Countdown to a Kiss

by Mara Jacobs

  “We already looked into pre-loading celebrity photos. More along the lines of Angelina Jolie and Scarlett Johansson, though, not Bieber. Can’t legally do it. We were going to hire models for the photos. And buy stock photos.”

  “But you have an option to upload your own photos, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “So, you make it easy. Make a link to the Google Images search engine. They type in Justin Bieber, find the image they want and tap a button to make it part of…part of…”

  “Like I said, no title yet, it’s—”

  “The Perfect Kiss.”

  “What?”

  “The Perfect Kiss. That’s what you should call it.”

  He didn’t like it. Way too girly.

  “Yes, it’s girly,” she said, reading his mind. “But Lewis, I really think that’s your market. Young girls who have crushes. It’s sweet and innocent and non-threatening. It’s like horses being girls’ first loves.”

  “You lost me.”

  She waved her hand, dismissing him, clearly in her own zone. “I had pictures of boy bands all over my walls in middle school. I used to kiss one particular boy goodnight every night. Imagine if I’d had him on my phone and could try to beat my best score of kissing him goodnight. My parents would have had to drag the thing out of my hands.”

  She went on, “Of course, girls may be more advanced now, so this would be geared a tiny bit younger. And you’ll want to put a message on about wiping off your tablet, or phone, between users. Maybe a stop in play when you go to a new user with a “Did you clean your device?” prompt. Where you have to answer yes to move on. But word it better than that. You don’t want to break the mood with a bunch of techno-speak.” She was pointing at him like he was an old-fashioned stenographer taking dictation, and she was a cigar-chomping boss yelling, “Did ya get that?”

  And his hands may have been empty, but oh, he got it. He may walk by his front door all the time, but he never forgot a detail about one of his creations.

  Which was quickly turning into one of Darcy’s creations.

  And he was totally cool with that. The business was full of collaborations. Some went really well. Lewis’s company was proof of that. And some landed you in court with movies made about it.

  “So tell me about the algorithm. How do you score points? How do you achieve—drum roll, please—the Perfect Kiss?”

  Okay, the name was starting to grow on him. “Well, there are certain parts of kissing that obviously can’t be measured with an inanimate object, like…um…moisture.”

  She grimaced. “You mean, like if you’re a wet, sloppy kisser.”

  “Right. Can’t measure that.”

  “No, I suppose not. Too bad, because if you using it as a learning tool, that’s the one thing you’d want to instruct on.”

  Was it? Well, yeah, of course it would be. Suddenly his mind was full of thoughts of his own kissing. The kernel of idea for this app had come from doing some preliminary reading on good kissing, years ago, right before a different New Year’s Eve and his kiss with Grace. She hadn’t swooned and fallen into his arms after that one like he’d hoped.

  Was it because he was a wet, sloppy kisser? He’d never had any complaints from any of the girls he’d dated. But then, would you tell that to someone?

  “So, if not wetness, what do you measure?” she asked.

  “What?” he asked. She held up the phone. “Oh, right. Well, amount of pressure was another thing we thought was important—”

  “Of course.”

  “But that can’t be gauged from a device.”

  “Right…” She was leading him now, hungry for every word.

  “But you can measure length of pressure.” She processed that, looked at the phone, nodded her head. Her golden hair shimmered, even under the God-awful hospital fluorescent lights. “And…movement.”

  Her eyes grew wide and damned if she didn’t lick her lips. And damned if her eyes didn’t drop to his mouth.

  And damned if he didn’t start sporting wood. He moved closer to the examining table, right next to it in fact, putting his offending area out of her eye-line. And himself closer to her body. Which included that mouth. Hers, not the one on his phone.

  “So, more points for more movement? That doesn’t seem right. You could just rub your mouth up and down the screen and be high scorer, but that’s not good kissing. But you would have thought of that.”

