The Color of Her Lips

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ariana

Never in my life after that day had I questioned myself if I should start to wear low-cut clothes again. I just stopped because I thought the scar was ugly and it would turn everyone off. Not seeing the cleavage was better than seeing that scary scar between my breasts.

But for Michael isn't like that apparently. He prefers to see it than to keep it hidden under the fabric of a dress.

"You shouldn't be afraid of showing it off," he says, referring to my ugly friend on my chest while he checks himself in front of the mirror.

"Of course, because it's beautiful, right?" I say sarcastically as I slip in my white high-heeled knee high-boots.

He pushes his hair backwards with his hand. "It is."

I look at his reflection on the mirror. "It's ugly, Michael," I clarify.

He turns around and walks over to me. "It's not, Ari. Those few inches of your skin are as perfect as the rest." He cups my cheek with his large hand. "They're just more evident because they're more fragile, and that's what makes them beautiful."

A sigh of relief leaves my lips and I lean my face on his hand as he brushes my cheek with his thumb. "I hope one day it will remind me of something not painful," my words come out as barely a whisper.

"I promise you it will." A small smile is splayed on his lips, and the dimple in his left cheek pops out. He touches my red lips with his thumb, then tells me, "If tonight your lips will land on mine again, I want to see their true color."

"Why?" I ask, confused, standing a few inches apart from him in my short white minidress.

He alternates his eyes between my eyes and my lips. "I want you to kiss me not only with your lips, but with your fragilities too."

Oh God. Nobody, ever, in my life has told me something as thoughtful as this. Michael DeAngelis, is not scared. He is not afraid of fragilities. He would kiss every weak inch of me without dreading it.

"Should I remove it?" I ask stupidly, because even though he told me that, it's still my decision to keep it on or not.

He shrugs, his smile widening. "Probably. Since we're going to walk under a lot of mistletoes." He pushes my hair behind my ear. "Got it, huh?"

I burst out laughing and lean my head on his hard chest. "I can't remove it, it would ruin my makeup."

He lifts my chin with two fingers and looks at me with a smirk on his face. "I can remove it for you," he whispers, and why the hell is my heart beating faster?!

He lowers his head until our lips almost touch, then he places a kiss on mine, drawing me to his body, his hands around my waist.

Oh my God. Why am I starting to feel all these sensations?

He tightens his grip around me and gently starts nibbling my lower lip, while I stand there with my eyes closed, breathing hard, and my skin on fire. Jesus, I need to step away. But I don't want to.

Everything feels on fire right now. No. Not right now. Whenever he's near me. Why? Why does this happen?

Michael

She's standing there, our bodies flushed together, breathing hard, eyes closed. Ariana Scarlett Quinn is at my complete mercy. She looks like she would let me do everything I wanted to her.

But as I keep kissing her, touching her, her breathing becomes too labored, nervous, anxious.

I break the kiss. "Baby, what's wrong?" I say, my forehead resting on hers.

She swallows hard and circles my wrist with her tiny hand. Shaking her head, she opens her eyes and our gazes lock. "Nothing, I'm fine. We should go."

"Yes," I breathe on her lips. "Your lipstick is still there though," I point out.

"It's a kind that doesn't smear so easily. At least not with a few kisses and some teeth," she tells me with a weak grin on her lips.

"Are you challenging me, Ariana?" I tease her, and go grab my coat and scarf.

She chuckles softly. "Maybe."

I give a sideways glance. "You don't know what you've done. You should know I'm competitive and I like to win."

"Oh do you? Because I don't remember a time where you won against me, Leonardo."

I glare at her back as she steps out of the room. "Don't call me that ever again."

"Why?"

"I hate that name."

"Isn't it Italian?" she asks.

"Yeah." I close the door.

"Do you know how to speak Italian?" She's genuinely curious now.

I chuckle. "Sì, certamente, tu?" Yes, of course, you?

She looks confused when the elevator doors open. "What?" I translate it for her. "Oh, no. Not a word. Can you teach me?"

"Saresti una brava studentessa?" Would you be a good student?

"Michael, stop I don't speak Italian," she says

"Studentessa equals student, okay?" I tell her.

She nods and repeats it with a quite good pronunciation. "How do you say 'let's go'?" she asks me and puts on her coat and grabs her purse.

I take her hand. "Andiamo," I tell her.

"Andiamo..." she chews the word in her mouth. "Sounds a bit weird, doesn't it?" She looks at me with a weirded out look.

I chuckle. "Nope, it doesn't. Now let's go."

In a matter of minutes we're outside the hotel and on Ariana's personal bodyguards' car, on our way to the fancy restaurant I booked for us.

Finally I get a serious dinner alone with her.