by Laura Burton
I had no idea kissing could feel this good.
I’ve kissed guys before, but none of them lasted more than a few seconds. And none of them were fueled by this much longing. None of them had my heart pounding this fast.
Is this lust? Probably.
Blaze makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
He grabs the back of my head and pulls me in again. I don’t even need to open my eyes, my lips find his of their own accord, and this time, I steal some courage and bite him. He grunts, and kisses me back with more gusto.
I’m going to die from the exhilaration. There is no way a body can handle so much intensity.
My tombstone will say, ‘Here lies Leila Scott, killed by the best kiss of her life.’
I wrap my arms around Blaze’s neck, and cross my ankles so my legs are tightly wrapped around him. If he loses balance, we’ll both fall like rocks to the ground. But as Blaze grips my thighs and squeezes, my thoughts scatter. His stubble grazes my skin in the most tantalizing way, while he begins to explore my mouth again.
This is absolutely the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done.
I’ve never let myself go like this. And we’re so out in the open, there’s a forbidden thrill to what we’re doing. Yet, none of it feels wrong.
Which is weird. My brain tells me that making out with Blaze like this is breaking some kind of rule. But how can something wrong feel so deliciously right?
We fit together like two broken pieces, and Blaze’s mouth on mine completes me in a way I never knew possible.
Forget crossing lines, we’ve jumped right into the deep end and there’s absolutely no going back.
Blaze starts kissing my neck again and I throw my head back to look up at the twinkling stars. But then another twinkling light catches my eye. A red one.
“Blaze,” I say slowly. I put my hands on his shoulders and drop down to stand on the metal floor. Blaze steps back to give me a little room, panting. He looks at me with his dark brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asks, clearly picking up on the concern in my voice.
I point upward. “What is that?”
Blaze looks up, then his eyes widen with shock and he promptly lets me go and takes a bigger step back. “That,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “is a problem.”
Chapter 16
Blaze
I need a drink. A strong one.
How long were we kissing before Leila pointed out the security camera blinking at us?
Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen?
Long enough for there to be a pink rash around Leila’s mouth from my beard.
Note to self; shave.
Also long enough for me to break into a sweat, my heart working overtime to pump the adrenaline around my body.
And just long enough to convince me that Leila is the one.
The one.
Harry was right. What was missing in my life was a woman.
Not just any woman. Her. Leila Scott.
She’s fun and sweet––up for any adventure.
The way she talks about people, even the really dislikable ones, is endearing.
I’ve not heard her say a bad thing about anyone.
And that’s a rare quality.
There’s still so much I don’t know about her, but I must find out.
I need to know how she likes her eggs, or if she skips breakfast altogether.
I need to know what her favorite movie is, her happiest memory, her childhood pet.
I need to know what makes her cry, and what her deepest fears are.
Our conversations have barely scratched the surface, but kissing her just now told me everything I needed to know.
She’s mine. Or more appropriately, I’m hers.
She’s the person I’ve been missing all my life. The yin to my yang.
The person who makes me feel like a complete person again.
I’m pretty sure I’m in love even though I don’t know her.
How’s that for logic?
But there’s a current problem that demands my immediate attention, so I push aside my romantic fantasies and turn my thoughts instead to that.
Of course there’s CCTV on the Eiffel Tower. Why didn’t I check before?
I know why. Leila was distracting me. She taunted me with her alluring smile and intoxicated me with her sickly sweet scent.
It’s also a full moon. That has to take some of the blame, for sure.
And on top of it all, we’re in freaking Paris. On the Eiffel Tower, no less. The same place my grandparents got engaged.
Can anyone blame me for not thinking about cameras?
But all that aside, I’m in some real trouble. The video footage could be transmitting to a live feed for all I know. Someone may have tipped the media off already; we’ll be greeted by a mob when we get back down to the ground. Martin, my manager, and both of my PAs are going to go nuts when this gets out.
My phone vibrates constantly in my pocket as we take the elevator down, but I ignore it.
Leila tries and fails to make herself look more presentable. Her hair is a mess.
I hold back a grin.
After playing it cool for a week, Leila has finally given in and taken things from professional chill to the hottest level there is. Almost. I want to pump my fist in the air. But I keep myself impassive, cool even. Now is not the time to revel in victory.
The final elevator doors roll back and we’re blinded by thousands of flashing lights.
“Blaze,” Leila murmurs without moving her lips. She keeps her eyes lowered to the ground, and I take her hand just so I can steer her in the right direction.
As expected, the video of Leila and I making out is on almost every smartphone facing us as I break through the crowd.
“Who is she, Blaze? Are you two officially dating? Will there be an engagement soon?”
The questions come one after the other and Leila’s hand grows clammy in mine. I give it a reassuring squeeze and ignore the people shoving microphones and phones in our faces. I’m also resisting the urge to ask for a copy of the video.
What can I say? A part of me likes the idea of watching it back.
