Page 37 of Faking the Shot
“I’m here, Valentina. I’m right here,” he whispers, his tone firm but soothing, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.
The helicopter tilts upward, and the air shifts. I shut my eyes tightly, my heart slamming against my ribs. “Okay, okay, okay—oh shit.” I squeal as we lift off, my terror bursting out of me in a high-pitched yelp.
It’s over in seconds. The jarring sensation passes, but my breath hasn’t caught up yet, my pulse still racing like I’m free-falling.
Before I can even process it, Kaden’s hand cups the back of my neck, his lips crashing down onto mine. The kiss is hard, unrelenting, like he’s pouring every ounce of certainty into me. His mouth moves against mine with purpose, coaxing me out of my spiraling thoughts.
It’s like a shock to my system. My fingers curl instinctively into his shirt, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping me from floating away. His kiss deepens, his tongue sweepingagainst mine in a way that leaves me breathless, weightless, and completely undone.
Every nerve in my body ignites, and I don’t just feel the kiss—I experience it. The heat of his lips, the press of his hand, the raw intensity of the moment—it’s all-consuming.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and I’m gasping for air, my lips tingling, my brain short-circuiting.
“See?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “Told you you’d be fine.”
I blink at him, completely disoriented but also . . . totally aware of every inch of him. My grip on his shirt loosens, but my heart is still pounding, and I have no idea if it’s from the flight or from that kiss.
I can’t find the words to respond, so I settle for a breathless nod, and he smirks, leaning back in his seat like kissing me senseless was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe—for him—it was. Though, I’m beginning to wonder how no one can see this man isn’t the cold bastard he portrays? Sure, before I today, I would have sided with the media in saying he was a heartless jock, but after only a few days with him, I can see that’s not the case.
“You okay?” he asks once I’ve had a few seconds to catch my breath.
“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry,” I mumble, trying to pull my hand away.
He holds it tighter, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. “Leave it. Who knows, we might hit some turbulence or something.”
He shrugs casually, then settles back, crossing his legs at the ankles and closing his eyes like he’s about to fall asleep.
There are a million and one things I should be doing right now—emails to check, headlines to spin—but all I can focus on is how warm his hand feels in mine. I should let it go, but I don’t.
“If this is what you do during a helicopter ride,” I mutter, half to myself, “I don’t want to think about what you’d do on a long plane ride.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “If this was a private jet, I’d just take you to the bedroom and fuck you senseless.”
“You only think of sex.”
“Only when you’re around,” he murmurs, dipping his head toward my neck. His lips brush against my skin, warm and teasing, and I swear his movement nudges my headphones slightly. The soft graze of his mouth sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“Only me, huh?” I tilt my head, giving him a skeptical look, even though my body betrays me, reacting to the warmth of his touch. “That must be a great line to use on women. We all know about your reputation before you moved to Boston and started hooking up with Brittany.”
“In theory, we hooked up,” he says, his voice suddenly defensive. “In practice, I just let everyone think there’s something between us, but never happened.”
His words catch me off guard, and I pull back slightly to study his face. There’s something in his tone—an edge, maybe a hint of irritation—that makes me believe him.
“Never?” I echo, raising an eyebrow.
“Never,” he repeats, his jaw tightening. “I was going to ditch her, but everyone thought she’d be a good thing to keep around. Someone that would let people know I had changed.”
The shift in his demeanor surprises me. It’s not the cocky, flirtatious Kaden I’m used to—it’s something else. Something almost . . . honest.
For a moment, I’m tempted to press further, to ask why he feels the need to defend himself to me of all people. But I let it drop, turning my gaze back to the window and pretending the flush on my cheeks is from the altitude and not from the way his lips felt against my neck.
“Sure,” I mutter, more to myself than him. “That must’ve been one hell of a hookup.”
His laugh is low and rough, vibrating through the air between us. “Jealous, Valentina?”
“Of you or her?” I shoot back, forcing myself to sound unaffected.
