Kiss Me Now - A Billionaire Boss Romance

It means, too, that everyone in this studio has a perfect view of the two of us, as well.

Which is why I tense up after, the moment we sit down, Lark slides a hand onto my knee. “You’re angry with me,” he says, his voice a low thrum. He leans close, just a bare inch from my shoulder, and I can barely think through the sudden pounding of my heart.

My eyes jump around the room. Marcel is in the corner talking to a man he introduced us to earlier, the photographer, although I can’t remember his name. I’m so bad with names.

“Cassidy.” Apparently heedless of the fact that we’re in public, right here in the middle of this studio, Lark reaches up to tuck a fingertip under my chin. That’s all it takes. He tilts my face toward his, his touch gentle as a makeup brush on a cheekbone. “What’s wrong?”

This close, I can see those flecks throughout his whorled green eyes again. I watch his individual black lashes, the slight part in his lips. He’s looking at me with such sincerity, such open honesty, that I can hardly bear it. I flinch backward, away from him. “We’re in public,” I say, gesturing around.

Lark doesn’t follow my gesture. His gaze remains focused straight on me. “So?”

“So, don’t you care if people notice you flirting with your new investment opportunity?” I reply, unable to keep a note of bitterness from my voice.

“I don’t care what they think. I care what you think. And clearly I’ve done something to upset you, based on how you’re acting today, although I cannot for the life of me figure out what.”

I set my jaw hard, and tear my gaze from his to stare blindly across the floor. I should be enjoying this moment, watching the fruits of my labor come to fruition or what have you. Marcel would kick me if he knew I barely even processed the artists hard at work with my supplies all around the studio. But all I can think about is the man beside me.

A man I owe an explanation, at the very least.

I clear my throat after a pause. “The other day. After you sent the men to deliver my sofa…”

“Is that it?” Lark’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “I’m sorry; I really thought getting rid of that old thing would be helpful—”

“No, it’s not that.” I wave him quiet. Meet his gaze again. “Sheryl asked me to lunch. And talking to her, hearing her side of things, I just…” I shake my head. “I can’t do this, Lark. I won’t be the person who stands in the way of a second chance at happiness with your wife. Even if she is your ex.”

For a moment, we only stare at one another, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. And then, to my surprise, red heat flushes through Lark’s face. “You’re joking, right.” He says it so flatly that it takes me a moment to register he’s actually waiting for a response.

“It’s just… it seems complicated. I don’t know if you two are really finished—”

“I told you that we are.” He slides off his chair and crosses to stand in front of mine, a hand on either arm, his face hovering an inch from mine. “I don’t give a fuck what Sheryl thinks I should do, or how I should be living my life. I’m the one who lived through our breakup. You have no idea what she was—” He breaks off, scowls. “How she…” He shakes his head. “It’s my decision now. I get to choose how I live my life, and what my future is going to be. I choose my own happy endings from now on.”

The heat in his voice, and the passion in his face, both surprise me. Throw me. He seems angry, almost, but more than that. Desperate.

He breaks away from me and spins around, one hand running through his hair in a tight fist. “God. That…” He clamps his lips shut tight, and a frustrated growl escapes. “You don’t know what happened, Cassidy,” he says now, back still to me. “And if I have it my way, you won’t. The past is the past, and I’ve buried it.”

When he turns back around, all the fury has gone from his expression. There’s only the passion I’ve always seen on his face when he looks at me, the sheer desire. He moves closer once more, and I forget where we are. I forget we’re sitting in the middle of a crowded studio, with camera crews and models and stagehands all surrounding us. I look at Lark, and he’s all I can see. It’s tunnel vision.

I have a feeling it’s the same for him.

He tips forward until our mouths are a breath apart, until we’re sharing the same air. “I want you to be my future,” he says, softly. “The future I choose. The woman I choose. If you believe nothing else I said, believe that.”