Read Online Kiss a Stranger by R.J. Lewis - Free Book Online Page A

baby, crack away.
    “Come sit down next to me,” he then t old me, motioning to the seat beside him.
    Holy hell . This was my house and he was trying to make me feel comfortable! I was reluctant to at first, finding comfort in standing a safe distance away from him. But my body obeyed him before my mind could come to grips with his words. I sat down, grateful that the good side of my face was in his direct line of view. I pulled my dress down and brought my legs together, feeling very conscious of the way I looked.
    “So what now?” I fo und myself asking, staring into my lap.
    “Now you can look at me,” he replied.
    I turned my head slightly in his direct ion and my eyes jumped to his.
    “Why did you decide now to reach out?” I wondered aloud.
    “Several reasons,” he answered. He leaned forward, until my body was acutely aware of his, and his fingers touched my hair. I stifled a shiver as he pulled back my hair and tucked it behind my ear. Christ, it was almost intimate.
    This was ver y odd.
    “What are they?” I let out.
    He broke into a lopsided smile. “First tell me why you kissed me.”
    “Maybe you were just so irresistible.”
    He chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar. ”
    “I know,” I admitted with a sheepish smile. “That’s landed me in hot waters too many times to count.”
    “Lying?”
    “Yeah.”
    He nodded heartily. “ I believe that. You made a series of lies when we met. Dropping those skittles into my lap intentionally –”
    “ M&Ms.”
    “Then you told me you were a tourist. ”
    I smiled. “Clearly giving you my wallet told you I wasn’t.”
    “ It had nothing to do with your wallet. It was what you were wearing.”
    My eyes widened. “How did that give it away?”
    “You looked nothing like a tourist would, in your fancy clothes and done up hair. Nothing like the backpackers strolling the city streets.”
    “Why would you think I would have been a backpacker if I really was a tourist?”
    “You’re young, and you were riding public transport. You had a brand name bag, no camera. You were relaxed with your good Australian friend, like you’d done the trek a million times before. You were certainly not a tourist. Tourists your age riding public transport have a look , one that you certainly didn’t possess.”
    When I didn’t respond right away, he added, “And you knew what ‘Pommie’ meant. Not many people on the other side of the world do.”
    My goodness, this guy. “You sound like you really know what you’re talking about.”
    “I do. I’m very well-travelled. It’s a reason why I couldn’t reach out, actually. I’ve been away for months.”
                  I tilted my head to the side, intrigued already by this. “You told me you live here.”
                  “I told you that among other places I live here.”
    Had he said that? I thought back at our conversation on the train. It was such a small detail, I must not have paid any attention to it. “Where have you been?”
    “Everywhere,” he said, looking thoughtful now. “A good while in Tangier, though.”
    “Tangier, Morocco ?”
    “You’ve been?”
    I nearly laughed. “Oh, my God, no! I haven’t travelled at all except when I came here. Why were you in Morocco?”
    “Business,” he simply sai d.
    My eyes narrowed. “ What sort of business?”
    A thought crossed his mind b efore he answered, “I own a furniture business in Malaga. I get my stock imported from parts of Asia, but I’ve been exploring other places, checking to see if there’s any competition.”
    “Sounds tiring.”
    “It is. In the long term, I might move on to something else.”
    “Long term?” I eyed him inquisitively now, uncaring that my face was in full view of him. “How old are you?”
    “Thirty .”
    I paus ed. Nine years older than me. Well, shit, that was a pretty big age difference.
    “What is it?” he asked, amused once again. “Am I too old to be around you? Not hip