She scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. “Of course that’s what you focus on. I’m over here trying to help you out, and you’re worried about if I find you attractive?”
Setting the sheet music on the coffee table, I stand. She crosses her arms and steps back, but I close the distance between us, anchoring her in place with one hand on her hip. “Thank you,” I say, my voice low, filled with all the sincerity I can muster. I am grateful, because she’s had more recent success than I have and actually has a shot at climbing that ladder again, and she is trying to help me. But that doesn’t diminish the sting of her assessment of my songs.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide, her lips parted in a way that’s so tempting that I can’t stop myself. I lower my head, slow enough that she could dodge or push away if she wanted, but she doesn’t, and when my lips touch hers, it just feels good. Right.
This isn’t the hungry kiss we exchanged in front of the cameras—at least not at first. It starts off slow, sweet, my lips on hers, hers pressing against mine. Soft. Yielding.
And then she opens on a sigh, and I accept the unspoken invitation, seeking out her tongue with mine.
Once again her hands are wrapped around my lapels, and she yanks me closer so our bodies are flush. My hand tightens on her hip and my other arm wraps around her, holding her close, trapping her against me, even though it’s clear she has no desire to get away.
Her tongue duels with mine, rubbing and thrusting into my mouth, where I suck on it, making her gasp and break away. Except there’s nowhere to go with my arm still wrapped around her and her still pulling me close. She’s panting, staring up at me with those wide, guileless eyes. And like someone flipped a switch, her hands open, and she takes a jerky step backward, a rusty automaton coming to life.
“Uh, um … hmm.” She hums and stammers incoherent sounds without coming out with anything close to a sentence.
I should be worried that she seems upset, but I’m a little too busy feeling smug at having reduced her to speechlessness with a kiss. What would happen if I got her to orgasm?
But her next words stop that thought in its tracks. “This can’t happen.”
Chapter Ten
Alexis
Colt blinks at me a few times like my words don’t make sense to him. I mean, I know I wasn’t really speaking words for a second there, but that statement was clearly audible and in English. I’m not sure where the disconnect is.
“I’m sorry,” he says slowly, but he’s not apologizing for kissing me. No, that I’m sorry is the kind that precludes a request for clarification. He tucks his hands into his pockets and cocks his head to one side, his brow furrowing. “What exactly are you referring to?”
I wiggle one finger back and forth, gesturing between us. “This. What just happened. That can’t happen again.”
He pulls one hand out of his pocket to scratch his head, a cartoonishly confused boy. “Uh … I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be dating, with engagement and marriage on the table pretty quickly. Right? Doesn’t that mean there’ll have to be a whole lot more of that? And you kissed me back.”
Forcing myself to stay centered, calm, in control, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, that’s all correct. You are correct. But what happens in public, in front of the cameras, that can’t translate to our private time.” I wave my hands around, searching for the right words, because I’ve already hurt him once tonight when I criticized his YouTube channel, and from the way the confusion on his face is morphing into hurt, I’m doing it again. Which isn’t my goal. In fact, that’s the primary driver behind this boundary—protecting us both from unnecessary pain.
“Look.” I step closer, pleading with him for understanding with my eyes. “I know. It seems stupid, right? But … we’re stuck with each other for quite a while. A year, maybe two, enough time for us both to get established. That’s our deal, right?”
“Right,” he acknowledges, his brow lower now, the hurt replaced with something that looks a lot more like frustration.
“Well …” I lick my lips, which I realize is a mistake when his eyes track the movement with the same avid stare as a lion picking out the weakest gazelle. Closing my eyes, I force myself to go on. Maybe if I can’t see him, I won’t notice the way he looks at me. And if I can’t see the way he looks at me, I can ignore the way it makes me feel. And then I can actually say what I need to say. “If we do this, kiss, have sex, see where this leads, and then we realize that it doesn’t lead anywhere, and then we fight and want to break up but we can’t, then we’ll both be miserable.” I open my eyes, hoping he’ll see that I’m trying to look out for both of our best interests right now. “I want us to be friends through this. We both know this isn’t forever. But I don’t want us to wind up hating each other by the time it’s over.”
His piercing blue eyes bounce back and forth between mine. He takes a breath and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he lets out the breath on a sigh, closes his mouth, and nods instead. “Sure. That … that makes sense, I guess. If that’s what you want, we can do that.” He picks up his phone from the couch and checks the time. “I should probably head home. Is it okay if I wait in here until my ride gets here?”
“Of course.” But it’s the longest ten minutes of my life. We make
