Page 69 of I Think He Knows
“What?” I’m shocked by his calm demeanor.
“I think you’re right.” His smile grows wider. “A kiss would make everything lookwaymore believable, and a trial-run kiss should be part of your trial-run engagement, no?”
My stomach nearly boils over at the fact that we areactuallyhaving this conversation. For a plan that we mightactuallyput in motion in mere minutes. A plan that involves me kissing Carter Callahan.
His eyes level on mine. I muster up a confident smile. “Exactly. Plus, what’s a kiss between friends?”
“That’s a great question,” Carter replies. “I guess we’ll find out in just a few minutes.”
“I guess so!” I squeak, simultaneously elated and terrified.
I am not ready.
But, at the same time, so ready. Because positivity and carpe diem and all that.
As we move towards the dance floor for the photo op, Carter seems completely cool and collected, his hand placed tantalizingly on the small of my back when a legendary director stops us to congratulate us on our upcoming nuptials.
But for all of his bravado, as soon as we step onto that dance floor, Carter’s behavior changes. He moves towards me slowly, at first. Tentatively.
A hummingbird might as well have flown into my chest cavity. My palms are prickling with sweat as Carter comes to a stop right in front of me.
He looks at me from under his eyelashes. Gives me that lopsided little half-smile that most women would think is entirely confident and self-assured, but I know better. I know it’s the one he gives when he’s unsure. Bashful. Not in control.
And somehow, this makes me relax. This is Carter’s life, not mine—with a million flashing lights and clanging sounds and cameras pointing right at us—but he’s as nervous as I am.
“Hey,” he says. His blue gaze is so piercing, I can feel it moving over my body, but his hands are still at his sides. “You ready?”
I puff out my bottom lip and blow a big breath upwards, attempting to blow some stray hairs out of my eyes as I hold his stare. “Yes?”
He extends a hand to tuck the pesky hairs behind my ear. Lets it linger there for a moment. “Don’t worry, Donovan. We got this.”
And then, his arms are around me. With one swift tug, our bodies are flush together, his broad, hard chest pressed up against me.
A stifled whimper slips out of my mouth as I try not to inhale too much of his dizzyingly warm, clean scent.
Acting, Lana. We’re acting.
Well… he’s acting. I’m trying my best to breathe over here.
I coil my arms around his neck, and my diamond ring glints with the flashes of the cameras. Carter presses his forehead to mine. Skin on skin. His fingertips follow a path along my spine. Fire on fire.
My whole body stills under his touch and he shakes his head against mine.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs as his fingers tighten on my back, gently guiding me from side to side until our bodies are moving together. In sync. We’re on a dance floor, being watched from every angle, but the world beyond Carter is blurring. Slipping further and further away with each movement, each touch, each caress. My pulse is jumping all over my skin, and his breath is as jagged as mine.
“You sure you’re ready?” he whispers, his voice throaty, his hands moving to cup my face.
Hell yes. Hell no.
How could I ever be ready for this?
His eyes lock on mine and I see heat crackling there. Someone give this guy his Oscar, already!
“Because you don’t have to do this,” he continues. “We don’t have to do this. Just say the word and I’ll make it stop.”
The thought of stopping this right now fills my body with boiling outrage. Because all I can think is that I need to know what those lips feel like on mine, or I might actually, literally die. (Melodramatic, remember?)
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I manage to croak. “Let’s do this.”