Page 76 of Cross the Line
‘Yeah, you kinda brought this upon yourself.’
‘I can pretend you’re not here if that makes you feel better.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘That’s okay. I think we can exist in the same space.’
The glance he shoots me says that he doubts that, but he nods to the shelving unit across the room. ‘Go ahead and get some more shots of my helmet.’
I’m grateful he’s not about to convince me to have a chat about what decision I’ve come to. Not that he’d want to have such a deep conversation right before the race, but it’s a relief regardless.
I make my way over to where his helmet and the backup sit, though a small pastel-orange box on the shelf beside them steals my attention. I pick up the Stella Margaux’s box and turn to him with a grin. ‘Are macarons your new pre-race snack?’
He keeps his back to me as he steps into his race suit and pulls it up. ‘No, those are for you,’ he says.
I blink, confused. ‘For . . . me?’
‘Yeah, I know how much you like them.’
My mind whirls, trying to remember where the closest Stella Margaux’s is – and it’s not anywhere nearby. ‘I’m pretty sure the closest location you could have gotten these was Paris.’
‘Yeah.’ With his back still turned, he slips his arms into the sleeves of the suit. ‘Had them flown in this morning.’
He says it so casually. Like it took nothing to pull that off, even though I know it was a lot more than that.
‘What if you hadn’t seen me today?’ I ask, my throat getting tight. ‘What if I was still avoiding you?’
He shrugs, and I hear the sound of the suit zipper pulling up. ‘I would have had Chava bring them to you. I just thought you might need a treat.’
There’s a pinching tightness in my chest, one that only happens when he’s around, my heart being squeezed by all the feelings I have for him. I was right to keep my distance over the past few days, because this man . . . this man makes me reckless. He makes me forget all my concerns.
Makes me forget that there’s a world outside the two of us.
‘Dev.’
He finally turns to look at me.
My breathing goes shallow. The macaron box drops back to the shelf. And then I’m moving.
I’m in front of him before my mind can catch up to my body. My hands find his jaw, cupping it, my thumbs tracing the hollows of his cheeks. I pull his face down to mine, ignoring the surprise in his eyes.
And then I kiss the hell out of him.
Despite his shock, he responds almost instantly, looping his arms around my waist and lifting me. I wrap my legs around him, my skirt hiking up to my hips, and hold on for dear life. A shelf digs into my back as he pushes me against it, but I barely register any sensation other than the press of his lips against mine.
I tilt my head to deepen the kiss, wanting more of him. All of him. I’ve made up my mind.
The logistics can get fucked. We’ll figure it out when we have to.
There’s nothing controlled or gentle about this kiss. There’s no more taking it slow. It’s urgent and eager and hungry, an explosion of emotions that have been bottled up for days and weeks and months. Maybe even years. It’s desperate. It’s a plea for so much more.
It’s exactly what I want.
‘You done thinking about things?’ he pants when we break apart to catch our breath. ‘Made up your mind?’
I nod, nearly knocking myself out on the shelf behind me, but I don’t care. Dev’s ready to hand his heart over to me, and I’m ready to take it from him.
‘If you want this – if you wantme,’ he says, ‘I’ll fight for it. I’ll fight for us.’
‘Yes,’ I gasp, sinking my fingers into his hair. ‘I want to make this work.’
