He felt something kick to life inside his chest as he reached her, her thighs parting so he could stand between them. He was going to kiss her, already cradling her jaw in his hands, but once he got up close, he could see she was shaking, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers.
So instead, he took her hands in both of his, running his thumbs softly over their smooth backs, over each knuckle. A shiver ran through her, her eyes flicking shut, then open again. She looked heartbreakingly vulnerable in that moment, like she was going to cry, and he tightened his grip on her hands.
“No. I can’t blame you,” she said quietly.
A loud rap sounded at the door, startling them—a PA sent to herd them into place for good nights. Shane let go of one of Lilah’s hands but kept hold of the other as she eased herself off the counter, still holding on as they wound their way to the stage and took their place front and center among the cast members. He had a vague sense of people talking to him, congratulating him, slapping him on the back, but all he could focus on was the weight of Lilah’s hand in his.
The prospect of what was about to happen—what they were about to do—filled him with an eerie sense of calm. It was like the rest of the evening had been a nightmare, a distant, unpleasant memory that held no power over him now that he was awake.
He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead. She flicked her gaze up at him before edging closer, placing her hand on his chest, then dropping it self-consciously to her side again as a producer counted them down. The band began to play, and Shane looked into the camera.
“Thank you to Lilah Hunter, Andromeda X, the cast…it’s been an amazing week. Good night!”
He looked at Lilah as the music swelled behind them. If he’d seen even a trace of apprehension in her face, he wouldn’t have done a thing. But all he saw was excitement, anticipation, a simmering ache—an expression that probably matched his own.
Just the smallest curl of his biceps around her shoulders and she was in front of him, her chest pressed to his, his mouth on hers without hesitation, his other hand floating up to cradle the back of her head.
He was dimly aware of the applause around them heightening to an earsplitting roar, but it faded to white noise as her arms slid around his waist and her lips parted, her tongue seeking his. It wasn’t a raunchy kiss, though. It felt sweet and hopeful and perfect, the two of them wrapped tightly around each other, rocking gently back and forth, a self-contained loop, their own secluded island, unaffected by the chaos around them. Public, but intensely private at the same time.
He had a feeling that even if they’d been completely alone the first time he kissed her again—reallykissed her—he would’ve heard a cheering section anyway.
He pulled back slightly. In his peripheral vision, he could see the shocked, gleeful expressions of the cast hovering around them. He ducked down to murmur in Lilah’s ear.
“So you were thinking something like that?”
She laughed. “Yeah. That’s pretty much what I had in mind.”
“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”
Lilah pressed her cheek against his. He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve been stuck with you for the past nine years.”
She tilted her head and caught his lips again, and everything besides the two of them ceased to exist.
25
Shane had wanted to skip theLNLafter-party and go straight to the hotel, but Lilah insisted they make a cameo, at least. Mostly so the main topic of conversation at the party (and after) wouldn’t be the two of them fleeing immediately to go have sex.
It seemed like their stunt had worked: instead of a funereal vibe, anchored by vague and insincere compliments of the “better luck next time” and “at least you tried” variety, the mood that greeted them was buoyant and congratulatory, almost like they were attending their own wedding reception.
They moved through the crowd as a single unit, never separating. His palm lingering on the back of her neck. Her fingers snaking around his wrist. Like if they stopped touching eachother, the spell would be broken, and things would go back to the way they had been.
They didn’t talk much just the two of them, but as they reached the bottom of their second round, they let themselves sneak a kiss here and there—each one a little deeper, a little longer—when they thought no one was looking. It reminded Lilah of the first night at that hotel bar, in a way—the air crackling with possibilities, all her nerves on end.
Finally, they disentangled themselves guiltily from what they thought was a secluded corner when the head writer forLNLsnuck up behind them and yelled “Get a room” good-naturedly in their ears. Shane cocked his head toward the exit, linking his hand through hers as they left.
The January air blasted them in the face as they left the restaurant, knocking the breath from Lilah’s lungs. Shane’s hotel was closer than hers, just a few blocks away, and they clutched each other tightly against the wind. Still, it took them longer than it should have to get there, pausing to kiss and grope at stoplights until it wasn’t just the wind leaving her breathless.
When they entered the hotel lobby, though, it had a sobering effect. The discreet lighting, the tasteful decoration, the muted music, the lack of people due to the late hour—all of it unsettled her. Her anxiety stirred and stretched, whispering poisonous questions in her ear:What have you done? Did you really think this through? What happens now?
They shrugged off their coats as they waited for the elevator, the aggressive heat of the lobby sending an instant trickle of sweat down Lilah’s spine. When they stepped into the elevator, she expected Shane to reach for her again, but he must have sensed the shift in her mood, because he just placed a comforting hand on her lower back.
She felt him looking at her, but she stared straight ahead. Hisroom was near the top floor of the hotel, the numbers ticking up agonizingly slowly. Finally, she allowed herself to glance his way, and the look on his face, concerned and searching, made her stomach twist. He looked exhausted, the dark bruises under his eyes and fine lines on his forehead thrown into sharp relief in the unflattering light of the elevator. She was sure she didn’t look much better. He turned his attention forward again, so she did, too.
“I feel like Simon and Garfunkel should be playing right now,” she muttered.
“Why?”
She glanced at him. “You’ve never seenThe Graduate?”
