Another deleted scene from an ongoing work (don't ask how many works-in-progress I'm juggling right now. It probably isn't a healthy number). I don't even know if the romance blossoming in this scene will stay in the series in question. That's the great and terrible thing about writing book-length fiction. It's like a choose-your-own-adventure unfolding in your head, and at times, all the different paths and possibilities exist simultaneously. It's often hard to pick only one. Just a Kiss

“That location is important. I think there’s a chance he’ll try to use it again, and soon,” I continued. I went to my jacket to retrieve the print-out of the Street Witness map. I had just started smoothing it out on the coffee table when Lopez got abruptly to her feet.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” she said.

“What?”

She started heading for the door. “I can’t do this,” she repeated. “I can’t live in your world. It’s too much.”

“Rita, wait." I scrambled to my feet and hurried after her. "I’m not asking you to believe it. Just accept that he believes it.”

She turned her back to me. I’d been so focused on my own anxieties about explaining things, I’d managed to tune out everything she was feeling. But now the connection surged open, and I belatedly felt the crushing weight of her fear.

“No. I can’t believe that things like this exist. Belief like that is what killed my mother." She nearly lost the iron in her voice to the quaver of unshed tears.

That sound wrenched at me. I reached out and seized her arm. I wasn’t sure if I’d meant to comfort her or keep her from leaving. It hardly mattered, because the minute I touched her, everything got tangled between us. I couldn’t tell where her fear ended or my urgent need to erase it began. We just clung to each other.

And then we were kissing.

*                      *                      *

I broke it off first. I wasn’t exactly sure how – I literally couldn’t remember the last time I’d been with someone and kissing felt really damned good. But underneath the urgent, breathless yearning to pull Rita as close as I possibly could was this subtle feeling of wrongness. I think she sensed it, too, but it didn’t telegraph to her body. Her hands were restless, tracing lines of sensation up and down my back through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. Whenever her fingertips brushed passed my wings, I caught my breath with the intensity of the sensation – she couldn’t feel them, but I sure as hell could. She dug in her nails when I finally managed to pull away.

Her mouth was still tilted up to me, lips plump and red from being crushed against mine. I gently gripped her shoulders, holding her at a distance while not quite able to bring myself to let go. Colors danced in the air between us, whirling like some fervid storm. My head resounded with an empathic feedback loop as everything we felt was shared and painfully amplified. She must have felt it, too, even if she didn’t understand what was happening. Her dark lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes. She blinked like someone waking from a dream. Her pupils were huge, making her dark eyes appear jet-black as she gazed up at me.

“Why’d you stop?” she murmured. The words came out as a sultry purr.

“Why’d we start?” I responded carefully.

She sighed, moving to lay her head against my chest. My brain told me to keep holding her away from me. My arms pulled her in close. Her cheek made a nest of the slight depression at the base of my ribcage. “Long day. Felt good. Been wondering if you could kiss,” she responded. “You can.”

I swallowed hard. My heart knocked against my ribs like it was trying to reach her face. My pulse hammered lower, making my jeans feel too tight. Her face wasn’t the only thing pressed up against me. With suddenly dry lips, I managed to say, “I don’t know if now’s a good time.”

She shrugged against me, tracing the lines of my abdominal muscles through my shirt with the edges of her nails. She made an appreciative sound.  “I feel something every time you touch me,” she said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“We’re adults. There’s no need to make a big deal about it.” Her hands continued lower, plucking at the waistband of my jeans.

“I’m kind of a fan of doing things only when both parties are in full control of their faculties,” I objected. Hell was it tough to get those words out. I managed to peel her away. Holding her at a distance again, I said, “And you’re not. This is something special. Regretting it later would kill that.”

She huffed impatiently at me. “Jesus, Zack. It doesn’t have to be anything. You’re attractive. I’m attracted. End of story.”

She really wasn’t making it easy to take the high road.

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