Lane’s lips are gentle against mine, patient and not demanding, but not at all lazy or disconnected. The gentle intensity suggests he wants this as much as I do.
I lean into him and he draws me close, into him, where I feel safe, secure as the kiss deepens.
This is the only thing that makes sense tonight.
My hands come around to rest against his chest. I can feel the steadythump thumpof his heart through his shirt. There’s something achingly tender about the way he kisses me—like he wants to memorize every second.
Me too.
He angles his head just slightly, intensifying the kiss. A small sound in the back of my throat that’s part sigh and part delight would embarrass me if my head weren’t in outer space. But all I can think about is how perfectly we fit together. How his touch makes my knees weak. How I want to do this every day for the rest of my life.
But that would mean forever, wouldn’t it?
Lane’s hand twines in my hair. It’s my turn to shift to the side, increasing the wonderful pressure of our mouths together, and I give back.
The taste of him is warm and faintly sweet, like hot chocolate and marshmallows. His scent is winter pine.
I can’t help but press closer, my fingers curling into the soft tips of hair at the base of his neck, as this man fills my senses.
Time feels suspended, stretched thin like sugar being spun into delicate and cloudlike whorls.
I’ve gone well past this atmosphere and am circling the planet like the astronaut I once wanted to be. But there’s no looking back, no going back.
If this is what kissing Lane is like, I’m all in, as wild as that sounds.
There’s no urgency, no desperate grabbing or clashing teeth—just a slow, sweet exploration that feels like a conversation neither of us wants to end. His thumb traces along my jawline. I shiver at the gentleness of it, at how cherished I feel.
His mouth on mine makes me believe this was meant to be.
When we finally part, it’s gradual, reluctant, like we’re both afraid that breaking the connection might somehow break whatever spell we’ve found ourselves under and return us to earth.
He rests his forehead against mine for a moment, both of us breathing a little unsteadily. Wonder twinkles in his eyes and I’m sure it’s reflected in my own.
His lips are warm and soft when he pulls me back after just a few seconds for a few quick kisses, but then we part again. I immediately miss the contact.
The crowd goes wild, but I barely hear them. All I can think about is how right that felt, which is completely wrong because I don’t even know this man.
This handsome man, who apparently likes freshly baked bread and dreams of coaching hockey and somehow ended up married to me. Here. Tonight. And we kissed.
“That was ...” I start.
“Yeah,” he agrees, slightly breathless, his palm still softly gripping my jaw.
But then reality crashes back in.
The crowd.
The cameras.
The fact that we’re essentially performing our first married moments in front of strangers.
This is all wrong.
Panic overwhelms me and like a cornered animal, my voice is a mess when I say, “We need to find Lucian. Figure out if this is even legal, and how to undo it, and?—”
“Agreed,” Lane says, his hand dropping from my face.
Lucian has disappeared, probably to let us “enjoy our special moment” or leave the state, possibly the country. I, for one, would not want to get on the wrong side of a man withLane’s stature and obvious strength. Thankfully, he agrees with me that this marriage is a total sham and we need answers.
