Page 83 of Bitter Beats

My arms ache, and my face is half frozen, but I don’t surrender. I keep at it until Mav falls in a heap at my feet.

I point at him. “Give in!”

Instead of responding, he grips my hand and pulls me down on top of him.

“Maverick!” I holler, but I’m laughing.

Mav rolls me over in the snow, pinning me down. As he hovers over me, a grin moves over his mouth. His eyes are blazing blue, filled with humor and a dash of heat. “Give up.”

“Never!” I cry out.

“Oh yeah?” he threatens.

My eyebrows pull together, wondering what trick he’s going to unleash. In the next breath, a peal of laughter explodes from my throat.

“Don’t tickle me!” I beg as he shakes off his gloves, and his icy fingers crawl underneath my coat and up my bare stomach.

“Mav! Stop!” I squirm on the snow-covered ground as he tickles me.

“Say it!” he orders.

“No way!” I shake my head. My fingers grip his coat and try to find purchase on his shoulders.

“Man, you are stubborn,” he mutters, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth upward. “It’s sexy, Mckenna. I admire it.”

I pause, hearing the truth behind his words.

Mav’s eyes hold mine, some of their mirth morphing into a solemnity I feel spread through my limbs. His eyes dart down to my lips before finding my gaze once more.

I suck in an inhale, waiting to see what he’ll do. Part of me wants him to laugh this moment away, and the other part, a more significant portion of my heart and thoughts, is desperate for him to press his mouth against mine.

One shaky exhale. That’s all it takes for Mav to make up his mind.

Then, he pulls me into a seated position, grips my shoulders, and kisses me like he can’t wait a moment longer. His cheeks are cold, but his mouth is hot. His tongue rolls over the seam of my lips, and I part them for him, mewling as his tongue slips inside and caresses mine.

In the center of our snowball battlefield, Mav kisses me like I’m precious. Like he can’t stop. Like I’m so much more than his fake girlfriend in a sham relationship.

My hands find his waist, and my fingers curl into the thick material of his winter coat. I grip the fabric, pulling him closer, shivering as his hard length presses against my abdomen.

He’s hard for me. He wants me. Just like I want him.Thiswith him.

A nearby cheer interrupts our passionate moment, and Mav and I break apart. I turn toward the laughter just in time for a flash to go off in my face.

“Great photo, guys. Hope you had a good Christmas,” the paparazzo comments before taking a few more pictures and walking away.

“Shit,” I murmur, dropping my head. Reminders of the last time Mav kissed me, and someone caught it on camera, flash through my mind. The Christmas party. Mav’s jealousy. My contract.His words.

You’re under contract, babe.You can hate me all you want, but you still have to kiss me.

A sourness coats my stomach, and I mash my lips together.

Mav frowns at the receding paparazzo. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

I nod, walking up the front steps and into the warm brownstone. I shake off my wet gloves and damp coat when I get inside. Mav doesn’t seem nearly as frustrated—or surprised—by the paparazzo’s presence.

Did he know the guy was there? Is that why he initiated the snowball fight? Even worse, is that why he kissed me? Ugh! The things I feel for him…

But he thinks of me as a friend.

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