‘Asher—’ I start, but whatever I was going to say dissolves in my throat when he turns me gently towards him.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he says quietly.
‘No,’ I whisper.
His hand slides to my waist, mine finds his shirt collar, and the moment his mouth finds mine, the world tilts again.
This kiss is nothing like our first. This kiss is hungry and all consuming. It’s the kind of kiss that steals air from my lungs and reason from my mind all at once. The firm hand on my waist tightens its grip and when I rise onto my toes, he meets me halfway, deepening the kiss until my knees threaten to give out.
He tastes like champagne and heat and every rash decision I’ve ever wanted to make over the last few months. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging gently, and the quiet sound he makes in response sends a shiver all the way through me.
‘Asher…’ I breathe against his mouth, though I’m not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.
He answers by pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. The movement is effortless; one second my feet are on the floor, the next his hands are beneath me, strong and sure, lifting me up. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my legsaround him for balance, the silk of my dress gliding against his shirt.
We stumble back a step, laughing breathlessly into the kiss. The fabric of my dress bunches up to my waist and he slides his palms along my bare thighs tracing slow, reverent patterns against my skin.
He breaks away just long enough to look at me, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and unguarded. ‘You have no idea what you do to me,’ he murmurs.
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the collar of his shirt. ‘Then maybe tell me,’ I whisper.
He leans forward, brushing his nose against my cheek before kissing the corner of my mouth again in a manner so gentle it hurts. His hand disappears under the hem of my dress and drifts higher, fingers splaying against my back, tracing the outline of my spine.
I can feel every exhale against my skin, every tremor that gives away how hard he’s fighting to stay in control. I’m not doing any better.
My hands slide up from his chest to his shoulders, the muscles there flexing beneath my palms. I press closer, until I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the soft sound that escapes him is almost a groan.
I clutch at him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, my breath coming faster and faster.
Then—
A polite KNOCK KNOCK at the door.
We both freeze.
The scene is almost comical. Asher’s still holding me upright, my legs are still wrapped around his waist, my dress bunched up to my hips. Our lips are kiss swollen, my make-up is almost definitely smudged, and our hearts are racing.
Another knock, followed by, ‘Housekeeping!’
For a long, stunned second, neither of us moves. Then, slowly, like two people realising the punchline at the same time, we both start laughing. Breathless, disbelieving laughter that shakes through us and breaks whatever spell we just fell under.
I press my face into his shoulder to muffle it, still trembling from the adrenaline of our kiss. ‘This is not happening.’
Another knock, a little more insistent this time. It’s obvious the staff behind the door can hear us cackling away. ‘Housekeeping!’
‘One second, please!’ I call out, trying to sound normal, though my voice comes out half-gasp, half-giggle.
Asher finally sets me down, his hands lingering just a little too long at my waist before he steps back. The space between us feels charged and we’re both pretending not to notice.
I smooth my dress down, cheeks hot, and turn to face the mirror. My lipstick is smudged, my hair slightly frizzy, and there’s no way I can blame either on the humidity.
Asher clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. ‘So,’ he says softly, that familiar wry tone creeping back in, ‘about the plan for tonight…’
I force myself to look at him. ‘Right. The plan.’
He hesitates, and then says, ‘Do you still want to go aheadwith it? The flirting, the fighting, the part where we pretend to hate each other?’
He’s looking at me like he’s pleading and I almost say no. Almost tell him that whatever this is feels too real to hide behind another performance. But the image of my father snaps me back into focus.
