Page 29 of Relationship Goals
Which surprises me.
I’m too entertained by Luke to even worry about that.
When we walk outside, though, it’s chaos. My palms start sweating.
Even more paps had set up while we were waiting for the check, a whole flock of them squawking our names, flashes going off like lightning bolts, leaving me hot and overwhelmed.
Luke pulls me closer, a big hand curling around my ribs, as though he’s going to personally shield me from all of them.
“You okay?” he asks, frowning down at me.
I tilt my head, and when I look up at him, I don’t have to fake the smile for the cameras like I usually do.
Him like this, when he’s being protective, sweet—it makes me happy. It makes me think I’m right about him, right about that secretly soft side. And a Luke Wolfe who’s game for my shenanigans?Thatmakes me positively giddy.
I lace my hands around his neck, my eyebrows arched in a silent question as I search his blue eyes, then I speak three syllables that I wouldn’t have ever thought would be code for anything in my entire life.
“Yo-Yo Ma?” I flutter my eyelashes. My heart’s beating so fast, it’s a wonder he can’t hear it.
I want to kiss him. I want to be right about him.
“Fucking hell, Abigail,” he says, and I see the exact moment he realizes what I want.
“Is this what you were thinking of, too?” I rub my thumb on the back of his neck, drinking in the way he’s looking at me, the way his gaze dips to my mouth, then back to my eyes in silent question.
I nod briefly, hoping he’s thinking the same thing.
His kiss is the only answer I need.
The response from the paparazzi is immediate and utterly overwhelming. I have to close my eyes to keep from being blinded by the flashes popping off like crazy. The best part, though?
It’s easy to lose myself in Luke Wolfe—to forget we have an audience. His body is warm against mine, his arms strong as he pulls me close, his hands wrapping around me as his lips brush against mine.
Sensory overload: from the way his warm palms span across my back, the feel of the hard plane of his chest against mine, the gentle pressure of his mouth.
I want more. I am greedy for this kiss, for him, somehow more satisfying than any of the delicious food we sampled.
I lose myself to it, to this moment, standing on my tiptoes and savoring it. The impression of pine-and-sandalwood cologne floats from his skin, and my tongue darts out.
Luke groans, a small, impossible noise that leaves me reeling as he finally pulls away.
He stares down at me, surprise and heat and a need I feel deep under my skin echoed in his own eyes.
It’s easy to think that dating Luke Wolfe might feel very, very good.
“ABIGAIL!”
“LUKE!”
“KISS AGAIN!”
“KISS HER AGAIN, WOLF!”
“Fuck,” Luke grinds out, finally pulling away as the noise of the paparazzi breaks the spell of our kiss. “Do you think that was enough?”
“Depends,” I say, drawing out the word, nearly unable to answer, to think past how perfect that was. An evil grin spreads across my face, and I tilt my head. “Do you feel the need to listen to cello music?”
“You’re fucking terrible,” he says, laughing for real this time.
