He tilts his head and it’s the tiniest movement, but my heart leaps into my throat as the realisation hits me. He’s going to kiss me.
Iwanthim to kiss me.
The door at the end of the corridor bursts open, and then there’s a rush of laughter and chatter spilling out into the hall. A pair of guests stumble out, half drunk and giggling, their champagne glasses sloshing as they jerkily make their way down the corridor.
I jolt back like I’ve been caught doing something criminal. My hand flies to my chest. ‘Shit,’ I say. ‘I—sorry. I didn’t—’
Raw emotion flits across his face for the briefest of moments before he smooths it over. ‘It’s fine,’ he says quietly, though it doesn’t sound like it.
‘No, I—’ I start, reaching out before I can stop myself, fingers brushing his wrist. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
He catches my hand before I can pull it back. His gripis warm, steady. ‘Come on,’ he says, his voice lower now, gentler. ‘Not here.’
Before I can ask what he means, he’s already leading me away from the noise. We stop outside a lift, and I know where this is heading before he even presses the button. My pulse thrums in my throat, and I should stop him. Ishould, but I don’t.
The doors slide open.
When we step inside, the music and laughter fade completely, replaced by the soft hum of the lift. Asher doesn’t look at me as he presses the top-floor button, but his thumb is still tracing slow circles against the back of my hand.
Every part of me knows I should pull away.
That I’ve already let this go too far. That it isn’t fair to him, not after what he just said, not when he’s standing here with all that sincerity laid bare between us like an open wound.
But I don’t pull away.
Because I’m selfish.
Because I want him.
Because tomorrow, we’ll have to step back into that ballroom and start the performance all over again – the bickering, the pointed looks, the perfectly staged loathing. And right now, I just want something real.
The elevator hums softly as it climbs, the only sound between us the faint rush of air and the quick, uneven rhythm of my breathing. His thumb still moves absently against my skin, and it’s ridiculous how such a small thing can unravel me completely.
When the doors slide open, he finally looks at me. ‘Do you want to come in?’ he says quietly, his voice rough like he’s forcing the words out. ‘You don’t have to. If you want to go back, you can. We can pretend like this never happened.’
I know I should say no.
I should remind him that the lines have been blurred too much today and we should stick to the plan.
But then I think about tomorrow, about putting the masks back on, about pretending like this spark between us doesn’t exist, and the thought physically hurts.
I think I deserve a little joy before the performance starts again.
‘Yeah,’ I say softly. ‘I’d like to.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREEImani
Asher’s suite is identical to mine, just on the other side of the hotel. While I have a picturesque lakeside view, his balcony opens onto the French Alps. But even with that kind of beauty just metres away, the only thing I’m focused on right now is Asher.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, the rest of the world falls away until the only thing I can hear is the sound of blood pounding in my ears.
‘Do you want—’ Asher starts, shifting slightly so he can gesture to the kitchen area to the right of the corridor.
‘No,’ I say, without waiting for him to finish his sentence. It doesn’t matter anyway. I know exactly what he’s going to say. He’s going to ask if I want a drink or something to eat or some other banal social nicety, and then we’ll awkwardly dance around the real reason I’m here in the first place. We’llpretend like we don’t feel the heat crackling between us every time we catch each other’s eye.
I’m tired of pretending.
And from the way he’s looking at me? I think he is too.
