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“Linda de Vries, WRBL News. Care to comment on the day’s proceedings?” The reporter shoves the microphone in my face, trying to squeeze a comment out of me.
Nope. Not going to happen.
A camera shutter clicks, and a flash pops as photographers document our every move. Suddenly, we’re enclosed in a circle of arms.
The reporters begin jostling, everyone yelling and shoving, but the only thing on my mind is how to protect Sabine.
When a reporter asks Sabine who she is, I become furious. “No comment,” I snap as I reach for Sabine’s hand, preparing to make our escape. “We need to hurry,” I tell her, my tone urgent. “Come with me.”
A cameraman tries to block me, but I elbow past with a gruff, “Out of my way.”
I rush her toward the stairs, desperately trying to avoid the press and protect Sabine from prying eyes. Her soft hand is shaking, so I gently squeeze her fingers, hoping she’ll find strength in my touch.
Finally, we escape by ducking into a cramped stairwell. Our feet pound on the steps, echoing off the concrete block walls as we leap up the stairs.
“We should probably stop here,” I say when we reach a quiet landing.
I lean against the wall inside the dim stairwell, Sabine close by my side as we recover from our mad dash. The cramped space seems to press us closer together, and the heat of her body rolls over me.
The chaotic scene in the foyer was nuts, and I need to make sure she isn’t hurt. Besides that, being so close to her makes the urge to touch her irresistible.
Holding her hand feels incredibly intimate. It’s the lightest touch but feels like foreplay. I pull her toward me, and though it’s hard to be certain in the dim light, I swear I see her pulse skip in her throat.
I lift her chin, and her eyes meet mine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but wow, that was intense,” she says, her cheeks rosy from our run.
“It isn’t usually like this,” I confess.
“It’s a circus out there. How do you concentrate and remember everything you’re supposed to say?” Her gaze is full of admiration, and I’m proud of myself for making an impression.
“Plenty of practice.” I laugh.
She smiles. “You’re certainly impressive.”
Surely, that was a Freudian slip?
Heat rises between us, and my eyes drop to her lips. I desperately yearn to lean in and kiss her, to give in to the desire building inside me, but I wouldn’t dare cross that line unless I knew for certain she wanted me to.
She breaks the tension by asking a question, causing my stomach to drop. “We were interrupted before we finished talking about your date with Margo. Are you sure you’re okay to follow through?”
I run a hand through my hair and shift my weight, unable to look her in the eye. Sabine’s head tilts to the side, and her gaze lingers as she waits for my response.
Did she sense my inner conflict between wanting to go through with it and making an excuse to back out?
“I volunteered as tribute,” I say, holding up three fingers in the Mockingjay salute, and she laughs. “Don’t worry. Everything will work out fine, and I’ll write you a kick-ass testimonial and recommend you to my colleagues.”
“You’d do that?” she asks with stars in her eyes.
“Anything for my—” What am I supposed to call her?
“You’re the best!”
Sabine throws her arms around my neck and presses her sweet curves into my body.I embrace her warmly, wrapping her in my arms.
“Anything for you,” I say, stroking her hair. The heady aroma of wild strawberries tickles my nose. I take a deep breath, drawing her unique scent into my lungs. I never want to let her go.
Regrettably, I accepted the role as her client, even though I’d promised never to commit to anything without thinking it through. Still, I couldn’t stand to see her suffering, so I let my emotions guide me.