We wrestle through the crowds of people and climb into a taxi. Leila looks flustered. She puts her seatbelt on quickly and turns to me. “What are the chances this news stays in France?” she asks, looking at me with big hopeful eyes. I can’t find the words to give her the reassurance she needs. The truth is, a recording of us––more specifically Blaze Hopkins and a woman––making out on the Eiffel tower is the type of thing that goes viral. And it’s the type of scandal my manager doesn’t need to deal with right now.
If there’s even a hint that I’m seeing someone, and that people might capture more footage of PDA between me and the mystery woman, there’s going to be triple the number of paparazzi following me. Which means more security for the press tour.
But what I really need to be thinking about right now is Leila and her safety. What about her security? Martin won’t even give her a second thought. The last thing I want to do is drop her off at her hotel, where the press will be sure to follow and remain to hound her. Kisses don’t make up for that kind of mental stress.
Leila didn’t sign up for this life. I have to protect her.
“Where are we going?” she asks, when I don’t answer her other question.
“I have a private suite at the Marks’ hotel. You’ll be safe there.”
“You don’t think I’m safe at the Victor Hugo hotel?”
I place my hand over hers, and she flinches but doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry about this.” She blinks up at me with her doe eyes and I squeeze her hand. “This is not at all how I pictured things going.”
Leila’s mouth turns up at the sides. “How did you see things going?”
As the taxi trundles down the cobbled streets, Leila and I stare into each other’s eyes. The chaos around us fades away and I can no longer hear the traffic or the commot
ion of the motorcyclists trying to keep up with us. I take a quick look out both windows to make sure there aren’t any visible cameras and the windows are deeply tinted. Then I turn back to Leila and glance at her mouth again. She bites her bottom lip and her cheeks go pink. She tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her ear shyly.
I trail a finger up the soft skin of her arm and cup her cheek. There’s an almost primal hunger in the pit of my stomach turning into an agonizing ache and I wish helplessly that we were just a pair of average Joes heading back to my place after a simple night out.
But we’re not. I’m not. Everything I do is watched and recorded, then shown to the world and scrutinized by strangers.
“You don’t deserve this.”
Leila’s smile drops. “I don’t?”
Her gaze lowers to my mouth for a flicker of a moment, then comes back up to meet mine. Her eyes are full of disappointment. I shake my head. “I mean, all this,” I jerk my thumb to the window and Leila’s mouth forms an o.
“Right. That… is a problem.” She bites her lip again and holds my wrist as I graze her cheek with my thumb. “But call me crazy…”
I bow my head to search her eyes more deeply, trying to read her thoughts. “Yes?”
She turns her face to press her lips to my palm and finds my other hand with hers. “If this is the price to pay for tonight. I’m happy to pay it.”
My heart squeezes and there’s a burst of joy in my chest. “You mean you’re not plotting your escape? Not planning to run for the hills and forget about me?”
Leila chuckles, then leans in and gives me the sweetest kiss on Earth. All my senses tingle.
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Blaze.”
The taxi pulls up in the underground parking lot and I sigh with relief. Only residents can get past the security guard. I pay the driver and take Leila’s hand. My stomach is doing standing backflips.
“Come on.” We climb out of the car and run across the parking lot to the elevator. Then we stand side by side, not daring to even look at each other for fear of the tiny camera in the corner. With a ping, the doors open up to a tiny corridor that leads to my suite. When the elevator closes, I glance around to double check that there aren’t any cameras here.
No cameras. Not even a window.
Of course, the only truly private place is on the other side of the door, but I can’t wait long enough to open it. I have to kiss her again. I want to taste her and feel her warmth and reassure her that everything will be okay.
I wrap her up in my arms, lift her in the air, and spin her around, then pin her back to the door with a light thump. Leila’s eyes flit around and I know she’s checking for cameras too, but then her face breaks into a grin and she drags her hands through my hair.
Oh, what a blissful feeling it is, to be so close to this woman!
Her hair falls around my face, providing a curtain of our own privacy as she kisses me again.
This time, she’s the aggressive one. Like an angry kitten, she digs her nails into my chest and moves her lips roughly over mine.
I slow the pace down and give her gentle kisses along her jawline. She squirms as though it tickles, and her nails find the back of my neck.
The stylists will have their work cut out for them tomorrow, trying to cover up the scratches.
I take Leila’s hands and pin them above her head to stop her clawing my neck any more.
I pull back to look at her. Her eyes are flashing with an urgent need and her hair is wild and splayed out over her shoulders.
This is an entirely new side of Leila I’ve never seen before.
I’ve seen clumsy Leila, I’ve seen the girl-next-door Leila, I’ve seen elegant, refined Leila.
But wild Leila is possibly my favorite.
I can’t wait to discover more.
And with that thought, I dive right in and kiss her hard. She tightens the grip of her legs around my waist and squeezes me between her thighs.
Then a new sound fills the hall, and for a second, I think it came from Leila, but then there’s a cough, and we jump away from each other like we’ve just been struck by lightning.
