Page 136 of Collide
He pulls back, eyebrows lifting as he stares at me. Then he grins.
“Hungry?”
“I guess so.” I giggle, embarrassed, cheeks flushed as I cling to him.
He sets me down gently, his hands lingering at my waist. “Let’s get you fed then.”
I reach for my purse, scooping it off the floor as we head inside. The lights are low and warm, “I Only Have Eyes for You” by the Flamingos playing softly on his record player. The kitchen is already alive—pots bubbling gently on the stove, fresh ingredients neatly lined up.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask, hovering near the island.
“No, Älskling,” he says, turning toward me, that lazy grin back on his lips. “Let me cook for you.”
He moves in close, hands slipping around my waist as he lifts me onto the counter with effortless ease.
“Sit here on display like the sexy little thing you are,” he murmurs, planting soft, lingering kisses along my neck. Each one makes me gasp, my breath catching as goose bumps rise across my skin.
“Wine?” he asks, pulling back to meet my eyes.
“Yes, please,” I whisper, still a little breathless.
He opens a bottle of rosé with practiced ease, the cork popping gently before he pours the blush-pink liquid into a glass. He hands it to me, fingers brushing mine.
“Thank you.” I take a sip. It’s cold, sweet, and crisp—the perfect distraction.
“Good?”
I nod. “It’s perfect. How was your day?”
He turns back to the stove, sprinkling sea salt over thick cuts of salmon. “Busy. We got our scripts for the next season of filming.”
“Oh, that’s exciting.” I swirl the wine in my glass, letting the words hang lightly.
“Yeah.” He nods, focused on the stove. “They’re also doing final rounds of edits onThe Kingmaker. Should be out in theatres soon.”
His voice dips for half a second, like there’s something else he wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pivots.
“How’s your album coming along?” he asks, placing the salmon in the hot pan. The sizzle fills the room as his body angles slightly toward me.
“Great,” I reply. “I recorded two more tracks last week—they’re thinking a September release.”
“That’s good.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “What are the new songs about?”
I take a long sip of wine. My throat tightens as I force it down.
“You,” I admit, biting my lip. Heat climbs up my neck, flushed and spreading—embarrassment or wine, I’m not sure which.
His brows lift, eyes dark with something unreadable.
“An honor,” he says softly, then turns back to the pan, flipping the salmon with steady, deliberate calm.
My heart thumps against my ribs, stupidly loud in my chest.
“Speaking of honor.” I rush the words before I lose my nerve. “Would you honor me with your presence at the Hamptons? It’s the weekend of your birthday—my sister’s joint bachelorette party with her fiancé. At my family’s house. I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. You probably have plans. It’s your birthday…of course you’d have plans?—”
I stop myself before I spiral.
He closes the space between us without a word, hands sliding over my thighs, parting them gently as he steps between.
