“Excuse me?” I shot back, grabbing a handful of coriander leaves and tossing them in his direction.
He flinched, catching most of them mid-air. Our fingers brushed, barely, but enough to spark something.
Then, in one smooth motion, he caught my wrist and pulled me gently closer—our hands still tangled, the air suddenly too still, too loud, too everything.
“That couldn’t possibly qualify as a kiss,” he murmured, his gaze dipping somewhere between my nose and my lips.
“Well, I didn’t exactly have a great teacher…” I replied, my voice faltering as goosebumps sparked along my skin. The warmth radiating from him wrapped around me like a slow burn.
My free hand slid up to rest against his chest, firm beneath the soft fabric of his black button-down. And despite my better judgment, my eyes drifted lower, taking in the way his trousers fit a little too perfectly.
Focus, Kiara.
I forced myself to look up—only to find his eyes darker now, stormy and unreadable. That’s when I realized just how close we were. My body was nearly pressed against his, trapping him against the counter. His hands had settled lightly at mywaist, and the subtle, clean scent of his skin curled into my senses, dizzying and intimate.
He wore a faint frown. Not annoyance—something else. Like confusion tangled with want.
“What do you want to learn?” he asked, swallowing hard, his voice rougher now.
My heartbeat stumbled, then soared. “A perfect… romantic kiss.”
He lifted his hand slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear with aching gentleness. “Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not… fidgeting.” I tried to sound steady, but the tremble in my voice betrayed me.
“Relax,” he said softly, his brows drawing together. “Take a deep breath.”
I tried. I really did. But my heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it might crack a rib. It took a full minute just to find my breath, to anchor myself in something other than the feel of him.
When I finally opened my eyes, he was already watching me—completely focused, like I was the only thing that existed.
“Come closer,” he whispered.
I moved without hesitation. I would’ve followed him to Saturn if he’d asked.
“Closer,” he said again, even softer.
I stepped into the space between us, closing the last breath of distance. His exhale warmed my lips—hot, fresh, dizzying.
My palms stayed planted on his chest, fingers curled slightly into the fabric. His hands had slid around my waist, thumbs pressing just enough to ground me. My eyes fluttered shut.
And the world went still.
Except for the thunder in my chest.
“Feel the air,” he murmured, his voice like velvet barely brushing my skin. “And breathe.”
His fingers trembled—just slightly—against my waist. And I noticed. Oh, I noticed.
For a moment, I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just inhaled, slowly, fully, letting the moment expand inside me like the first line of a story I hadn’t dared to write—until now.
“I…” The word slipped out, barely formed, before my voice abandoned me altogether. My brain screamed for control, but my heart had already taken the lead.
“Cheeseball,” he said softly, voice low and sure, like he was permitting me to be exactly where I was. “Listen to your heart.”
A small, nervous laugh escaped me, barely a breath. I nodded, hesitant. Warmth bloomed across my cheeks—I couldn’t pretend to be unaffected.
I probably looked like a tomato mid-combustion.
