The Color of Her Lips

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ariana

"Would you like dessert?"

I've always space for dessert. "Yes, please. Give us the best you have."

He nods and walks away.

Michael and I had a nice dinner, we know each other better now. But despite what a good distractor he is—because he uses every chance to touch me—I can't wrap my head around what that Ace guy had said.

"I have to come back here..." I sigh in exasperation. "Why didn't she tell me, Michael? What do you think?" I ask him, I want to hear someone else's opinion.

He just shrugs. "I don't know. You should call her."

"No, I want her to look me in the eyes when I talk to her."

He clears his throat. "There's a possibility I'll be here too from the 3rd of January to the 9th."

Oh. That's good. I won't be alone at least. "Really?"

He nods and smiles. God, I love that smile and those dimples of his. Why did God create dimples anyway? To confuse women? Because, I swear, dimples are my weakness.

"I need to be here because of business things, I can come with you. If you want," he tells me.

"It would be awful, I don't want you to."

He gets my sarcastic tone and laughs. "Oh shut up, I know you love my company."

I roll my eyes as he stands up and throws four hundred dollars bills on the table.

I search for my wallet in my purse but he grabs my wrist. "Don't even think about it. Everything is on me tonight and always."

"Michael—" I start to protest.

"No," he says firmly and drags me behind him.

As we make our way to the exit, I notice Ace looking at us with a troubled expression. I wave my hand briefly at him, before finding myself in the cold December breeze.

I look down at my feet. Oh God, it's snowing! I never see snow in Vegas.

I stretch my arms out, wrapped in my warm coat, and look up at the night blue sky. "I love the snow," I say almost to myself.

"And do you know what I love this time of year?" I hear Michael say. He takes my gloved hand, holding it until we stop in front of someone's door. His eyes twinkle, they're sparkling. "Mistletoes."

And there, right here and now, he claims my lips with his, cupping my cheeks. Our bodies are flushed together and, even though it's 23.0 degrees, I feel 122.0.

The flutter I feel in my stomach is starting to making me worry. Something inside me is melting and—God, I beg you—I have to stay strong for me and my sister. Me becoming soft is not going to help right now.

Michael's soft chuckle brushes my lips and he says, "Merry Christmas, baby."

I can't help but smile on his lips and caress his rosy cheeks. "Merry Christmas, Michael."

Now it's his turn to show his perfect white teeth and his dimples off. "Do we want to go where?"

"To the hotel, huh?" I suggest.

"That's what I wanted to hear. Let's go."

• • •

I stretch out my arm, arch my back and yawn, my eyes still closed. Oh God, I am all sore. And what time is it?

I finally open my eyes. All I see is a glimpse of orange light. What?! We slept all day?! It's not possible.

I glance at Michael—who's sound asleep, his large body all sprawled on the bed—and turn on my phone—which was off. It's 4:34 pm. Oh, I thought worse. We skipped breakfast and lunch, but whatever.

We stayed up all night. And I think I had the best sex ever. He's so good at it. He did everything to make me feel good, he cared more about my pleasure than his. He made sure I was comfortable with everything he did to me and every position we tried.

His lips were all over me. His hands, his tongue, his pants, groans, breaths. He was all over me, and it was driving me crazy.

I never thought Michael DeAngelis could ever be capable of such carefulness, sweetness. I didn't think men like him existed, but Michael is here in the bed with me, his magic long fingers splayed on my belly.

He looks like a prince when he sleeps. Strands of dark brown hair have fallen on his forehead, and the urge to push them backwards is strong. I can't resist it, so I gently move them away from his face.

And when he doesn't look at me with his beautiful amber eyes, when he doesn't talk with that seductive voice, when he doesn't laugh and show his beautiful smile off, that I start to wonder if what we shared these past few days was just it. Or if it's something more.

Because that thumping in my chest is becoming more and more insistent with each second I spend near him.

I brush his lower lip with my thumb, hoping he doesn't wake up. But I'm not lucky enough.

The corner of his lips lift just slightly in a smile, but his eyes are still closed. He scoots closer to me and wraps his arm around my waist.

I can't describe how he makes me feel so safe in his arms, even though I know who he's related to.

I caress his cheek with my thumb and his eyes slowly open to reveal their beautiful color.

"Good morning," he mumbles, his voice all sleepy and groggy.

I give a laugh. "Yeah, good morning. Do you know what time is it?"

"No." He puts a lock of my hair behind my ear.

"It's almost 5 pm," I inform him. After a few moments of silence, I ask him, "How do you feel?"

"Tired, my muscles feel exhausted," he says. "But it was worth it. You?"

"I feel all sore. It's your fault," I joke.

He frowns. "My fault?" he scoffs. "You were the one to tear my clothes off and ride me in the first place."

I slap him on the chest. "Oh shush. You liked it, dumbass."

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. "Of course I did, idiot." He begins to stroke my hair. "Did you sleep well?"

I sigh. "Yes, finally I didn't have any kind of nightmares." Oh shit, I said too much.

"Nightmares? What are they usually about?" he asks.

I shake my head. "You don't wanna know."

He rolls his eyes. "Who told you I don't?"

"I don't want to bother you with my shit. It doesn't matter."

He cups my cheek. "Every thing that bothers you matters to me, Ari. I know something bothers you, so spill. You can trust me."

And finally, I do. I trust him. And I end up telling him everything.