Chapter 8 #3
Rebecca: You’re doing GREAT. They took the bait. Keep it up.
Our eyes met. We were succeeding. So, why did victory taste so complicated?
Another buzz:
Rebecca: Don’t forget the kiss.
Well, shit.
Earlier tonight, kissing Axel had seemed revolting. Now I dreaded it for an entirely different reason: what if it wasn’t as revolting as I needed it to be?
My heart slammed against my ribs. All the heat and chemistry of the evening crashed into this single moment. No more delays. No more pretending this wasn’t about to happen.
Our gazes locked, and I saw my own conflict mirrored in his eyes.
Without a word, his hand cupped my cheek, thumb tracing my skin with tender slowness. He tilted his head. Paused, giving me one last chance to back out.
I didn’t. Because apparently, I had a death wish. Or a really specific type of masochism.
Time suspended itself in that breathless moment before impact, his face hovering over mine while I felt the heat of his breath, the pulse of anticipation.
Every thought scattered the instant his mouth found mine.
His lips were warm and absolutely devastating. At first, I could pretend that this was just for show, just for the audience because his mouth moved against mine with such careful restraint. Almost tentative. Like he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.
I should have been relieved by his control. Should have appreciated the safety of it.
Instead, I found myself pressing closer, chasing something I couldn’t name, and that’s when everything shifted.
Without thinking, I grasped the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, not because our script demanded it, but because my body suddenly, desperately needed more of him.
His response was immediate and fierce. His hand slid from my cheek to the nape of my neck, angling my head to deepen the kiss. The other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me as close as our seated position would allow.
When his tongue swept across my lower lip, seeking entrance, one coherent thought managed to surface through the haze: We never discussed boundaries. We never talked about using tongue.
But then his tongue was sliding against mine in a caress that obliterated every rational thought, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about boundaries or scripts or anything except the taste of him flooding my senses. Wine and chocolate and something uniquely, intoxicatingly him.
My mouth opened for him completely, and the kiss transformed into something consuming. Something that felt far too real.
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but he was kissing me like he had been imagining this for years, like this fake engagement gave him the excuse to finally claim what he had been dreaming of.
I could feel it in the desperation of his fingers tangling through my hair, drawing me closer as he gently tilted my head back for better access, deepening our kiss.
I could hear it in the soft moans rumbling from deep in his throat.
And I could sense it in the way our bodies pulled toward each other like we were magnetized, bound by some invisible force.
I had always wondered, in our ongoing rivalry, how much of it might have been misplaced passion. Now I knew: all of it.
Axel wanted this. Wanted us. I could feel it in every desperate touch, every hungry kiss. All these years of verbal sparring, of pushing and provoking—it had all been leading here. To this explosion of undeniable chemistry that neither of us could fake or fight anymore.
And God, that felt freeing. Like we'd been holding our breath for years and could finally exhale. Finally be honest about what had always simmered between us.
Because this had to mean something to him. It had to. I wasn't just some random girl. I'd known him for years, been through trauma and hell with him. He'd been by my side even when I pushed him away.
In this moment, something had shifted permanently between us. And I desperately hoped I wasn't the only one who felt it.
My hands moved of their own accord—one fisting in his shirt, the other still tangled in his hair—and I felt his grip tighten on my waist as if he wanted to pull me into his lap right here.
His tongue moved against mine with devastating skill, each stroke sending liquid heat cascading through my body.
A small sound escaped my throat—something between a gasp and a moan—and I felt him tense, his fingers flexing against me possessively.
The restaurant vanished. The influencers, Rebecca’s instructions, our entire charade … all of it evaporated under the intensity of sensation. There was only the solid warmth of him, the scratch of his stubble against my skin.
My free hand slid up to cup his jaw, feeling the racing pulse in his neck, and his response was to kiss me deeper, hungrier, like he was trying to consume me whole. Like, if this was the only chance he was going to get, he was going to make it count.
This was insane. This was supposed to be fake. A performance. But nothing about the way my body was responding felt remotely like pretending.
The kiss grew more desperate, more urgent. His hand slid up my back, fingers spreading wide, and I arched into him. The heat between us was building toward something dangerous, something that definitely wasn’t restaurant-appropriate, something that felt seconds away from combusting into—
Axel pulled back.
The abrupt loss of contact felt like being plunged into ice water.
We were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine, his hand still cupped around the nape of my neck. My fingers were still twisted in his hair and his shirt, and I could feel the thundering of his heart against my palm on his chest.
For one suspended moment, we just stared at each other. The question hung between us, unspoken but deafening: What the hell just happened?
But before I could even get my bearings, he cleared his throat and extracted himself from my grip, the cool air rushing in where his warmth had been.
“There,” he said, voice rougher than usual, not quite meeting my eyes. “I think that sold it.”
The dismissal hit like a slap with the world’s most gigantic hand.
Knox’s little sister, I reminded myself bitterly. That’s all I’d ever be to him.
“Right,” I managed, proud when my voice didn’t shake. “Good work.”
My phone buzzed.
Rebecca: PERFECT! They’re eating it up. You two are trending!
Success. We’d done it. Sold the story. Convinced the influencers.
So, why did victory taste like ashes?
“I need to use the ladies’ room.” I stood on legs that felt unsteady.
I didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t look back. Just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, navigating through the restaurant with my phone clutched like a lifeline.
Inside the bathroom, I pressed my back against the cool tile wall and touched my trembling fingers to my lips, still burning from his kiss.
This is good, I told myself firmly. We sold it. That’s all that matters.
Relief unwound some of the tension as I realized maybe we could actually pull this off. Save our companies. Save my family.
My body’s reaction was just biology. Chemistry. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.
Even if he’d kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
Even if I’d kissed him back like my life depended on it.
Even if, for those few devastating moments, I’d forgotten we were supposed to be pretending.
I mean, honestly, with my business already in danger, what did I have to lose by continuing with this charade? Other than my dignity and sanity. I could do this.
Pushing off the wall, I straightened my dress and squared my shoulders before exiting.
Only to collide with a man’s chest.
I looked up, and when I met those familiar brown eyes, my heart forgot how to beat.