“Blaze. Martin and Harry need to see you.”
Harper Jewel is standing and pouting with her tiny arms folded. Leila straightens out her clothes and does her best to smooth her hair, breathless. Harper is surveying us like we’re a pair of teenagers caught doing something outrageously bad.
“Can’t it wait? As you can see, I’m a little preoccupied right now,” I say, refusing to be ashamed. But Leila’s face is beetroot red and she can’t even look Harper in the eye. I guess she’s feeling enough shame for the two of us.
“No, Blaze. It can’t wait.” Harper shoots daggers at me with her eyes and I sigh in defeat. The sooner I deal with Martin and the press situation, the sooner I can get back to Leila. I give her my key.
“Here, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
I swagger to the elevator and when I notice that Harper isn’t following me, I stop to frown at her.
“You go ahead. I’m going to have a quick chat with Leila. You know, about clothes and shoes. Paris is the fashion capital after all.”
I look from Harper to Leila. Leila looks like she’s about to have a private meeting with her math tutor.
The elevator doors roll to a close, and the last thing I see is Leila mouthing the word help.
Chapter 17
Leila
Harper Jewel is sitting across from me at the breakfast bar in Blaze’s suite, clutching a steaming mug of coffee and blinking very slowly. Her hair has been expertly tamed into a high ponytail, and her silk blouse is open just enough to see her collar bones jutting out.
I watch her narrow nostrils flare and her chest heave, wondering what on Earth has got her so worked up? I’m the one who should be freaking out.
Not only did Blaze and I get caught making out on a public landmark, but Harper walked in on us during one of our intense throes of passion.
That kiss on the Eiffel Tower was nothing compared to the way I let myself go in Blaze’s arms outside his door.
It’s probably a good thing we were interrupted. My willpower is shot. There’s no telling what I’d do in this state.
Besides, I have to remember I don’t want to be a fling.
What Blaze and I have between us is something I want to explore a little more carefully. I open my mouth to break the heavy silence, but no words come to mind so I close it again.
Should I compliment Harper on her pearl bracelet?
Maybe she’ll appreciate hearing how much I admire her recent Instagram post about body positivity?
Harper did say she wanted to talk about clothes. Maybe I should just go with that…
Before I can come up with something to say, Harper sets her mug down and clears her throat.
“Can I give you some advice?” she asks.
I get the impression it’s not really a question, but I nod anyway. Harper flicks her bushy blonde ponytail and paces the kitchen. “Being a woman in the limelight is not for the faint hearted.” Her eyes dart in my direction and I swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t think you realize what kind of pressure there is on people like me.”
I nod along, trying to act serious like I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“Oh, sure. Sure.”
Jewel stops pacing and crosses her arms. “Don’t patronize me.”
I freeze, hating the fact I have to be in this awkward situation. “Sorry.”
“I know you think you’re just fooling around and having fun with Blaze,” Harper says. She stops, pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks at me again. “But you need to think about the repercussions.”
“Right.”
“No. You don’t get it.” Harper huffs. Then she shakes herself and forces a smile. “I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I think you need to be told a few home truths.”
&n
bsp; I stay absolutely still and listen as Harper launches into a very long rant about having the eyes of the world on you. Rumors fly around and nobody cares if they’re true or not––they can make or break a celebrity’s career.
“A lot of women think they’re going to rise to fame by being with Blaze. Sure, you’ll gain some social media followers. You may even land yourself some cash selling an inside scoop or two. But they will only ever be interested in what dirt you’ve got to dish out on Blaze. Once you start trying to keep things private, they will turn on you.”
Harper walks around the breakfast bar and leans over me until her nose is hovering a few inches away from mine. “And trust me, the last thing you want is for the media to turn on you. They will destroy your whole life.”
I hold my breath, staring at her big eyes. “Right.”
“And not just your life. Think about your sisters. This will affect them too.”
“My sisters?” I whisper.
Lucy works in the media, surely my relationship with Blaze would only improve her career prospects. And Chessy loves pop culture. Her ego is the size of California. There’s no way the press is tearing her down.
But I nod under Harper’s hard look. “I understand.”
Harper backs off and we both exhale with relief.
“I’m just trying to look out for you, you know that right?” Harper picks up her mug again. “I mean, it’s not like Blaze would ever fall for a girl like you. You know you’re just his shiny new toy.”
I prickle under her words, my defenses rising. “Sorry, what?”
Harper takes a sip of her coffee. “You two come from totally different worlds. He’s an A-lister and you’re a…. What?”
“Personal shopper,” I say weakly, unable to think of another title, even though it feels wrong to say it.
Harper scoffs as though she can read my mind. “Oh, please. If you’re a personal shopper, I’m Santa Claus.”
I raise my brows. This is not where I pictured the conversation going. “Why do you say that? I’ve spent almost all my waking time shopping for you!”
Harper rolls her eyes. “I know you’ve been getting help. I’m not an idiot.”