After dinner, coffee is served in the living room, and the atmosphere softens even more. My mom nudges me gently as Jess laughs at something Lucy said.
“She’s wonderful,” my mom whispers. “Genuine. Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Well, your father mentioned that she was a journalist. I assumed this was strategic. But she’s real.”
Before I can answer, Jess appears beside me and slips her hand into mine like it’s second nature. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of conversations and my constant awareness of her.
When we finally return to my room, the tension that’s been building all night crackles between us. Jess slips off her heels with a sigh.
“God, these are torture devices,” she groans, flexing herfeet.
I unbutton my shirt, trying not to stare as she reaches up to remove her earrings. “You were amazing tonight.”
“We were amazing,” she corrects, meeting my gaze. “Award-winning performances out there.”
“Yeah.” I swallow, watching as she unpins her hair, letting it fall in waves around her shoulders.
At this moment, I want to stop pretending, even to myself, because whatever this is between us, it hasn’t felt like a performance in days. I should be more cautious. I should keep my distance. But she’s standing there in the dim light, in my space, and all I can think is how much I want to touch her, how every day with her chips away my ability to stay away from her.
“Except it wasn’t all an act. Not for me.”
I close the distance between us in two steps, drawn to her like gravity. My hands find her waist, anchoring me, and draw her closer with a certainty that surprises us both.
“Not even close,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. My fingers trail along her cheek, and as she leans into my touch, her eyes flutter closed for a heartbeat.
When they open again, there’s a heat there that matches the fire burning through my veins. She rises on her tiptoes, bringing her face closer to mine. “For the cameras?” she asks, but there are no cameras here. No audience. No documentary crew.
“No,” I tell her, my voice low, my hand curling at the small of her back. “Not for the cameras.”
Her lips part slightly, and I watch as something shifts in her expression and the last wall between us crumbles.
“Then what are we doing?” she asks softly.
I don’t hesitate. “I have no idea. But I don’t want to stop.”
“Neither do I,” she whispers as her hand slides up to the back of my neck.
The pull between us is magnetic, inevitable. I capture her lips with mine, and everything else falls away.
twenty-three
. . .
Jess
His lips crash against mine,demanding and insistent in a way that sends electricity racing through my entire body. This is Lucas unleashed, and he’s commanding, intentional, and utterly hot.
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s backing me against the wall, with one hand tangling in my hair while the other grips my hip with possessive urgency. The controlled PR executive I’ve known all these months has vanished, replaced by something primal and hungry that makes my knees weak.
“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” he growls against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip in a way that draws a gasp from my throat.
“What took you so long?” I challenge, even as my pulse races wildly.
His answer is to press his body fully against mine, pinning me to the wall with delicious pressure. The hard planes of his chest against my softer curves send heat poolingbetween my thighs. This commanding side of Lucas is unexpected and embarrassingly arousing.
His hands are everywhere, sliding beneath the hem of my dress and skimming up my thighs with deliberate slowness that makes me squirm against him. When his fingers graze the edge of my underwear, I nearly whimper.
