Chapter Fifteen: grove mistake

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Daisy couldn't kiss Hunt. There was no way she could kiss Hunt.

It was the single thought running through her head like a gold medalist as the game started. The number of couples taking turns before them dwindled, their movements a blur in Daisy's peripheral. Amira was going clockwise around the table. Daisy was trying to work out how to stop time. Because she couldn't kiss Hunt. There was no way she could kiss Hunt.

"Uh ... Chocolate?" Kenji guessed when he pulled away from Laia, his hand still cupping her cheek.

Daisy uncovered her eyes in time to see her best friend let out a frustrated sigh. "Mocha Madness, baby."

No point for them.

The younger couple went next, and they gave Honey and Matthew a run for their money in terms of the most awkward kissing style Daisy had ever seen. Praying Mantis Eating Their Young, a more observant Daisy might have called it.

But this Daisy was spiralling, falling into panic and madness with only one thing looping through her mind. Because she couldn't kiss Hunt. There was no way she could kiss Hunt.

Laia made a face at her that she couldn't name when Honey and Matthew took their turn. Couldn't name, because she wasn't paying attention.

Daisy couldn't kiss Hunt. There was no way she could kiss Hunt.

Flirting and feeding him food and asking him to touch her ass was one thing, but kissing? And, sure, he smelled like paradise and had the eyes to match. His lips were full and looked rather soft; she'd be interested in testing out their dexterity—if he was anyone other than Hunt Shepherd, her childhood nemesis turned fake boyfriend-not-boyfriend. She couldn't kiss Hunt. There was no way she could—

"You okay, tiger?"

Daisy froze as a warm hand slid down her leg, coming to rest on her knee.

"Fine," she answered, her voice rather monotone.

Hunt skimmed his thumb over the fabric of her pants. "Do you have asthma?"

"What?"

"You're breathing pretty heavily over there."

"Sorry," she wheezed.

He made a humming noise, retracing his hand to drape it over the back of her chair instead. That might have been worse; she was practically cupped in his embrace. Heat radiated off him, his cologne positively dizzying, but Daisy was shivering.

"You know, I've always suspected I had a shellfish allergy." Hunt leaned closer, bracing his left arm on the table to block the others' view of her while she stared ahead, trying not to go into shock. "Do you want me to pull out my best Atlas impression? Go into anaphylaxis? You can play my knight in shining armour and whisk me off to the ER."

Slowly, Daisy looked up at him.

He was being entirely serious.

"Belle and Ruby," Amira prompted, "you're up."

Shit. They were next. But Daisy couldn't kiss Hunt. There was no way she could kiss—

"Dais?" Hunt feathered his fingers against her bare shoulder. Shivers erupted like fireworks, shooting over her skin.

"It's just a game," she shot.

His hand stilled.

"It's just a game," she repeated. Whether she was telling herself or him or those strange, silvery flames being stoked in her entire body, she had no idea. "We have to do it—"

"We don't have to."

"It's just a game," Daisy said, persuading him. Persuading them both.

Hunt considered her for a long, antagonizing moment. She wondered if he was going to push her on it. Because they couldn't kiss. He knew it. She knew it. There was no way they could—

"Daisy and Hunt?"

Daisy was going to murder Amira.

She wouldn't enjoy it. Amira seemed like a nice enough lady. But these things had to be done.

"Are you alright?" the concierge asked, leaning over the table with his clipboard in hand, his bright blue eyes swelling with so much artificial flavouring that Daisy wanted to throw up her mousse. He was Vanessa's perfect match; it was a pity Daisy had caught him checking out every single male in their group.

Hunt, not least of all.

The concierge frowned. "You look sick."

Daisy gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'm fine."

Because it was just a game.

Better start acting like it.

Daisy reached for the first chapstick that caught her eye, her pulse thundering. Hunt averted his gaze, as though ruining the sanctity of Amira's kissing game was sacrilege. With a hand she hoped no one else saw shaking, Daisy removed the lid, then coated her lips in the balm. Jeez, it tasted good. And made her wish she had a shot of vodka. Or eight.

She didn't, so she channelled every bit of confidence she'd worked to re-build in the years since last seeing Vanessa. She swivelled in her seat.

She was going to kiss Hunt. She was going to have to.

