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She's always wanted to date a gentleman - so why does she find herself falling for a rogue?
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Ophelia Prescott is a hopeless romantic, and she's determined to find her own Mr. Darcy during her s...
"Don't be stupid," she sighed. "You can stay in my room."
"Your room?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin. "Unless there's a problem with that?"
There was a challenge in her voice. Slowly, Andrew rose from the table. There was something dangerous about his movement. Something almost calculated.
"No," he murmured. "No problem."
She swallowed. "Good."
Twenty minutes later, Ophelia was curled up in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The moonlight streaming in through the slatted window cast bars along the wall, like the black and white keys on a piano. Andrew's breathing was heavy in the darkness.
She rolled on to her side.
Andrew was lying flat on his back, his hands tucked behind his head. White-blond strands of hair fell into his face, stirring slightly as he breathed. Ophelia blinked. At least, she thought they were — or maybe that was just the tequila.
"Ophelia?"
"Hmm?"
"You're staring again."
His voice sounded slightly more slurred, now; the alcohol was catching up with him, too. Ophelia scowled.
"I'm not staring."
"And now you sound angry."
She sighed, rising to her feet. She had to stretch on her tiptoes to reach the blinds, yanking at them until the room went dark. There. Now she could sleep. She stumbled across the room, groping for her bed—
Her foot connected with something.
She let out a squeal, pitching forward. Someone groaned. Ophelia thrashed around blindly, trying to roll over, and strong hands clamped around her waist.
"Stop that!"
"Let go!"
He grunted. "You almost took out my eye, idiot."
"Well, you'd still have the other one."
Ophelia huffed, blinking hard. Hang on. She wiggled experimentally. The ground wasn't hard beneath her. Which meant—
"Am I on top of you?"
"Crushing me, actually."
"Oh."
She made no attempt to move, though. Firstly, because her head was spinning in circles. And secondly, because Andrew's warm hands were still firmly anchoring her hips to his body, and it actually felt...
Well, Ophelia didn't want to admit how it felt.
Not terrible, though.
She blinked again, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.Andrew's eyes shone up at her like twin silver coins. His lip curled.
"You're not about to kiss me, are you?"
Ophelia jerked back. "No!"
"Good," he said. "You couldn't keep up with me, anyways."
He might as well have slapped her.
Ophelia stiffened. Part of her knew that Andrew was right — he had way more experience than she did when it came to hooking up with people, clearly — but still. Rude. She wanted to slap that cocky smirk right off his face.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly that."
"Fine," Ophelia snapped. "But I promise you that I'm a better kisser than you are." She wasn't sure if this was strictly true, but whatever; she tilted her chin up. "I guess you'll never know what you're missing."
"Show me, then."
Andrew's face was smug. He didn't actually expect her to do it, Ophelia realized with dawning irritation. He didn't expect her to kiss him.
Well.
Screw him, then.
She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. Andrew stiffened in surprise. Ophelia pressed down gently, deepening the kiss, and he made a noise at the back of his throat. Half-surprise, and half something else.
"Ophelia," he said breathlessly. "What are you doing?"
She smirked against his lips. "Showing you."
And she leaned down to kiss him again.
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A/N: Oooh a cliffhanger! It feels almost cruel to leave it there, but hey, you only have to wait 24 hours for the next update ;)
So there's been a kiss! Feels a bit premature though, doesn't it? Considering there's another 20(ish) chapters to go, poor Ophelia isn't going to get her happily ever after just yet... how do you think Andrew's going to react to her little challenge?
