He tugs me forward lightly, until I’m as close as I can be without being pressed up against him. My heart is racing, taking off at a speed I’m not sure I can keep up with.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Emmitt is quiet for a moment. His fingers feel like they’re burning through the fabric of my sweater, as if his touch is sacred, as if there’s a new beginning being pressed into my skin. Then he asks, “Can I kiss you?” and the words hold so much weight.

He’s not asking for the casual brush of lips at Madison Square Garden, he’s not asking for the frenzied panic at Rockefeller Center. He’s asking for something bigger, something more, something real.

I should say no. I have to focus on the competition. I have to focus on California. I have to focus on a million other things, and not Emmitt Ramos.

But he’s still watching me, a hopeful light in his eyes, and I think I’d give him the world if he asked.

I surge forward.

Our mouths meet, my arms slipping around his neck. A soft gasp escapes Emmitt, but then his fingers tighten around my waist and he leans into it. Not a single thought exists in my head except for EmmittEmmittEmmitt, and in this one moment, I’m okay with that.

I lean on my toes, giving myself more leverage to run my fingers through the soft blond hair near the nape of his neck. Emmitt presses against me in return, winding his fingers into my dark waves, kissing me with a passion that goes beyond words.

My entire body feels like it’s on fire, raging with the flames of a thousand burning suns. Emmitt is a blizzard, with cold hands that chill me to the bone. It’s hot and it’s cold and there’s no in-between.

When I pull away, it’s because I’m near dizzy, as if I’m intoxicated on Emmitt’s kiss alone. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.

I take one look at Emmitt, whose eyes are still dark as he watches me, licking his lips. Without thinking, I pull him close, pressing our lips together again, but in a chaste kiss this time.

He’s the one that shifts back, his fingers gentle as he cups my face, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone. “Are you even real?” he asks.

I laugh breathlessly. “Ask your camera.”

Emmitt leans back again, breaking away from me only to lift his camera to his face. The flash goes off, blinding me for half a second. When I blink my eyes back to normal, he’s watching with me with a warm, honest smile. “Now I have the perfect picture for the prompt.”

I raise my brows. “But the prompt was home...”

His smile widens until a dimple appears in his cheek. “I know.”

48