He peered down at her, his arm still braced on the table, his expression unreadable. Her heart flip-flopped like a freshly caught fish. She felt like she was back in primary school, giggling over the German exchange student with her BFF of the day. Over Hunt's shoulder, Vanessa was peering at them closely as she tucked an invisible flyaway into her slick bun, looking as though she might have thought the same thing.

A web of Daisy's own making, really.

With her heart hammering so much she considered buying it a tool kit so it could help out around her apartment, she squared her shoulders. She tried to sound assertive, and not nervous as hell, when she inched her chin higher, and asked, "Are you going to kiss me, Shepherd?"

For the first time since she turned to look at him, a grin tugged on Hunt's lips. He dipped his chin. "With pleasure, Collins."

And then those lips found hers.

Soft as velvet, that glancing kiss. Barely there. A finger appeared below Daisy's jaw, guiding her face up gently, like a coaxing hand lifting a flower to the sky, desperate to see the secret colours that appeared under the sun. Hunt caught her bottom lip between his, kissing her with devastating softness. A brush. A question.

But Daisy didn't know what she wanted to say.

He swept his thumb over her cheek, and she felt like he was tracing a feather over her bare skin. Butterflies twirled through her stomach. Her chest grew achingly tight. And then Hunt was gone, the fresh, woodsy smell of him gone, too.

Daisy opened her eyes. Didn't remember when she'd closed them. Blood rushed to her head, and she'd gone very still.

The room was a blur of colour and shape. It had nothing on him—nothing on the rich greens and golds in his eyes, which were almost eaten up by a pupil blacker than night. No one, Daisy thought, had ever kissed her like that. Like ... like they were kissing her, and not just another set of lips. Hunt's tongue flickered over his mouth. He pulled his bottom lip inside. As though tasting the kiss. As though savouring the memory of her lips. As though—

"Raspberry."

As though guessing the flavour of her chapstick.

Right.

"Raspberry Rhapsody," Amira confirmed. "Very good, you two."

Daisy didn't know how she'd contributed beyond going as rigid as a piece of driftwood.

She cleared her throat, shaking off the strange stiffness settling over her limbs. Better. She had to do much better. A game. Just a game.

Just a game.

Just a game.

"Good job," she murmured to Hunt as she fell back in her seat. The round continued.

He cleared his throat. "It was hardly a challenge. Raspberry?" He winked. "Have a little more faith in me, tiger. I have an impeccable sense of taste, you know."

"I remember," Vanessa cooed next to him. "Remember how much pineapple juice I used to go through?"

Daisy's stomach hollowed out. She almost didn't see Hunt's brow knit with confusion, didn't hear him ask, "Pineapple—what?"

"Vanessa and Zaid?" Amira prompted.

Vanessa hummed thoughtfully to herself as her fiance selected a stick from the spread. Next to her, Belle rested a hand on Daisy's arm.

"All good, Dais?"

Daisy straightened. "Why wouldn't I be?" She smoothed down her hair, flicking it over her shoulder. "It's just a game."

Belle bit her lip, and Daisy sensed that wasn't what she'd meant.

She didn't get a chance to ask what she had meant; Vanessa stood from her seat, somehow backing her ass into Hunt in the process. Right when she knew she had her ex's attention, she laced her legs on either side of her fiance. Sat in his lap. And pounced on his mouth like a lioness on a piece of meat.

Daisy winced. The sound of lips smacking and tongues colliding rivalled the crash of the water feature behind her as the most obnoxious sound at the flame-lit bistro. Next to her, Hunt winced, too.

Something in her chest ... twisted. Not for her. For him. Vanessa ... Hell, Daisy always knew that Vanessa was a snake. She wasn't a good person. And flirting with Hunt to goad Daisy was one thing, but toying with his heart? When she'd already shattered it to pieces? He was still trying to soothe the jagged edges after what she'd done—with the man she was currently making out with right in front of him.

Not nice. Not cool.

Hunt's hand tensed in hers. Daisy hadn't even realised that she'd reached for it. It was instinctual, like when he'd reached for hers on the boat. He was there for her when her nightmares became reality. She was one hundred per cent there for him. Not quite friends, but ...

He flipped his hand, interlacing their fingers. Acknowledgement and gratitude.

