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16
LUKE
Islam the door closed behind us. “He had no fucking right to say that to you. No fucking right.”
Hazel perches on the arm of a chair and watches me pace. “I think he’s trying to look out for you. In his own way.”
“By going after you? No.” I shake my head, snarling, “That’s not allowed.”
For some reason her face softens, which doesn’t make any sense.
People don’t soften when I get mad. They flinch and run away.
But Hazel’s not like everyone else. Instead of making an excuse to leave me alone with my foul mood, Hazel rises and walks toward me. She comes to a halt directly in front of me, so I have to stop my angry pacing. And then she reaches up and gently frames my face with her hands.
The intimacy of her touch is like brushing against a live wire. A shock of heat and energy, rooting me to the spot.
She takes a deep breath, and I mirror her without thinking. She’s calming me down without my consent, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“It’s ok, Luke,” Hazel says. “He’s not going to drive me away. I’m in this thing with you for the next six months, no matter what anyone else says.”
I swallow. It’s almost embarrassing, how much better her words make me feel.
My eyes trace her face, as if I can find an explanation there for the hold she has on me. If her eyes were a little less kind. If her mouth was less quick to smile. If her tongue wasn’t so sharp. Maybe then I wouldn’t keepnoticingher. Orienting myself toward her like a planet orbiting the sun.
My eyes rest on her mouth. That sweet, gorgeous mouth.
“I should kiss you,” I hear myself say.
Her mouth parts and her eyes darken. Then she releases me and steps back with a shaky laugh. “Luke. We shouldn’t...”
“Before the wedding, I mean,” I clarify. “We won’t be a very convincing couple if we look like we’ve never touched when it’s time for me to kiss the bride.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Her cheeks have flushed. “I guess we could practice tomorrow. Or tonight when we get home.” She nervously shoves a strand of hair back behind her ear.
“Why not now?” I say, nonchalantly. But I don’t feel nonchalant on the inside. I feel like she’s spent all day turning me inside out, and if I can’t touch hernow, I’ll spend the rest of the day obsessing about her. I’ll spend the night having hot, sinful dreams about her.
I need to kiss her to prove she’s not special. Break her hold on me. Prove she’s as normal as every other woman.
“Someone could walk in on us,” Hazel protests.
I smirk. “And what, see me kissing my future wife? The scandal.”
But in deference to her wishes for privacy, I go lock my office door. In the silence, the quiet click of the lock sounds like a promise.
When I turn back to Hazel, she’s wetting her lips.
Everything in me tightens in response.
“So, um, what kind of wedding kiss should we do?” Hazel asks nervously. “Chaste and sweet is classic. But maybe not veryyou,you know? Open mouth is more natural, unless it goes on too long, then everyone’s uncomfortable—”
“Hazel,” I order. “Stop talking.” I smooth her hair back from her face, and Christ it’s soft. I wind my hands in her strands and tilt her head back, so her mouth is exactly where I want it.
She’s just like anyone else, I tell myself.She’s not special.
Hazel’s eyelids flutter closed. “I really think we should discuss—”
I cut her off with a kiss.
