Marylin shoved Karl away, her chest heaving as she glared at him, eyes blazing.
"You—!"
She wanted to curse him, call him shameless or a scoundrel, but the words stuck in her throat. The image he had always shown her—polished, scholarly, refined—didn't match those crude names. She opened her mouth, but nothing fit.
Frustrated, she spun on her heel and stormed into the bathroom.
One look in the mirror made her groan. Her lipstick was smudged, the mark of his kiss glaring back at her. She yanked tissues out of the box and rubbed at her lips furiously, cursing him a hundred different ways in her head.
Never in her wildest thoughts had she imagined Karl doing something like this. She had always believed him to be warm, harmless, safe—even when he confessed so openly, she never felt threatened.
And now? He had stolen a kiss.
Even worse, her lips still tingled with his clean, fresh scent. No alcohol, no smoke, just him. It lingered in her mouth, and the memory of it felt… pleasant.