  He knew she continued on, but Lewis heard nothing past “you could rub your mouth up and down.” He pressed into the side of the table.

  Holy crap, get a handle on it. You’re in a hospital!

  “So what was the measurement?”

  “What?”

  “How did you decide what types of movement would score higher?”

  “Research?”

  She giggled at that. “I can just imagine those design update meetings. ‘Well, Mr. Kampmueller, we’re nearly there. But I’m taking Susie out one more time tonight to make sure the algorithm is in place’.”

  “They don’t call me Mr. Kampmueller.”

  Now she outright laughed. Then she looked at him, shook her head and said, “Oh, Lewis.”

  The way she said his name. Not with good-natured exasperation like he got with most people, when they shook their heads at him in disbelief. No, it was breathy, and full of warmth, and…knowing.

  “But yeah, there was personal experience, both good and bad, that played a part. Discussion of course. We watched…um…movies.”

  “Porn.”

  “No, not porn. Well, not always porn. We found a list online of the one hundred best movie kisses and we divvied them up and watched those.”

  “So, what was the final consensus on movement and length of pressure? What did you build into the scoring algorithm?”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. First we…” he stopped. She was watching him, and then she licked her lips and nodded for him to continue.

  All logic flew out the window of the windowless examination room, and he leaned forward and said, “It’d be easier just to show you.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Chapter Eight

  Lewis kissing her took Darcy off-guard enough that she barely had time to close her mouth from the round “O” of shock as his mouth descended on hers.

  His lips met hers and it quickly became clear that Lewis had mastered his own game. His lips were strong on hers, then gentled. They moved just the slightest bit, waiting for her to catch up. And when she did, when she met his movement, his rhythm, he growled just a little bit in the back of his throat, causing her to gasp. Causing him to pull away.

  “Sorry. I just thought…but it was stupid. Darcy, I’m really—”

  “You’re overthinking it.”

  “I overthink everything.”

  “I know, but not this. Not now. Shut down that million dollar brain of yours and just feel how good the kiss is.”

  “But, I’m wondering if the pressure is enough. I mean, I kind of stopped paying attention to the pressure.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Is it? Because another thing I read about—”

  She grabbed his crisp, white shirt and pulled him back to her. “Lewis, kiss.”

  And he did.

  This time all her thoughts of algorithms and high scores and marketing demographics were gone. Nothing mattered except kissing Lewis.

  Finally kissing Lewis Kampmueller.

  She let the phone slide to her lap so she could wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer. He didn’t need much encouragement, quickly putting his arms around her and crushing her to his body. The heat rolled off him in waves and she pressed closer.

  “Darcy,” he whispered her name as they gasped for breath. Before she could answer, his lips were on hers again, the pressure exquisite, the moistness just perfect, the movement…oh God, the movement. Definite high-score material.

  She’d dreamed about this moment her whole life. And
though none had involved her leg being propped up and iced, it far exceeded her wildest expectations.

  He buried his hands into her hair, and she couldn’t have cared less that it would mess up her curls. He held her head in place, deepening the kiss, tilting her head just a tiny bit…there, oh, that was nice. He’d rack up more points for that move.

  She leaned back from her sitting position on the table at the exact moment that he pressed more deeply into her, and as she lay down, he followed her, moving half his body on top of hers.

  But she wanted…needed…all of him. “Get on the table with me,” she half whispered, half moaned in his ear as he nibbled her neck. She hadn’t used her command tone, but he acted as if she had, nearly launching himself on top of her as he scrambled onto the table.

  She thanked Misters Dolce and Gabbana for the foresight to put a high slit in this glorious dress, which allowed her to widen her legs and cradle Lewis.

  And, oh, wow, was there ever a lot of him to cradle. She could feel the hot, hard length of him against her and she slid her hands down his lean back to his butt, urging him to move. Which he did, to her everlasting gratitude.

