ThatIthink he’s a bad person because of it? I look up and meet his gaze. His jaw is set tightly but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes that I don’t think I’ve seen before.
‘I don’t think you’re a bad person, Alex,’ I say softly. ‘I just think—’ I cut myself off. We’re veering dangerously into the same territory as last night, and that didn’t end well for anyone.
‘What?’ Hoxton pushes me. ‘Go on, say it.’
‘I just… I feel like you’re the kind of person who makes himself intentionally miserable sometimes.’
Hoxton’s eyes widen and he scoffs, but I keep on.
‘It’s like you don’t believe you’re allowed to enjoy yourself. Any spark of joy you get, you chase it away or lock it up as soon as it comes.’ His gym. His bathtub. The bath bombs. How long is he going to make excuses for deferring enjoyment?
I remember our kiss and how quickly he pushed me away, even though it was obvious he was enjoying himself just as much as I was. And what he just revealed about purposely keeping people at a distance so they can’t disappoint him? Despite all his riches, it’s clear Alexander Hoxton has no idea how to enjoy life.
‘And yes, that includes Christmas,’ I continue. ‘And other things too. The world doesn’t have to revolve around work, Alex. You can find happiness outside of spreadsheets and making a million pounds every other minute.’
I mean the last part as joke, but Hoxton doesn’t look particularly amused. He leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are rolled up to his elbows, and the tense muscles of his arm peek out. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve struck a nerve too deep.
‘That’s quite an analysis,Chef,’ he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘But you’re wrong. I’m perfectly capable of enjoying myself.’
‘Prove it, then,’ I counter. Those piercing dark eyes lock onto mine, but I don’t look away. I hope he sees thechallenge in my own gaze, daring him to step out of his carefully constructed comfort zone.
I take a step forward. And then another. And another. Then one last step until there’s barely an inch of space between us. My heart is pounding but, with a rush of boldness, I close the gap between us and place a hand on his chest, feeling the solid, pounding rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my touch.
I wet my lips as I look up. A fire is smouldering in Hoxton’s eyes, and I’m sure he must see the same when he looks into mine.
‘How?’ Hoxton asks, his voice rough and slow. Not much louder than a whisper.
I swallow, and then push myself up onto my tiptoes until my lips graze against his. ‘Kiss me again.’
The words hang between us. For a second, it’s like we both stop breathing, and the only sounds I can hear are gentle hum of the refrigerator and the soft rumble from the storm outside. And then I see it – the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
‘What was that?’ Hoxton croaks out, even as he brings a hand to rest in the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.
‘Kiss me,’ I repeat.
‘Noelle,’ Hoxton groans, his grip on my lower back tightening. ‘You can’t just—’
‘Kiss. Me.’
His eyes widen, searching mine for something. A hint of hesitation or fear or regret, maybe. But if he’s looking for that, he’s not going to find it.
Not now.
Not ever.
I snake a hand up the back of his neck and thread my fingers through his hair. ‘Please don’t make me ask again.’
‘Okay,’ he murmurs. ‘I won’t.’
CHAPTER NINETEENAlex
I feel like I’m on fire.
The world around us fades into nothingness as my lips crash against hers with an urgency that surprises even me.
Kiss me.
Kiss. Me.
