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She’s got to be joking.
I suppress the sentiment as best I can, though I’m positive my wow-so-glad-to-just-be-here look has vanished. In its place, I’m probably broadcasting something between flashbulb exhaustion and constipation.
Neither of those fly with Reg.
She’s holding steady with the original instruction in her eyes. The Olympian soldier version of the message that’s going to detonate in thirty seconds whether I like it or not.
But there’s the rub.
I don’tnotlike it.
If anything, this is the best damn mission I’ve had to execute so far in this wild saga—as I prove without another second of hesitation. As I commit to with full passion, not giving Kara the chance for half a yelp of protest, as I sweep down and crush those gorgeous lips beneath mine.
Not because her yelps aren’t important to me. In this crucial moment, they’ve just got to be voiced in different ways. Everything in my senses joins my mouth in sending the message to her, even twisting the contact until we’re mashing tips of tongues and edges of teeth, to the euphoria of every media member lining this carpet.
As the crowd erupts like a hoard of headbangers during an encore, I slide both hands to the middle of her back. In the same motion, with our lips still sealed, I lean into a lunge and drop her into a dramatic dip.
And here comes the roar for the second encore.
A din that should have me jerking back up and gauging how many more steps until we’re done with this gauntlet. More importantly, ensuring that I’ve given Reg a window of opportunity to gain on her quest.
But in this moment, a better victory already claims me. A bolder freedom.
My open declaration for Kara. For us.
It shouldn’t feel so easy, but it is. In the glare of these lights, on the plane of this carpet, comes a brave new variety of…intimacy. The theory strikes me as completely crazy, but not after I see it confirmed by the keen sparks in her stare.
Because we don’t have to worry about hiding anything, we can reveal everything. And God help me yet again, I never want it to end. Such an incredible, beautiful bubble…
Which, like all bubbles, is doomed to pop.
We could pick worse than Veronica to be our inevitable pin bearer. As she pauses a few feet away, having closed the gap between her photo stop and ours, she curls a coy hand against her chest as if she’s actually hiding a hat pin. Or, knowing her, a switchblade. I almost lift a hand to warn the reporter she’s now addressing, but that’s before I observe the guy’s smooth laugh.
That’s also before noticing that he’s not a guy at all, but a glittery mop disguised as one.
Ellery Gentry.
I’m too late to kiss Kara back as a new diversion. She’s already locked a glaring bead on the diva in dickbag clothing who’s enraptured by Veronica’s answer to a query he snuck in while Kara and I were still enjoying bubble time.
“Well, as was detailed in the announcement, Maximus’s proposal was impulsive and unexpected—our professoriswildly romantic that way—so of course there’s not a ring yet. But these two will be rectifying that soon. We’re even looking at some lovely collaboration designs from major names in the jewelry world.”
“My, my, my,” Gentry croons back. Then, as if he’s already in on the answer, “Any idea when that auspicious shopping trip will occur?”
“Soon, of course. But you’ll be personally notified of the occasion. You have my word, Ellery.”
Sometimes I’ve envisioned self-control like air conditioning. Depending on outside forces, I have to turn it up or down as needed. Weirdly, Veronica’s words feel like a heat wave. No. Not just that. I’m holding Gentry, and his smug smirk of reaction, just as responsible. I crank harder on the dial when he pulls in a lot of air, clearly not finished with his moment in the Veronica Valari sunglow.
“And the big day itself? Should we be red circling anything yet? Ordering a stylist to go any special direction for nuptial togs?” He waggles his pink-streaked brows in our direction. “Adding NSFW stickers to our live streams?”
And now I’m frantically hunting for theglaciersetting on the air conditioning.
A squandered quest, only understood when Kara steps closer to me.
Damn. How can the woman be rocking blow torches in her gaze but practically dripping icicles from her fingertips? So much poise that she’s mesmerizing. Control to the point that a man—or woman—wouldn’t dare make her lose it.
Thankfully, the effect’s not lost on Gentry. The journalist—an honor since I’m feeling weirdly generous now—doesn’t look happy about acknowledging Kara’s upper hand. Granted, the hand is pretty firmly coming forhim.
Well, damn.