  One of his hands slid down her body, pausing and squeezing in all the right places, sliding his jacket out of the way, and finally resting on her hip. Then lower, lower still until she felt the warmth of his hand on her bare thigh.

  And all along he never broke the kiss. The glorious, just right, pitch-perfect kiss of her dreams. Their tongues tangled, he sucked on her bottom lip, she nipped his top one. God, she could kiss this man forever.

  His hand slid around to the back of her thigh and gently pulled her leg open wider just as he did a small thrust with his hips. “Oh, God, Lewis,” she moaned and he pulled his face away from hers and looked down at her. His brown eyes were warm and tender as he watched hers, even if his glasses were on the verge of fogging up. He scanned her face, as if seeing it for the first time.

  Seeing her for the first time.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered, moving her hands from his butt, up that wonderful back and into his hair, pulling him back down to her. But he resisted, and then, oh dear God no, his head started to tilt. “Don’t think, Lewis, just keep kissing me,” she said and raised her head off the table, her mouth seeking his once more. She kissed him soundly, lowered her head back to the table, and said what she’d wanted to say for years and years and years. “Don’t ever stop kissing me.”

  She saw him swallow, almost gulp. Aw, crap, she’d scared him away. But then his gaze dropped to her mouth. She bit her lower lip, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Waiting for Lewis to get it. To finally understand that it was supposed to be them.

  And then a small smile crept across his handsome face and she knew he’d found the winning formula.

  He leaned to kiss her again just as the door swung open. The kid-doc entered the room, saw Lewis on top of Darcy, snorted his indignation and said, “Are you kidding me?”

  ***

  Lewis leapt off Darcy, managing to grab his jacket and hold it in front of himself all as the doctor watched. He quirked a brow, looking pointedly at Lewis’s hard on, which he tried valiantly to cover with the jacket. “Nice recovery,” the doctor all but sneered at him.

  He didn’t really blame the doctor. To be stuck in an ER on New Year’s Eve—and not be kissing Darcy—would suck. Having to attend to vomiting college kids and whatever else had come in since they’d been in the private room…not fun. Not fun at all.

  He turned away from the doctor and Darcy, untucking his shirt and sliding on his tux jacket, trying to hide the damage.

  “Okay, sorry it took so long, but be grateful that yours is the type of injury that could wait,” he heard the doctor say to Darcy.

  “I am,” Darcy replied.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  Lewis kept his back to the two of them, waiting till the throbbing of his dick subsided. The doctor asked questions, Darcy answered, and Lewis pretended to be engrossed by a poster on the wall about STDs.

  “I think we should do X-rays to be safe, but it looks like a bad sprain.”

  “That’s what the nurse thought,” Darcy said.

  “Well, then it’s probably true,” the doctor replied. Lewis thought there was a touch of resentment in the young doctor’s answer. Probably didn’t like having a nurse who knew more than he did. If the kid were smart, he’d learn to embrace and use Georgie’s experience. It had been the most important business lesson Lewis had learned.

  He heard Darcy gasp, took a look down at himself, deemed himself decent and whirled around to see what kind of pain the incompetent kid had caused his Darcy.

  But the doctor was writing something on her chart, not even touching her. He met Darcy’s eyes, but she quickly looked away. Probably still embarrassed about the doc catching them nearly in the act. They’d been close, so close, to shedding their party duds and getting down to more skin than just that awesome slit in her dress allowed. That thigh of hers was as soft to the touch as he’d imagined it would be. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the rest of her.

  “I’ll have a tech come for you to take you to X-ray. Shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Okay, thanks,” she said, but still wouldn’t look at Lewis. He moved to her side, to take her hand, to just touch her again—but she leaned away from his touch. “Doctor, there’s no reason Lewis has to stay, is there? There’s nothing he can really do, right? And it’s still going to be a while?”

  “Well, like I said, the tech shouldn’t be too long. And I’ll try to look at the image as quickly as I can, but yeah, you’re looking at another couple of hours, probably. And no, technically we don’t need your boyfriend for anything. You—”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Darcy said quietly.

