Chasing Waves

Exhibit 1(b)

Honey didn't know how they wound up in the corner of the club.

She opened her eyes, frowning into the dark. Were they in a corner? The neon lights reached out with dull, spindly fingers, and that was a pillar at her back, hewn from something hard and obsidian and wrapped in flowering vines. The mouth on hers was soft but firm, and she warred with a tongue that met hers stroke for stroke.

Mouth.

Tongue.

Did it really matter where they were?

She was kissing. And being kissed. Hands coasted down her body, dove into her hair, tugged at her dress. This was exactly what she'd wanted when she ventured out that night. She hadn't thought she'd get it so easily, and definitely not with someone so sexy. So pretty. The stranger she was kissing tasted fresh. Smelled like dewy air and sea spray and lazy summer nights. Even the way he slid his hands to her ass and cupped it was pretty. As though he thought that she was pretty.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice breathy and thick. He'd noticed her pace slowing. Noticed that she'd flung her eyes open, that she was frowning. He backed away enough to peer down at her, mimicking her threaded brow. "Is everything okay?"

No.

Everything had gone to hell.

But that wasn't her problem. Not tonight. Not when she was Daisy.

She clawed Hunt's shirt—silent reprimand for him pulling away. Another problem for tomorrow—the fact that this stranger knew that Honey was lying about her name, and only knew that because he presumably knew the real Daisy Collins, and might tell her about the unhinged blonde pretending to be her the next day. But that night, when both of them were lying, fake Hunt only grinned slyly before letting Honey haul him closer, drawing their mouths back together like a demand.

His body heat seeped under her skin when he claimed her lips and palmed her ass, making her shiver even though she was so hot. She'd never been so hot from just a kiss, so ... so ...

She felt dirty just thinking the word.

She swallowed a gasp as his fingers curled into her hips, but he swept his thumbs over her waist slowly, sweetly. A pretty contrast to the way he moulded his body against hers with brutal possession. Honey opened her mouth as though he'd asked her to, and he responded in kind, sucking hard on her tongue before releasing it, then nipping her bottom lip. He was good at this. Better than anyone else she'd kissed. His fingers slipped to her throat and stroked her pulse point. Tender, almost. Especially when his tongue was so dominant, so hungry, worshipping her like a servant until whimpers threatened to spill from her lips like a hymn.

Worship. Hymns.

Guilt shot through her, but ... it felt horribly good to be bad. She needed to stop. This was wrong. She was married. Sure, it was only on paper, and sure, Matt had cheated on her first, but ... but she was better than this. She couldn't break her vows.

But she was.

Gosh, she was.

And she really didn't want to stop.

Honey draped her arms around the male's neck. The male. She hadn't even asked for his name, for goodness sake. It seemed a bit late now. He grasped her jaw, angelling her face right where he wanted it to kiss her harder, deeper. She swore she could see a golden sunset over a vast blue ocean behind her closed lids.

Honey wanted to drown in it. Drown in him.

"You taste good," he told her. "Pretty."

So did he. But he didn't need to know that.