Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I hold my breath, caught in the tension of the moment, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But just as the air thickens with unspoken words, the sharp sound of a camera shutter snaps me out of my reverie.
York bows his head, the heat of our earlier conversation evaporating under the harsh glare of a flash, and a surge of rage bubbles up within me. We just shared this beautiful moment, a glimpse into each other’s lives that felt so raw and genuine, and it’s been ruined by the ever-watchful eyes of the paparazzi. I see red, my emotions flaring as I stomp off in the direction of the man wielding the camera.
“Hey!” I shout, my voice laced with indignation. “Have you ever heard of a little thing called privacy?”
York rushes after me, a look of alarm mixed with concern etched on his face. “Noelle, it’s okay,” he says, his tone trying to soothe me, but I’m not having any of it.
I turn to face him, frustration radiating from me. “It isn’t okay! Maybe not everyone wants every single minute of their life recorded for prosperity.”
York smirks at my passionate outburst, tilting his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You mean posterity?”
“Yeah, you know, for the record books,” I retort, spinning around again to direct my anger at the man with the camera.
The photographer glances over my shoulder at York, a silent plea for help flickering in his gaze. I follow his line of sight, feeling a rush of defiance, and snap back at him, “He’s not going to help you.”
York chuckles, stepping up beside me with an easy confidence. He crosses his arms, his stance casual but protective. “I’d run if I were you,” he advises the cameraman, a playful glint in his eyes that clashes with the tension of the moment.
The man stumbles backward a step, clearly taken aback, and I can’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction at having York by my side.
“That’s right. You better run!” I yell after the fleeing photographer, my voice echoing in the chilly air. “And I better not see any of those pictures online later, either, or I will seek you out—”
York cuts in, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Noelle, he’s gone.” He laughs, the sound warm and infectious.
In that moment, my anger vanishes like a puff of smoke, replaced by something electric in the air. The way York smiles at me draws me in, and I can feel my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. It’s as if the world around us fades away, leaving just the two of us standing there in the midst of chaos.
Before I can fully process what’s happening, York leans in closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against my cheek. He captures my lips with his, and everything else falls away. The kiss is soft at first, a tentative exploration that sends shivers down my spine. His lips mold perfectly against mine, a sweet, tender pressure that ignites something deep inside me.
As the kiss deepens, it transforms into a dance of passion. I feel his hand find the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I instinctively lean into him, our bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. There’s a thrilling urgency in the way he kisses me, as if he’s pouring every unspoken word and emotion into that single moment.
Time stretches, and I’m lost in the sensation of him—the taste of chocolate on his lips mingling with the sweetness of the moment. When we finally pull away, breathless and wide-eyed, I can see a flicker of surprise mirrored in his gaze.
“Wow,” I whisper, my heart racing. The kiss feels like a promise, one that suggests this fake relationship might lead to something so much more real.
Chapter 15
York
Now that I’m kissing her, I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. It’s a reckless kind of selfishness, but the thrill of it courses through me like wildfire. I know this could all end in disaster, with my heart charred and left in ruins, but the thought doesn’t stop me. Every moment I spend kissing Noelle feels too precious to waste.
“Noelle,” I whisper against her lips, my voice low and urgent.
“Yes,” she responds, her breath mingling with mine, and I feel an intoxicating rush at the sound of her voice.
“I need more,” I admit, not sure how much more I’m asking for. It’s a vague plea, but it’s the truth. The only thing on my mind is the way her lips feel against mine, soft and inviting, drawing me in deeper.
She pulls away just enough to look into my eyes, her bright blue gaze searching mine. “Me too,” she replies, and there’s an unspoken understanding that flows between us. Her eyes give me permission to pursue this newfound connection, and my heart races at the thought.