  Lewis didn’t say a word. He was too stunned about the series of events. His body was still humming and all he wanted to do was get this doctor out of the room so he could keep on kissing Darcy and she seemed to be intent on getting rid of him.

  Or was she just trying to be nice?

  “Lewis, I want you to leave,” she said looking him full on for the first time since they’d been interrupted.

  “But, I want to…no, Darce, I want to stay with you.”

  “You don’t need to. The doctor just said so.”

  The doctor held up his hands in a surrender motion, said, “I’m out of here. I’ll get the tech to you as soon as I can,” and left the room.

  “Who cares what he says. I think I should stay.”

  “Lewis, go.” It was her command voice, and he stood, helpless—not knowing what had just happened. This must be one of those times when he couldn’t read the situation. It happened to him all the time. But never when he was with Darcy.

  Had he read the situation wrong? Was the kissing all on his side?

  “The night is still relatively young. Go back to the party. Tell my parents I’m fine and that I’ll meet them at home.”

  “How will you get home?”

  “I’ll call a cab.”

  “A cab? On New Year’s Eve? And what, hobble up the walk and into your house on your own? Because you know no cab driver is going to carry you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll have crutches by then.”

  “You’re going to use crutches in that dress?”

  She let out a sigh of exasperation. That cue he could recognize just fine, hearing it often enough. “Fine. Find my parents at the party and ask them to swing by here to pick me up on their way home. They never stay much past midnight anyway. The timing will be per…just right.”

  “I really don’t feel right—”

  “Lewis, you can still find Grace. You can have your kiss with her. God knows you’re more than ready.”

  She knew about Grace? And the kiss? How much exactly?

  She sighed. “I know it all. How you and Tess conspire every year to make sure Grace loses that stupid bet.”

  “You know all that? How?”


  “I figured it out years ago.”

  Had she? Had Grace? He wanted to ask, but Darcy spoke first. “It’s okay, Lewis. I want you to go. I want you to be with the one you want to be with. That’s what New Year’s Eve should be.” She turned away, adjusting the ice pack on her ankle. “Lewis, go.”

  And he did.

  Chapter Nine

  So, he’d made his choice, Darcy thought, half an hour after Lewis had left. She’d waited hopefully for a few minutes, thinking he might come back. But no. He was on his way to Grace. To the kiss he’d designed a damn app around.

  When the doctor came in, Darcy had been embarrassed, but had also been flying high, knowing that what she and Lewis had just shared was a real connection. Not some schoolgirl fantasy of hers, or a kiss claimed through deceit—as was his annual kiss with Grace.

  She’d never been more certain in her life that she and Lewis truly had a future together. Until the doctor examined her and she realized Lewis’s phone was still in her lap. She started to give it to him—his back still to her. But when she touched the screen, the picture of the lips zoomed out to show the entire face of…no big surprise…Grace Devine.

  Okay, she could handle that. Though the thought of Lewis testing the app on Grace’s picture fueled a fire in her, she really couldn’t blame him. She had designed the lead in Mirth to look, sound and act like Lewis. Then she touched the game to escape and saw the working title card.

  “A Kiss of Grace.”

  And it was just like a few hours earlier when she’d watched Lewis see Grace in her beautiful gown—something inside her snapped. She wanted Lewis desperately, but not if he still wanted Grace.

  Set a caged bird free and if it returns…oh whatever the hell that saying was, Darcy knew she had to do it.

  So, she set Lewis free to fly. Being the stand-up guy he was, he didn’t want to leave her stranded at a hospital, but she’d convinced him she didn’t need him.

  She wasn’t sure if she’d done a great job, or if it was easy for him to believe, but he left. The memory of their kiss, of their bodies fitting together so perfectly, stayed with her. And she hoped maybe Lewis would return to her after all.