The Prodigal Daughter Got Her Lick Back

A Stranger's Kiss

Chapter Two

Amelia's POV

“Hi.” He extended a hand before I could bring myself to speak.

Keeping quiet, I stared at him blankly, refusing to take it.

“Okay, I get it. That was too forward.” He smiled, slowly retreating his hand.

I refused to find anything funny about the situation.

How could Clara do something like this to me?

“I’m Oscar,” he introduced himself.

“You really do have your hopes high by approaching me,” I finally said.

He nodded instantly, a brief chuckle escaping him. I was taken aback by his confidence.

“I mean, it’s a free world. You never know until you try. I guess that was what caused her to arrange this meeting between us.”

“You mean Clara?” I asked, feigning surprise.

“Does it matter?” he replied softly, studying my face with an almost affectionate gaze. “What truly matters is that you’re here with me, in flesh and blood, and I couldn’t feel more alive than I do right now.”

I was startled by his response and stared at him more intently.

Who was this man?

Not only did he speak with a confidence that seemed almost too polished to be real, but he smelled incredible and looked even better.

“You’re too confident, I must admit, and it’s kind of unsettling,” I said carefully, keeping my tone flat.

I said it hoping he would take the hint and leave me alone.

Instead, his smile grew wider, unsettling me even more.

“Trying to send me away won’t work because I love the way you make me feel, Amelia Dawson.”

Damn.

Did he read minds too?

How did he know my full name?

Still, I remained quiet, refusing to let my composure c***k.

“Do you do this with other guys?”

“What?” I asked sharply.

“Acting completely uninterested so you’re left alone. Is that deliberate?” he teased, taking another step toward me.

I wanted to respond, but my heart began pounding so hard that it felt as though the air had been squeezed from my lungs. He was now close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

One more step and I would have been against his chest.

I think he understood the effect he was having on me. Perhaps that was why he said nothing.

He simply watched me.

His gaze seemed to sink beneath my skin, deep, steady, almost unnervingly tender.

I didn't know how to react.

When I tried to look away, his fingers gently caught my chin, guiding my face back toward him.

A subtle gasp escaped me.

The noise around us seemed to fade.

For a moment, there was only silence between us and the charged space separating our bodies.

He took my hands in his, his fingers warm against mine, before one hand slowly settled at my waist.

My breath caught.

I could feel the firmness of his body against mine, and suddenly, every little detail about him seemed amplified—the warmth of his skin, the faint scent of his cologne, the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

Yet I did nothing to escape the situation.

I could hear his heartbeat, fast and steady, and I was almost certain he could hear mine too.

For reasons I couldn't explain, I refused to break eye contact.

The longer he looked at me, the more difficult it became to remember why I had wanted him to leave.

There was something in his gaze that drew me in—a quiet attraction that felt as though it had been waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

I loved this moment.

There was no point lying to myself about that.

For the first time since Pascal broke my heart, I felt something other than pain.

I felt alive.

And I didn't want the feeling to end.

Then, suddenly, a cautious thought entered my mind.

Why are you flirting with a stranger?

This is insanity, Amelia. Get yourself together.

Another thought followed.

Push him away.

Amelia, push him away.

I didn't.

I couldn't.

I didn't want to.

My head was spinning. It felt as though the entire world had begun moving beneath my feet, leaving me suspended somewhere between reason and desire.

His gaze remained fixed on mine, impossible to escape.

I slowly closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment.

His fingers brushed against my cheek.

The touch was deliberate and unhurried, as though he were memorizing the shape of my face with nothing but his fingertips.

I held my eyes shut tighter, exhaling softly as the tension inside me slowly loosened.

A strand of hair fell across my cheek.

His fingers gently moved it aside.

But that wasn't all.

“You look utterly beautiful with your eyes closed,” he murmured breathlessly.

A small smile tugged at my lips.

When his fingers drifted toward my mouth, I opened my eyes.

Our gazes met again.

Subtle.

Intense.

Passionate.

He released my waist.

I looked away, suddenly conscious of how close we were.

Then his hand returned to my waist.

“Oscar…” I murmured weakly.

He didn't answer.

He simply looked at me for another heartbeat, as though giving me one final chance to step away.

I didn't.

Then his lips met mine.

The kiss began gently, almost cautiously, as though neither of us wanted to break the fragile spell between us.

I instinctively parted my lips, allowing the kiss to deepen.

My hands found their way to his head, my fingers slipping into his thick hair as I drew him closer.

Everything else disappeared.

The music.

The crowd.

The heartbreak.

Pascal.

For those few seconds, there was only Oscar and the warmth of his mouth against mine.

His kiss became more confident, yet never rushed. Every movement seemed to pull me further away from reality, until I could no longer remember why I had promised myself I wouldn't do this.

My breathing grew uneven.

I tightened my grip on his hair, completely lost in the sensation.

When we finally separated, we remained close, our foreheads almost touching as we struggled to steady our breathing.

Neither of us spoke.

We simply looked at each other.

And somehow, despite everything that had happened that night, I found myself smiling.