My office door closes with a soft click. Sophia stands by the window. Nine-thirty. The house has settled into night sounds—footsteps in distant hallways, muffled television from the security room, Vittoria's music drifting from her suite.
"Three million views." She doesn't turn around. "In one hour."
"It'll be ten million by morning."
"Does that scare you?"
"Everything about this scares me."
She turns then. She's changed from the venue dress into jeans and a cream sweater that slides off one shoulder. Her hair falls in waves she hasn't bothered to tame.
"We should talk about boundaries." She moves closer, each step measured. "For the public appearances."
"Right. Boundaries."
"Hand holding seems standard." She stops at my desk, fingers tracing the wood grain. "Casual touches. Arm around waist."
"All reasonable."
"But that won't be enough." She moves around the desk, invading my space. "Not if we want to be convincing."
She's playing again. Fine. Let's play. "What are you suggesting?"
"We should be comfortable kissing. In public. For the cameras."
"You're probably right."
Neither of us moves. "It's just a kiss. For practice. Like last night."
"Right. For practice."
I stand slowly, watching her eyes track my movement. My hand lifts without permission, fingertips grazing her jaw. She inhales sharply but doesn't pull away.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
I cup her face. Her skin is soft, her eyes close. My thumb strokes her cheekbone and she leans into it. Waiting.
I’m supposed to control this. A simple press of lips. Practice. The first touch is fire. Her lips are softer than I remember from last night. A sound escapes her throat and her hands grab my shirt, pulling.
My mouth covers hers, and when she parts her lips, I don't think, I just take. My hand slides into her hair, gripping, angling her head because I need more. I need all of it.
She presses against me. Her tongue meets mine tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. My control frays with every second, every small noise she makes, every pull of her hands demanding more.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, eyes glazed. My hands still frame her face, unable to let go.
"That was..." She trails off, searching for words.
"Practice."
"Right. Practice." She licks her lips, and my eyes follow the movement. A primal part of my brain wants to do it for her. "We should practice again. To be sure."
"To be sure."
This time she reaches for me, arms winding around my neck. I pull her flush against me, one hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed to her lower back. She nips my bottom lip.
I growl into her mouth. Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly, and heat shoots straight through me. I lift her onto the desk, stepping between her legs, and she wraps them around my waist?—