Vanessa used up all of her and Zaid's time on the clock, only tearing her mouth from his when Amira announced their time was up. With her lips red and swollen, Vanessa made her guess. Got it wrong. She quipped about being distracted as she swivelled in Zaid's lap, unbalancing herself in the process. She kicked her legs out, delivering a solid blow to Hunt's chair. He flinched at the impact of her heels against the wood.

Vanessa flashed him a sugary, phony grin, her lids heavy with something like sated pleasure. "Sorry, H."

Sorry? Daisy swallowed a scoff. Beside her, Ruby didn't manage to mirror her restraint. Vanessa wasn't anything if not poised and balanced at all times. Not an accident. Not at all. It was then that Daisy realised: she wasn't sad for Hunt anymore.

She was thoroughly livid.

Never again, Daisy vowed, would Vanessa make anyone flinch. Not her, and not anyone around her, either. Her reign of torment was over.

Starting then and there.

Vanessa and Zaid's performance had certainly set a tone. Actually, Daisy had a feeling that the show Laia and Kenji put on during their turn had more to do with the steely determination they sensed rippling off Daisy. Ruby might have called Belle princess before pulling a moan from her throat with her tongue. Even Honey kissed Matthew with more vigour than Daisy had ever seen her dare level his way, leaving the reverend red-faced. It was a competition that had turned into a battle. A war.

One of a very different kind.

Daisy knew that all of it was intended as a green light. Her friends knew when she was pissed. Knew when she was ready to play her hand. And this hand? It was years in the making. Daisy was ready to put on a show. Her trusty ensemble was merely setting the stage.

"Daisy and Hunt?" Amira prompted for a second time.

That time, Daisy didn't balk.

Hunt selected a chapstick from the spread. Applied a healthy dose to the lips Daisy now knew were just as soft as they looked. Mouth balmed and ready, he turned in his seat, seeking Daisy out.

And might have sucked in a breath as their eyes collided.

Two enemies on the battlefield, a common foe at their backs. He felt it. He must have. Somehow, he knew. The tide had turned. Daisy wasn't reeling anymore, wasn't lost at sea. It was just a game.

So what was the harm in playing along?

With a deep breath that tasted like raspberry confidence spurring her along, Daisy rose—only to place her legs on either side of Hunt's chair. He peered up at her, his shadowed eyes burning like molten amber, reducing the rest of the world to a colourless blur. There was something smouldering about them. Something that went straight to her stomach, then curled a little bit lower.

Just a game. Just pretend.

Breathing through her nerves, she sat. She straddled him. That breath punched out of him, dancing through her hair. Yes, he understood. Yes, he was on the same page.

"Are we doing this, tiger?" His voice was rough, like churned gravel.

Daisy willed flame and smoke into hers when she murmured, "Yeah, Shepherd." She tugged on his shirt. "We're doing this."

She didn't wait for permission that time. Neither of them did. Before one second turned to two, before feigned confidence fizzled and banked, Daisy angled Hunt's face exactly where she wanted it.

And kissed him.

Nothing like the first time. Not hesitant or nervous or unsure. She gave it everything, gave him everything. Rolled fire and chocolate and everything hot and decadent into a kiss and let it rage, let it explode. Before she could push her tongue into his mouth, his swept into hers, dominant and brutal. But she didn't yield. Couldn't. She met him for every stroke, every breath, every bite.

Lips and tongues and teeth. It was a bruising, punishing, ruinous kiss. It wasn't soft or lovely, delicate or sweet. It was the horn before battle, a storm in thunder's wake. He captured her tongue, sucking it hard before releasing it, then bowed to her conquest as she did the same to his. It was never going to be anything but this, she realised, arching into him as he hauled her to his chest. They fought and they bickered and he infuriated her more than anything in the world, and their first real kiss was never going to be anything but this.

Her chest devoured the space between them when it slammed into his, her arms coming around his neck, her fingers plunging deep into his hair. She had some sense of awareness of her friends clapping and cheering, driving them on. Not real, she remembered. A game. A show. And it was easier to lie without words, she thought. There was no need to play with her hair; she could tug on his while he pulled on hers. It was easy to melt into the warmth of his mouth, to revel in the feeling of his calloused hands flattening on her back, almost as though he needed to push her right up against him, to feel every part of her and know she was there.

Daisy scraped her nails down this chest. He answered by clawing the fabric of her top so hard that she felt the heat of his bruising fingers burning through the silk. She needed the pain. Needed it to remember—not to fall. To remember it wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

She went to pull away. Hunt's arms were steel bands around her. His fingers curled on her waist.

