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Félix’s most important fact? He hated Aurore Beauréal.
He hated her stupid, pretty smile with her perfectly-straight, perfectly-white teeth. He hated the way her clothes clung to her hips and how he couldn’t look away. He hated the way she’d chirp the weather out on TV so ridiculously cheerfully. Gross.
And she hated him, too. Wherever they ran into each other, which was surprisingly often, she’d blister him with just how much she despised him.
She was doing that now outside the TV station after a show, and as Félix had watched her stupid, pretty lips move, he’d completely tuned out her words.
Aurore poked him in the chest with her umbrella tip. “Are you even listening to me, Félix Graham de Vanily?”
“Of course not.” Félix nearly spat the words, bringing to the fore all the venom he felt for this farcical girl. Who else would put up with him ignoring her? She certainly didn’t. “Your words are droll and unimportant.”
Aurore fumed, gripping her umbrella in both hands as if she were going to snap it in half. “How dare you?” Snarling, she set her jaw, poking her lower lip out in an impressive pout. “How dare you?”
Félix raised his chin. “I hate you, Aurore Beauréal, and don’t ever forget that fact.”
Félix couldn’t even remember when and why he’d started hating Aurore. The fact that he hated her just was; it was ingrained in his psyche as strongly as a mother’s love.
Not that his mother had ever loved him.
Aurore thrust her face into his space. She was so close, he could taste the mint gum she’d been snapping. “I hate you, too. I hate you so much.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and Félix almost closed his teeth over it. “You’re deplorable.”
“Not as much as you are.”
Félix never touched her. He worried that if he started, he’d never stop. But Aurore had no compunction over poking him in the chest, stroking his cheek, or running her hands down his shoulders when she wasn’t holding her umbrella. Félix cursed it for getting in the way of that this time.
It wasn’t like he craved her touch. Far from it. She repulsed him. But Félix couldn’t deny that Aurore lit a fire in his blood for good or for--no, definitely for ill.
Aurore blew a bubble with her gum. Félix almost snatched the offending candy right out of her mouth with his own tongue. “I hate your stupid face.”
“Same.” Félix grit his teeth. This conversation was going nowhere. He should just walk away. “You are, by far, the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen--and I’m not just talking about your personality.”
“Shut up!” Aurore dropped her umbrella to their feet, and it landed on the pavement with a clatter. She seized his lapels, dragging him down to her level. Félix went unwillingly. “You’re an idiot. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Félix smirked. “I must be the only one who does.”
Aurore’s eyes flashed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Félix couldn’t stand this. She was right there. He had to act. He reached out and smoothed his hands down her waist to her hips and then to the small of her back, tugging her flush against him. “What, are you too dense to figure it out?”
Aurore growled, her teeth tightly clenched, and her fists even more so around his collar. She moved her hands to the back of his neck, carding her fingers through his hair. “Tell me.”
Félix’s hands roamed over her back. Just as he’d suspected, touching her was dangerous, and now he couldn’t get enough. “No.”
“Tell me or I’ll--”
“Or you’ll what?”
Félix nearly crowed. He knew he’d won; Aurore couldn’t even make a threat properly. He parted his lips to tell her once again how much he hated her, but then her mouth crashed into his, stunning him.
As she gripped his hair in her fingers to tug him closer, Félix startled himself with how loud his moan was. His eyes fluttered closed; he didn’t want to look at her, ever, and now was no exception.
She jerked on his hair, and he bit her lip, making her scream into his mouth. Félix wondered if he should bite hard enough to taste blood. No. No. That was probably too much.
Her tongue was fire; she pinned his to the roof of his mouth and made him gasp against her, sucking his breaths into her lungs. She tasted of mint gum, and the candy bounced between the two of them as if it, too, cared not a whit for his opinion.
Félix hadn’t known how delicious kissing her would be. Delicious? No, disgusting. He shouldn’t be kissing Aurore. He hated this girl.
Didn’t he?
Just as he thought he couldn’t stand anymore of the delirious pleasure, Aurore broke the kiss. Félix’s eyes shot open, fixing on her in a vicious glare. Félix had somehow ended up with her gum. He chewed it reluctantly, wondering if this would be all Aurore would give him.
Both their breathing was ragged; he clutched her tightly, as if he could squeeze the air out of her. Aurore squirmed against him, exciting him more than he cared to admit. She panted, her eyes glittering with malevolence. “I hate you.”
“I hate you, too,” Félix growled, and he had never been more sure of a fact in his entire life. “I hate you so much.”
But as she kissed him again, Félix couldn’t help but wonder: was this the start of something more? Something else?
Did he want something else?
Aurore fit perfectly in his arms, her belly pressed against his and her tiny waist completely encircled by him. Her skin was red hot, flushed and oh! so beautiful.
As Aurore tilted her head to deepen the kiss, softening it and turning it into something more sensual, Félix realized…
Maybe he didn’t hate her so much after all.