Page 89 of The Love Syllabus

My heart pounds, and my fingers press into his back. I squeeze my eyes shut as if I’ve been waiting for this for years—to be wanted, to be needed.

“You can’t do what, Vic?”

Slowly, so slowly, he lifts his head. Just enough for our foreheads to touch. Just enough for our lips to be a breath apart. Just enough for me to feel the storm raging inside him. Then his endlessly dark eyes open and drown me in a depth of emotion so devastatingly deep it nearly consumes me.

He threads his fingers through my hair, his thumb skims my jaw, and when he speaks, his voice is barely more than a tremor.

“I can’t wake up without you in my world. I can’t go a day without hearing your voice or seeing your face, without knowing you’re safe. I can’t go a single day without feeling you—somewhere, anywhere.” His forehead presses harder against mine, his breath uneven, his heart pounding so loud I swear it’s calling for me. “I lost the love of my life once, Kerry.” His lips barely graze my cheek, not quite a kiss, just a lingering, desperate hold. “I’ll be damned if I lose it a second time. You’re itfor me. The one I was meant to find. My second chance. My forever. I won’t let you slip away.”

His words land like a brand scorching my skin, leaving an imprint so deep it’ll never fade. My breath stutters, and my pulse thrums wildly beneath his touch as he cradles my face. I know what’s coming. I feel it. I want it. But, like I have so many times before, I question whether I deserve what I want so badly.

“But kissing isn’t part of the syllabus.” I whisper.

A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. His grip tightens, and his fingers thread deeper into my hair as he tilts my chin just enough to claim every bit of my attention.

His breath fans over my lips. Teasing me, lingering, and daring me to stop him. But I don’t.

“Well, Ms. Kind,” he murmurs, voice rough, deep, devastating, “consider this my extra credit.”

Then, finally, he does it.

Vic’s lips brush against mine, at first soft. A whisper of a kiss. A question. A promise. But the moment I answer, the moment I press back, my world turns upside down. His mouth devours me, slow but deep, like he’s tasting something he’s craved for so long that he forgot what it felt like to be satisfied.

He sweeps his tongue against mine while his hands slide down my back, pressing me closer, pressing me against every hard, unforgiving inch of him.

I gasp. He groans. And then it’s all heat, all need, all fire.

I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling, gripping, demanding more because I don’t just want him to kiss me. I want him toruinme.

And he does.

My lungs scream for air, but I refuse to break away. Not yet. Not when this is the first time I’ve ever truly been kissed. Not when this is the first time I’ve ever truly been wanted. And just when I think I’ll collapse, just when I think he’ll let up and let me breathe, Vic grips the back of my neck, tilts my head, and kisses me even deeper.

Unfortunately, reality slams back into us when a sharp, jarring whistle pierces through the studio.

“And… CUT!”

Vic and I freeze. Our lips are still brushing. Our bodies are still pressed together. The heat between us is still an inferno.

All the while, the entire cast, production, and film crew are staring at us.

The director stands with his arms crossed, looking half amused, half in shock. The crew is eating this up. Some have their mouths hanging open. A few camera operators share looks. The makeup artist fans herself, and the sound guy winks at me.

A voice from behind a camera snickers, “Well, Chef, if this whole cooking thing doesn’t pan out, you’ve got a solid career in romance movies.”

Laughter erupts.

Vic blinks, his chest still heaving from our kiss. His grip on my waist is still firm, but the corner of his lips tilt into a slow, smug smirk. He’s not even embarrassed. I, on the other hand, am mortified.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my fingers pressing against my lips as I pull away. “I can’t believe I just did that in front of everyone, on camera!”

Vic lets out a low chuckle, rubbing his jaw like he’s not even remotely sorry.

The director claps his hands together, looking way too pleased. “No need to apologize, Ms. Kind. That was T.V. gold.”

My humiliation peaks, but Vic is even-keeled and back to normal.

Then, I gently rest my hand on his chest, my eyes narrowing. “Please, be nice to everyone, Vic.” I say, loud enough for the whole set to hear.

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