Under the Mistletoe-with Parallel Lives

Okay, it took me forever to figure out which book I was stealing a kissing scene from for the Official Kissing Day post. This is the beginning section of Parallel Lives. I kept looking at Stories and Magic, but it would require too much exposition. Anyway, this is pretty long, but I couldn't decide what to cut. She sees a murder across the way from her darkened office and she's about to leave when someone comes in (to save her because she'd screamed) and he turns on the light.

I was nearly to the front office door when he opened it, and turned on the light. He was in his mid-thirties, lanky, with short, curly brown hair—brown eyes looked tired as if he'd put in a long day. He'd rolled up a light blue pin-striped dress shirt to his elbows, and his matching, solid-blue tie was loosened but still on.

He was surprised to see me right next to the door. Frowning perplexed, he paused, looking at me. I could tell he was on the verge of saying something, but I didn't give him the chance. I put my hands on either side of his face and apologized, saying, "I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

He was even more surprised when I winced and then started kissing him like a newlywed. At first, he even resisted as I dragged him deeper into the office by his neck while still lip-locked. I pushed him up against my desk and tipped my head slightly just a little so I could peek beyond him. Oh yes indeed. We had an audience. It was time to really apply myself. I might never be able to look this man in the eye again.

I pulled back long enough to say, "Just go with me on this, okay?"

He looked a little startled, but at least he started working with me. I think he might have even picked up the reason for this Prom Date flashback because he applied himself to kissing my neck too which allowed me a chance to open my eyes just enough to see what the audience thought.

They still looked dissatisfied.

A thought suddenly startled me, and I pulled back enough to say, "Please tell me you're not married."

"I'm not married. You?"

"No—not dating either.”

"Me neither," he said breathlessly and returned to kissing me.

His hands pulled the pearl clasps out of my hair without even tugging a strand. He was a pro. This wasn't his first time on the stage. He slid his fingers through my hair, and even though I knew this was an act, it felt real. It felt really good. It probably looked like a Hollywood romance too. The old-fashioned version—where it was mostly chastely portrayed, but hinted at much bolder moves.

"You're really good at this," I said at the next breath.

He smiled and said, "Thanks," before going back to kissing my face and neck.

I chanced another peek. Crap. What did a person have to do to sell this thing? I worked on getting his tie off. He paused for just a second, and then seemed to decide his next course of action. For a moment, I'd wondered if he was going to prude out on me. Then, he buried his hands in my hair, twisted it around his fingers and pulled my mouth deeper against his. It was really hard to concentrate on his tie.

Whoa. Hang on just a second… our audience couldn't see what was happening inside our mouths, but it was kind of nice. It was very nice. For some reason, though, that particular style of kissing always made me close my eyes. It was sort of counter-productive to my tie removal. I finally got the tie loose and threw it on the floor.

When I pulled back this time, and they were still watching, I requested, "Wilder—or we'll be here forever."

He paused for a moment as if this statement was odd, but apparently he was just gathering strength. Oh it was wilder. I pulled his shirt loose and started unbuttoning it. My fingers felt clumsy on the buttons. Apparently, he didn't love the shirt, because he took over by just yanking it off and throwing it on the ground. Buttons flew in all directions. I heard them bounce off of my desk and the floor.

"Wow. You really know what you're doing." Seriously—this guy was really invested in this.

Another peek. Seriously, they needed expanded cable or something, although, I will admit that the bare skin my hands were now up against might have drawn me in as an audience. "It's not enough," I whispered against his mouth.

"No," he agreed. He was even keeping his eyes closed. I was impressed. I was very impressed actually. My hands were on some serious muscles.

"Help me get my sweater off. I have a shirt underneath."

I was thankful I'd thrown on a leotard top underneath the sweater. He helped me get the sweater over my head, and it joined the rest of the clothing on the floor. Okay…. This skin to skin touching thing was no good. This was beginning to feel real, and my natural inclination to panic, should this have been real, was kicking in. I was breathing heavy, and my heart was pounding. I could barely think of my name let alone remember that this was just for show. Plus, apparently our audience was willing to watch it out to the end. What was wrong with the morals of society?

I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself—for show. I was pretty sure all the rest of these weird symptoms were just from lack of oxygen. Once I wasn't breathing so heavy—for show—I'd be fine—in theory.

He murmured something that sounded like "beautiful," but I couldn't tell if he was saying it sarcastically like "sheesh… beautiful… how long is this going to take?" or if it was a compliment.

"Okay, in just a second, I'm going to drag you to the ground," I warned him, and he smiled.

"I can go along with that," he said.

Then, I thought—should I count? That sounded tacky.

Apparently, he wasn't as conflicted and took care of that. I was lying on my back on the floor trying to catch my breath, and I put out a hand to stop him from putting too much weight on my chest. I just wasn't getting enough time to breathe. I was curious if this was a problem for people in real life too.

He tipped us onto our sides, I still had a hand between us, and I looked down at the bottom of the desk and up at the top of it before looking at our feet. He had his eyebrows raised when my gaze returned to his face.

"Okay, I don't think anyone can see us here," I reassured him.

"Umm. Okay," he said.

"What are you doing in my office?" I asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.