Page 60 of Lights, Camera, Love

My tone feels harsh. I could’ve reached out to Kye this past week, too, but—call me optimistic—I wanted someone I care about to come aftermefor once.

The lift begins moving, and Kye stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets and sighs. ‘I’m sorry.’ When I don’trespond, he adds, ‘That was so brave what you did in there, Evie. I’m so fucking in awe of you.’

A twinge of longing twists through my heart.

It’s just words.

I still don’t even know if Kye is the reason why every newspaper and magazine in the country is overflowing with articles outing me as the unloved daughter of one of the world’s most famous men. I was only halfway through confronting him over it when I decided it was a better idea to kiss his face off.Shame on you, Evie Scott!

The lift opens on my floor, and I step forward and thrust out a hand to stop the doors from closing. Kye stays rooted to the spot, leaning against the lift’s mirrored wall in his perfectly tailored navy suit and boysenberry-coloured tie. He’s so infuriatingly handsome that I have to look away, lest I do something foolish like throw myself at him again.Shame, shame, shame.

‘Come on,’ I mutter with a huff, and he lurches out of the lift just before the doors force themselves shut.

Inviting Kye into my hotel suite wasnoton my agenda for tonight—it feels especially dangerous when he looks like a birthday present that’s waiting to be unwrapped—but he and I have to get a few things clear, and I hardly want to do that in a hotel corridor.

‘Just come in, and we’lltalk.’ I emphasise the final word to make sure he doesn’t mistake my intentions, then I slide my room key into the slot and push the heavy door open.

Shrugging off his jacket, he tentatively trails me into the sparkling new suite. My skin tingles at the awareness of his presence right behind me.

The stark silence of the hotel room is like a serrated knife on my frazzled nerves, so I reach for my portable speaker and pair it with my phone.

‘Never leave home without it?’ Kye jokes about the speaker, which I also had with me at the farm where we filmed.

‘My phone, my keys and my Mary J. Blige,’ I quip back. ‘R&B mix sound okay?’

‘Sure. You put on whatever you like. It’s your room.’

Why does hearing him say the simplest things in that deep, husky voice make me feel as if there’s a heat pack pressed against the back of my neck?

When I hit start on the playlist and glance back up, I find Kye’s soft eyes watching me. I blink away, remembering everything that’s happened this past week.

I want to be mad at him for kissing me and then going extinct, but I honestly don’t know if he deserves that. He made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want anything to happen between us. He opened up to me about his lingering guilt over his past with Austin. Yet I threw myself at him, practically forced a kiss out of him that my mouth still misses. If he wanted to take a few days to get his head around what happened, who could blame him?

We stand facing each other, and I wait for Kye to speak first. But for once, Mr Cut-to-the-Chase appears to have lost his words.

‘Why haven’t I heard from you all week?’ I eventually mumble.

A crease forms in his brow. ‘I’m so sorry, Evie. I wanted to call you.A lot.’

I blink at him, waiting for more. When I don’t get it, I say, ‘Why did you take off from Barfly so fast?’

He draws in a sharp breath. ‘You know why.’

I pause, considering my words carefully. ‘Do you know how frustrating and frankly offensive it is that two men are deciding which one of them is better for me, without consultingme?’

Kye looks down at his caramel-brown shoes.

‘I am not interested in Austin like that,’ I say, for what feels like the zillionth time. ‘I’m interested inyou. But if you continue being this way about it, then I’m no longer going to be.’

His face flies back up, and the line in his brow deepens.

‘Austin doesn’t own me, Kye,’ I continue. ‘The same way he doesn’t own you.’

An expression sweeps over his features that’s so far from his usual self-assuredness it stuns me for a moment. It can only be described as … afraid.Trapped.

‘Did you hear me?’ I say, taking a small step forward. ‘Austin doesn’t own you.’

Kye’s throat rises and falls. ‘I know.’

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