Page 12 of My Surprising Valentine

“Convincing?” I asked, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched, like I’d just sucked on a balloon. I clutched the pillow to my chest like it could shield me from whatever was happening right now. “What kind of convincing are we talking about here?”

Max tilted his head, his expression entirely too casual for the chaos erupting in my brain. “The physical stuff—holding hands, touching. You know, things real couples do without thinking about it.” He reached his hand out toward me, his palm facing up in silent invitation.

For a brief second, my body locked up—my fight or flight response kicked in—before I instinctively yanked my hand back, tucking it tight against my stomach.

His eyebrow shot up. “Seriously, Han? You just flinched like I have cooties. Real couples don’t do that—theygravitatetoward each other.”

“I didn’t flinch,” I lied, my voice sounding feeble.

“You did.” His teasing softened, his tone dipping low. “Come here.”

I bit my lip, mortified. He was right. I was currently huddled against the arm of the couch like a terrified animal who’d been cornered—the exact opposite of convincing.

“Hannah. Come here,” he said, his voice dropping a notch, the command firm. His outstretched hand waited patiently.

I hesitated for a couple of seconds before forcing my body to cooperate.

I scooted closer, my heart pounding harder than when a bunch of us went skydiving together to celebrate Max’s 35th birthday. No doubt, this moment felt infinitely more terrifying than flinging my body out of a plane traveling ten thousand feet above the earth.

Eventually, I slid my hand into his, and the warmth of his skin against mine made me want to weep.

“See? Not so scary,” Max murmured, his fingers closing gently around mine. His thumb brushed lazily across my knuckles, the stroke feather light and likely meant to put me at ease.

Unfortunately, it did the exact opposite. Now, I couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to have his fingers coasting over my naked body with such care and tenderness.

I swallowed hard, trying to push those thoughts to the far recesses of my brain and play it cool, but my voice betrayed me when I practically squeaked, “Right. Totally not scary.”

Max’s lips twitched like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on me. With a gentle tug, he pulled me closer until the entire left side of my body pressed against his. I felt his heat like it was radiating through my skin.

His free hand lifted, slow and deliberate, until his knuckles grazed my jawline. The soft, barely-there touch made goosebumps bloom on my skin as a shiver raced down my spine. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering just a second too long on my cheek.

“Max,” I said, his name barely more than a whisper from my lips. I wasn’t sure if I was warning him or begging him to keep going.

My heart raced so fast it was a wonder it didn’t just stop altogether.

With a light nudge against my jaw, he turned my face to his, and his eyes—dark and unreadable—lowered to my mouth. “Weshould probably practice kissing, too.” His voice had dropped again, rougher now, the suggestion lingering in the air like smoke. “Just in case anyone expects us to.”

I was frozen, torn between panic and something infinitely more dangerous—want.

Every nerve in my body went haywire. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My brain short-circuited at the thought of his mouth on mine. What if I wasn’t good at it? What if I used too much tongue? Or not enough? What if my breath was gross? What had I eaten for lunch?

Max’s thumb traced an absentminded circle on the back of my hand, and his cologne wrapped around me like a fog. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him, not when his face was so close I could count the faint freckles across the bridge of his nose.

The room suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick. I tried to speak, but all I managed was a shaky breath.

His eyes searched mine for another long moment, holding me captive in the quiet intensity of his gaze. Then his hand cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing a soft path along my jaw, and any coherent thought I was still capable of simply fled.

The first brush of his lips against mine was soft—achingly gentle, almost as if he were giving me permission to pull away. My breath hitched, and a shaky, startled sound escaped me.

That tiny gasp seemed to unravel something in him. His fingers slid into my hair, and his kiss deepened, slow but deliberate, pulling me into a spiral I couldn’t stop. My heart slammed against my ribs as his tongue swept into my mouth, teasing, tasting, until every other kiss I’d ever had became irrelevant.

I clutched at his shirt, my fingers fisting in the soft cotton to pull him closer, as though the space between us was something I couldn’t bear a second longer. He didn’t just kiss me—heconsumedme. Every brush of his lips against mine sent sparks dancing over my skin and made my head spin. I lost myself in the way he smelled and the way he moved, confident but careful … almost like I was something precious that was meant to be treasured.

And I gave as good as I got because I treasured this man with every fiber of my being.

By the time we broke apart, both of us were breathing hard, our chests rising and falling in tandem. My lips tingled, tender and alive, as though his kiss had branded me. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out everything but the memory of how he’d felt, how he’d tasted.

Max didn’t move away. Instead, he rested his forehead against mine, his hand still tangled in my hair. The moment stretched on, heavy and charged, as if the air itself had thickened around us. I could feel the heat of him, the subtle tremor in his breath.

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