every chance to stop him, and when I don’t, his fingers curve around the side of my neck, thumb resting just beneath my jaw.

The touch is warm and steady, sending tingles of awareness through my body. His breath is sweet from the whiskey as his lips hover over mine.

Then he kisses me.

Not gently.

Not carefully.

Like his restraint has finally snapped, and this devastating passion is what was simmering underneath it the whole time.

My hand lands against his chest before I know I’ve moved, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt as his mouth moves over mine, deep and sure and so unbearably good that every sensible thought in my head disappears.

He tastes like whiskey and warmth and something that’s just him, and when his other hand comes to my waist, drawing me closer to his firm body, I melt into his touch.

Because for one suspended, reckless second, I don’t want to be careful.

I don’t want to think.

I just want him.

The moan that leaves me is small, embarrassingly loud, and it changes the kiss. Makes it hotter. Hungrier. His fingers flex at my waist, his thumb stroking once against my jaw as he tilts my head so he can deepen the kiss. I feel the answering shiver move through him before he pulls back with a groan.

We’re both breathing hard.

His forehead almost touches mine, his hand still at my neck, his control visibly dragging itself back into place one piece at a time as his eyes close.

“Goodnight,” he says, voice low and rough.

I blink at him, dazed. “That’s all you’re saying?”

His mouth curves, but there’s nothing easy about it. “For now.”

Before I can answer, he lowers his head and presses a second kiss to my forehead.

Soft.

Lingering.

Almost more devastating than the first.