“No, it’s not.”
She stands up from the table, smoothing down her dress. “I should probably change. This thing is beautiful but not exactly comfortable.”
“Don’t.”
She pauses. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t change. You look…” I trail off, searching for words that won’t sound like a line. “You look incredible.”
“Elena’s team gets the credit.”
“Elena’s team didn’t make your eyes light up when you laugh. Or the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. Or how you get this little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating.”
She touches her forehead self-consciously. “I do not get a wrinkle.”
“You do. Right there.” I reach out and smooth the spot with my thumb. “It’s adorable.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“About you? Completely.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. I count that as a win.
“So what do you want to do with our two hours of freedom?” she asks.
I could suggest a dozen things. We could walk on the beach, explore the resort, sit by the pool and talk. But there’s only one thing I really want to do.
“I want to kiss you,” I say honestly. “Without cameras. Without wondering who’s watching or what they’re going to dowith the footage. I just want to kiss you because I want to, not because it makes good television.”
It’s all coming apart now. The plan. The persona. All the decisions I’ve made that led me right here. And I still want her like it’s the only thing that makes sense.
Her breath catches. “Ryan…”
“I know it’s not much of a plan. But I’ve been sitting across from you all night, watching you in that dress, listening to you laugh. All I can think about is how much I want to touch you.”
I don’t want to rush this. But I also can’t stop thinking about that dress hitting the floor.
“The cameras could come back early.”
“They won’t. Elena’s too professional to mess with her own schedule.”
“Someone could see us.”
“Let them.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I can practically see her internal debate playing out across her face. Caution warring with desire, fear fighting with trust.
Finally, she steps closer. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Kiss me, Ryan. Kiss me like you mean it.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.
thirty-four
WREN
