Page 19 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

The soft clack of keys fills the kitchen as I sit at the island, legs curled beneath me, a cooling cup of coffee forgotten beside my laptop.

I’ve been working on the donor campaign proposal for Joey, trying to make every word feel personal and right.

But my focus keeps drifting—because I know Eddie’s somewhere in the house, and every part of me feels tuned to the sound of his footsteps.

And then, I hear them.

He walks into the room like he always does—casual, unhurried, filling the space without even trying. I glance up just as he catches my eye, and the smile he gives me sends a warm flutter through my chest.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and rough in a way that feels like a hug I didn’t know I needed.

I can’t help the way my lips curve. “Hi.”

It’s soft. Simple. But there’s something in the way he looks at me—fond, a little amused—that makes heat crawl up my neck. He steps closer and leans a forearm on the counter beside me, close but not crowding me, and my skin tingles just from his presence.

“You’ve got a real pretty smile,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.

I glance down shyly, trying to hide the way my cheeks warm, but his fingers are gentle beneath my chin, lifting my face until I have no choice but to look at him.

“That’s better,” he says with a small, satisfied smile, like seeing me look at him is exactly where he wants me.

My heart stutters. He’s too close. Too handsome. Too him.

“I need a favor,” he says.

“Yes,” I answer automatically.

He chuckles, the sound warm and low, tugging at something deep in my chest. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t need to. I trust you.”

Something shifts in the space between us. The smile slips from his face, replaced by something quieter, more intense. Like my words reached somewhere tender inside him. His expression softens, but the heat in his eyes lingers.

“Laney,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

My breath catches. “Then do it.”

He doesn’t move right away, and that pause—the weight of it—only intensifies the moment. He leans in slowly, giving me every second to back out, to change my mind. But I’m already falling.

When his lips touch mine, they’re soft. Tentative. Testing.

And then everything inside me catches fire.

I melt into him as his hand slides gently around my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel the roughness of his palm through the thin fabric of my shirt, the warmth of his body pressing against mine. His other hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with featherlight tenderness.

The kiss deepens, his mouth parting mine, tongue slipping in to tease and explore. I answer him without thinking, leaning in, craving more. It’s not frantic—it’s something better. Slow, hungry, consuming.

He lifts me without effort, my back arching as he sets me gently on the edge of the island. My breath catches as my legs instinctively wrap around his hips, bringing us impossibly closer.

His hands slide to the small of my back, holding me there, while his mouth moves over mine like he’s learning me, memorizing me. I grip the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in the soft cotton, needing something to anchor me.

His teeth graze my bottom lip and I gasp, and that little sound drives him deeper. His groan rumbles low in his chest, vibrating against me as he kisses me harder, more desperate like he’s been holding this back and can’t anymore.

Every brush of his tongue, every slow drag of his lips against mine makes my skin feel too tight, my whole body strung high with tension. I lose all sense of time, of anything outside the way he feels.

And then—

His phone rings.

We both freeze, breathless, our mouths still close, my lips tingling. He groans quietly, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice rough and low. “I need to take this.”

I nod, my pulse still racing. I expect him to step back, put space between us.

He doesn’t.

He stays right there, hands still resting on my thighs, body still nestled between mine. He pulls his phone from his pocket with one hand and answers it without looking away from me.

“Yeah?”

His voice is clipped, distracted. His eyes are on my lips like he’s still thinking about kissing me.

And all I can think about is how badly I want him to do it again.

Eddie’s still standing between my legs, the heat of that kiss still lingering on my lips.

“Yeah. Reggie, now’s not—” His eyes flick to mine. “No, I didn’t forget… I’ve just been busy.”

I study his face as he listens. His expression tenses, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever this call is, he doesn’t like it.

“Do I have to?” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “C’mon, there’s gotta be someone else who can represent—” He glances at me again, softer this time, but still clearly irritated. “Yeah. I get it. Fine. I’ll be there.”

There’s a beat of silence. He’s still watching me, eyes a little unreadable now. “Yeah. I’ll bring her.”

He hangs up, and I tilt my head. “Everything okay?”

He exhales through his nose, slipping the phone into his pocket. “I’ve got to go to this gala thing Saturday night. Some fancy label event.”

I nod slowly. “Doesn’t sound like you’re thrilled about it.”

His mouth pulls into a half-smile, all frustration and reluctance. “I’m not. But they want to meet my girlfriend.”

I blink, confused for a second. “Your—”

And then it hits me.

He means me.

Right.

Fake girlfriend.

A tiny sting flickers beneath my ribs, and I nod, plastering on a casual smile I don’t feel. “Yeah, sure. I can go with you. That’s… what I’m here for.”

I slip off the counter, needing to put space between us, needing to breathe. I feel stupid. For a second—just a second —I thought that kiss meant something more. That maybe this wasn’t fake anymore.

His hand finds my stomach, gentle but firm, stopping me in my tracks. He pulls me gently back into him, chest against my back, his head dropping to rest on my shoulder.

“Laney,” he murmurs. “What just happened?”

“Nothing,” I say quietly, keeping my tone light, pretending my heart isn’t cracking a little. I try to ease out of his hold, but he tightens his grip, wrapping both arms around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“Laney,” he growls again, voice low and rough.

I swallow hard, but say nothing. I don’t trust my voice.

Then his lips brush against the shell of my ear. “That kiss… it wasn’t fake.” His breath is warm, and the truth in his voice roots me to the floor. “I don’t know when the lines blurred, but they did. This feels real to me now.”

I turn in his arms, slowly, needing to see his face. His eyes are open, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before.

“It does to me too,” I admit. “But you’re going on tour. How would this even work?”

He shakes his head, brows drawn together. “I don’t know. But I’ll find a way. I’m not letting this go without trying.”

My heart stutters, and I want to believe him. I really do. But the world he lives in… the travel, the spotlight, the women… It’s hard to imagine us surviving that.

Still, I don’t voice those fears. Not now.

“Just… consider it?” he says softly, brushing my hair back from my face. “Please?”

I nod slowly. “Okay. I’ll consider it.”

His face lights up with the kind of grin that melts something in my chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leans down slightly. “Then can I kiss you properly now?”

I bite back a smile. “I think you’ve earned it.”

I rise on my tiptoes as his hands settle on my waist. Our lips meet again—slow, tender at first. He kisses me like I’m something precious, something he’s not quite sure he deserves but desperately wants anyway.

My arms wind around his neck as the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing gently against mine. He tastes like coffee and need, and the way he groans into my mouth sends a tremor through me.

He pulls me closer, our bodies pressing together, and I feel the heat of him everywhere. His hands slide up my back, one fisting gently in my hair as he tilts my head and deepens the kiss even further.

I’m lost in him—every touch, every breath.

My fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, skimming the warm skin of his lower back, and he shudders slightly against me.

But just when I think we’re going to lose ourselves completely, he pulls back—only slightly—resting his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling as if he just ran a marathon.

“I want this,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “But I want to do it right.”

I blink up at him, dazed, lips tingling. “Okay.”

He holds me tighter, pressing a kiss to my forehead like a promise.

And in that moment, I don’t feel like a placeholder.

I feel like his.

Even if it scares me half to death.