Page 18 of Enemies to Lovers

I should hold her hand. I should reach for it like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. But my hand stays in my pocket, like it knows it’s all an act, and it refuses to participate. It doesn’t move until I need to open the door to the elevators, and I pry it from my pocket and allow her to go ahead of me.

“Who are you buying for?” I ask in the elevator.

“Just my parents.”

“You don’t buy for anyone else?”

“I do, but I’m not a procrastinator like some of us here.” She hipchecks me, and I’m so damn surprised that I stumble. She laughs and takes my arm, steadying me. “Seriously. You haveonepresent to get, and it’s the twenty-third.”

Her hand stays hooked on my elbow. So easy. Like it didn’t take overthinking or nerves or anything. Just an opportunity she snatched.

Like everything.

My back straightens, and I slide from her hold, forcing my hand out of my pocket. Her lips form a frown for a half a second before I take her hand in mine, palm to glove, fingers intertwined.

Her eyes fall to the ground, and she bites away a grin, her round cheeks redder than I’ve ever seen.

It wasn’t easy. Not for me. It never is.

But I did it.

Miles’ fingers twitch between mine, and I can’t fight the smile that’s been on my face since he grabbed my hand. My cheeks will be sore tomorrow.

My thoughts swirl with what else he could do with those fingers, letting the fantasies I’ve had about him all these years morph from G to X-rated. Heat rushes through my body and makes it harder to walk. I should not be thinking about this while walking around a temple.

“There it is,” he says, his voice low and gruff and not at all saving me from the heat in my lower abdomen. He nods toward a cart set up just outside the temple square gates. “They’re still around.”

His stride lengthens, and he nearly drags me across the path, my wee little legs trying and failing to keep up.

“Where are you dragging me?” I ask through a breathy laugh. He looks over his shoulder, making an “oops” face that is so freaking sexy I’d kiss it if I had the nerve.

He slows his pace, his ears turning a little red. “Sorry… There’s a hot chocolate stand up there. Been a few years since I tried it, but it’s…” He does a chef’s kiss, and my heart zaps in my chest. He’s nearly sprinting for hot chocolate, and it lights something deep in me that remindsme of childhood and innocence and seeing that little boy on the playground, that preteen at the Valentine’s Day dance, that teenager who campaigned against me.

This man I’ve been dreaming about my entire life now holds my hand, drags me toward hot chocolate, and I can hardly believe he’s living up to all the hype.

There has to be a catch. Has to. Things this perfect do not just happen, especially for me.

He orders two cups, and he drops my hand, leaving the ghost of his touch against my palm as he pays. He hands me my cup, the steam billowing out the little hole at the top of the lid.

“Yes,” he says, excitement clear in his voice as we head toward the unbelievable lights surrounding the temple. He blows a cooling breath across his cup, and as mesmerizing as the lights are, he’s got all my attention.

“Is it as good as you remember?”

His eyes close, and he lets out a sound that sends my thoughts directly to the bone-zone. “Better.”

“How have I not known about your hot chocolate obsession?”

“Because I don’t have one.” His mouth picks up at the corner. “It’s only this stand that gets me. I think they secretly spike it.”

“With what?”

“Magic.”

I snort around my cup, not expecting the answer. We walk toward the reflection pool. The large, circular structure sits directly in front of the temple, so it reflects the lights streaming from the building. Reds, greens, blues, yellows, and pinks bounce off the top of the water, every tree and lamp post decorated with the colors of the season. We sit on the carved-out bench, and I slide a little, my jeans not giving me much traction against the marble. My hip hits his, and if we weren’t on a date—and he hadn’t held my hand earlier—I might’ve moved over to give him room. But to hell with it. I’m staying right here. He’s warm and sexy, and I’m taking advantage.

“Okay, real talk time,” I say, turning more into him so I can look into those gorgeous eyes. Miles’ hair is too long for my taste, always falling into his face and covering it up. But his strands are pushed back tonight, and I appreciate the good look I’m getting.

He furrows his brow and takes a sip from his cup. “Okay…?”

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