“This is insane,” Milos mutters beside me as I step up next to him. “You owe us at least a hot drink after this.”
But holy shit, I’m not cold. Not atall, when I really look at the guy next to me.
The laughter, the teasing, the stupid freezing weather—all of it fades into the background when my gaze drops, taking him in properly for the first time.
Ink winds over warm, pale skin in the brightest colors, flowers and lines flowing over muscle and bone like living art. His eyes are wide too, taking just as good a look at me as I am at him, breath fogging in the cold air between us when I step forward on autopilot, right into his space,and flatten my palm straight over his heart, right atop the beautiful floral arrangement inked across his chest.
I justhaveto touch it. Feel the hard planes beneath, the steady thud of his heartbeat under my hand, the solid line of his sternum. My fingers slide higher almost without thinking, tracing the ink toward his throat before splaying wide there where there is none, feeling the warmth of his skin despite the winter air biting at my back.
And yeah.
Sixteen seconds suddenly feel way too short.
“You’re both absolutely stunning. I need to know who your artists are.”Click.“But I’ll shut up. Gimme sixteen okay? Enjoy this.”
I faintly hear another click, but it doesn’t really register. All that registers is the guy in front of me who was supposed to stay a stranger. A shoot they hired me to work for, not take part in.
“I kinda want you to kiss me, Kaiden,” the words come out as a murmur between those sinful as fuck lips, low enough so only I can hear. A blush quickly follows the confession.
“Is that so?” I ask, watching him swallow against my fingers still loosely curled at his throat, the dark ink stark against the rare stretch of unmarked skin there. Still a blank canvas. “Even with the camera?”
He cocks his head, expressive hazel eyes blazing, a shiver from the cold racking through him as he nods. “Yeah… shit, I want to. And I want to see you again.”
For a second he almost looks pained, like the words cost him something, like he’s bracing for this to go wrong before it even has a chance to start.
“And if I want to as well?” My voice comes out low, quieter than before. “What’s with the frown?”
“I suck at dating,” he spills. “I mean, that’s what I’m told. And Christ, I really don’t want this to suck.”
His expression is so painfully earnest it hits me straight in the chest, and I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth as I lean a hair’s breadth closer.
“I’m hardly a professional, either,” I start, the words coming easy now, even as somewhere in the background I still hear the faintclick click clickof the camera. But it’s just static at this point, an insistent buzz I barely register.
Because all my attention is on the slight smile curving his mouth now.
“They say I get lost in my work,” he admits with a small shrug. “That I forget the rest of the world exists sometimes.”
I huff a quiet breath, shoulders relaxing just a little. “It’s good that I’m apparently a flighty fucker then, never settling down, always on the go. We can see if it can be a match.”
“I want it to be a match.” The words come out low, barely a whisper, hope threading through them so openly it catches me off guard for a second.
Shit, that confession guts me. And it’s the one that pushes me forward, pushes me to claim what my gut already tells me is mine.
The kiss is soft. Hesitant. Testing.
Just a touch at first, like I’m giving him time to pull back.
He doesn’t.
His hand finds my chest instead, warm and solid, while mine tightens slightly at his neck. My other one snakes around his waist as the kiss deepens just enough to make heat flare low in my stomach, his breath mixing with mine in the freezing, wonderful air.
It lasts only a couple of seconds. Barely anything.
But it feels like something tipping over.
I don’t even know anything about this dude.
But shit.
