And now that I’m not in front of my brothers or Dave, I don’t have to make a show of our kiss. I can really let myself enjoy.
Enjoy how beautifully soft her lips are.
Enjoy the firm grip she has on my cheek, keeping me still, showing me how much more she wants from me.
Enjoy the soft noises that fall past her lips when she needs to catch her breath.
My mouth moves across hers, slowly exploring. Her tongue swipes against my lips and I open my mouth to allow her to explore. Timid at first, her tongue gingerly strokes mine, but as I grip her more tightly, her timid kiss turns more desperate, and before I know it, we’re making out, in our chair, waiting for the concert to start.
Her hand snakes behind my head and up into my hair, while I move my other hand to her ribcage, just below her breast. I’m tempted to cop a feel, to increase this burn between us, but right as I start to move my hand, a guitar chord strums through speakers.
We pull apart just in time for Fleetwood Mac to come onto the stage.
What?
No opening band?
No announcement?
Just . . . here they are?
The entire place erupts in cheers, and my comfortable make-out session turns into Lottie hopping off my lap and throwing her hands in the air as she starts jumping up and down and cheering.
Still seated in my seat, I give myself a few seconds to collect myself before I join her.
Lottie, she’s . . . hell, she’s fucking special. And I knew that from the first time she turned me down. She was someone in need, yet she only thought about her sister. She didn’t want her parents to be disappointed in her, so she looked out for them too. She fought me on things that deserved fighting me on, and even though I attempted to deny it from the beginning, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell I’ll be able to let her go.
And that means one thing: I have to make this work. I want to date Lottie, make her feel special, because that’s what she is—special. And I suspect she has no clue. No thanks to her “friend” Angela.
Standing from my chair, I wrap my arm around her and settle my hand on her stomach, keeping her close to me just as the chords for “Dreams” start to play. Lottie glances up at me, tears in her eyes. She reaches for the back of my head, brings me down to her, and places a passionate kiss across my lips, turning me into a goddamn desperate man, wanting so much more.
When she pulls away, she says, “Thank you, Huxley. Thank you so much.”
I press a light kiss to the end of her nose. “You’re welcome, Lottie.”
Smile still on her face, she spins in my arms and leans into my embrace.
And while Fleetwood Mac performs, Lottie never leaves my side, never shifts away. She sways to the music with me while we sing together, letting the night take ahold of us. And while I’ve been to many concerts before—a private jet makes it so easy—this is one of my best concert experiences. And it’s all about the girl in my arms.
“Mr. Cane, you’re free to remove your seatbelts and move about if you’d like,” the pilot says over the speaker.
Lottie is curled up in her seat, staring at me, the biggest smile on her face that I’ve ever seen.
“What?” I ask, unable to take it anymore. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
“Because I can now.”
“Didn’t know there was a rule that you couldn’t before.”
She cutely tilts her head to the side. She ditched her hat when we got back on the plane, and she tied her hair up into a ponytail so her hair was out of her face. “There is when all you keep saying to me over and over again is ‘contract, contract, contract.’”
I chuckle. “I had a protective shield up. Can’t blame me for that.”
“You weren’t like that when we first went out at Chipotle.”
“Because I didn’t know the effect you’d have on me,” I admit. “Once I realized you were a temptation I couldn’t have, I shut down.”
“I see,” she says while standing from her chair. She walks over to me and says, “And what am I now? Still a temptation?”
“Undeniably,” I answer.
Her finger moves over my shoulder. “But you can have me now?”
“You tell me,” I say.
Smirking, she takes my hand in hers and pulls me out of my chair and toward the back of the plane. I pause her at the door of the bedroom situated in the back.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she asks, pushing the door open and walking backward into the space while holding my hand and smiling up at me.