"I don't think you have it yet," he murmured roughly. He guided her mouth back to his.

Daisy let him.

He kissed her hard, and her mouth instantly opened for him. Hot frustration curled low, a sweet, candy-laced hum that bloomed between her thighs. Daisy tried to ward it off, writhing—and hit something hard.

Hunt made the smallest of sounds. A groan, low and throaty. She felt it travel through her, felt it ignite in her veins like fuel to kindling. And then it was travelling down, and everything in her was rising up.

Need. Such brutal, desperate need. She didn't know whether she wanted to ruin him or worship him. Both. She did it again. She did it over and over; dragged herself over that firm, lush length until the friction was unbearable.

He bit her lip. Hard. Delicious. Revenge, she thought. Maybe an attempt to level the score, to make her sing for him, too. She smirked against him. He wouldn't win. Not that easily.

His mouth curved against her grin. Challenge accepted. He braced his hands on her hips. Did it again—nipped her insolent smile. But, that time, he ground her down into him at the same time as he pushed up, somehow hitting that unfurling warmth between her thighs in all the right ways.

A whimper sputtered out of her and into him, folding like flour into their hard, rough kiss. Daisy hated herself for it. Hated him for it more. She angled her head—and bit him back.

Hunt's groan spilled into her mouth.

Life fell away. Pain or pleasure or a child of both, hatred or infuriation or something else, something dangerous. The light from the fire dancers pressed against Daisy's closed lids, her pounding heart a drum in her chest. It was like an invisible curtain had come down around them, like they were performing backstage as the sounds of the audience filtered in through the walls. Never had punishment been so beautiful. Never had a lie tasted so sweet.

A lie, she said, over and over as their tongues battled and their bodies waged war. Her hair spilled around him like a waterfall. She crushed her breasts against his chest. His grip tightened on her waist, and then he was trying to slow them down, deepening the kiss. Mad. Manic. They were two dancers fighting to lead, a score of brass and drums that built and built until she was begging it to crash. She was angry—so inexplicably angry. Why was it a lie? Why couldn't it be real? She'd show him; she'd show him with this kiss exactly what he was missing—

"Times up! Daisy?"

Air was foreign. Sour. She didn't want it. Didn't need it. But it flooded her mouth when Hunt pulled away.

Daisy's breath came in pants. Her vision was fractured, crawling with bright blooms. Hunt ... she wasn't sure whether he was breathing. Wasn't sure whether he could see her right in front of him, staring down into eyes that seemed glazed. That seemed like they were in another plain, another time.

"Daisy?" Amira repeated.

Dizzy. She wasn't sure whether it was her or the room that was spinning. But something was out of orbit. Something had changed irreversibly. The kind of kiss that parted seas, that moved mountains. The kind of kiss that changed things—changed people. But Daisy didn't know if she was ready. To jump. To dive. To fall.

Why did they do that? Why did they cross that line they'd drawn?

"Dais?" Hunt urged hoarsely.

Daisy blinked.

A game, she remembered.

The world started spinning again, and she remembered: the game.

She'd forgotten. Hadn't for a moment stopped to taste anything but him. But citrus and sandalwood and the fresh rainforest air that seemed to cling to him, breathing life into a heart she thought she'd tucked away to wither and die.

Still staring down at Hunt as his eyes finally focused, she slid her tongue over her lips. He tracked the movement, and it took everything in her not to focus on the flash like hunger that lanced through his eyes, to focus on tasting the sliver of flavour she knew hadn't come from her lips or her gloss. A hint of something sweet, contrasted with an undertone of something bitter. She saw an orchard in her mind; Laia's family's orchard. They'd go there every summer during high school, play amongst the peach trees and strawberry bushes and—

No. There was no way.

"Plum," she croaked.

Hunt's smile was sleepy. Lazily triumphant. He held up the chapstick: purple, with a muted orange lid.

"Pretty in Plum," Amira read aloud to the group. "Very good, you two. Zaid and Vanessa, you're up."

"Following that?" Ruby smirked, the smile a slash of sinful red on her face. "Need some oysters, Veronica?"

Daisy barely heard her. She couldn't focus long enough to blink. She was still sitting on Hunt,

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