He sweeps his tongue against mine while his hands slide down my back, pressing me closer, pressing me against every hard, unforgiving inch of him.

I gasp. He groans. And then it’s all heat, all need, all fire.

I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling, gripping, demanding more because I don’t just want him to kiss me. I want him to ruin me.

And he does.

My lungs scream for air, but I refuse to break away. Not yet. Not when this is the first time I’ve ever truly been kissed. Not when this is the first time I’ve ever truly been wanted. And just when I think I’ll collapse, just when I think he’ll let up and let me breathe, Vic grips the back of my neck, tilts my head, and kisses me even deeper.

Unfortunately, reality slams back into us when a sharp, jarring whistle pierces through the studio.

“And… CUT!”

Vic and I freeze. Our lips are still brushing. Our bodies are still pressed together. The heat between us is still an inferno.

All the while, the entire cast, production, and film crew are staring at us.

The director stands with his arms crossed, looking half amused, half in shock. The crew is eating this up. Some have their mouths hanging open. A few camera operators share looks. The makeup artist fans herself, and the sound guy winks at me.

A voice from behind a camera snickers, “Well, Chef, if this whole cooking thing doesn’t pan out, you’ve got a solid career in romance movies.”

Laughter erupts.

Vic blinks, his chest still heaving from our kiss. His grip on my waist is still firm, but the corner of his lips tilt into a slow, smug smirk. He’s not even embarrassed. I, on the other hand, am mortified.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my fingers pressing against my lips as I pull away. “I can’t believe I just did that in front of everyone, on camera!”

Vic lets out a low chuckle, rubbing his jaw like he’s not even remotely sorry.

The director claps his hands together, looking way too pleased. “No need to apologize, Ms. Kind. That was T.V. gold.”

My humiliation peaks, but Vic is even-keeled and back to normal.

Then, I gently rest my hand on his chest, my eyes narrowing. “Please, be nice to everyone, Vic.” I say, loud enough for the whole set to hear.

A few chuckles ripple through the crew, but Vic just arches a brow. He steps forward, his hand still resting warm and steady against my back, then looks out at the team. With a deep, exasperated sigh, he finally concedes.

“All right, folks,” he announces, voice smooth and composed, as if he hadn’t just been caught throwing a tantrum. “Let’s get back to work.”