Page 97 of Love Unscripted
He bent and captured her plump lips with his own.
They kissed. And kept kissing. Slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. He felt his control thinning by the second, felt that dangerous edge approaching where thought would disappear entirely.
He broke away.
Looked at her.
And then, unable to help himself, kissed her again.
It took effort—real effort—to stop. He finally pulled back, turning his face away from that hazy, inviting expression because he knew if he looked at her one more second, he would forget every intention he had for the evening.
Without meeting her eyes, he reached for her hand.
“Let’s get out of here right now, Camille. We are in dangerous waters.”
She laughed and slipped from his grasp. “Let me grab my bag and shoes.”
A moment later she was back, leaning into him as she fastened the straps of her sandals.
“Is this alright?” she asked. “You said dinner and then the beach, so I chose something that could work for both places.”
“You look amazing,” he said huskily. “Now let’s go. Please.”
He had so much to tell her—about the set, about the chaos and small triumphs during her absence. He talked as they drove, animated, happy to have her beside him again. But eventuallythere came a lull, a natural shift, and he realized he wanted to hear about her. What she had done. Who she had seen. How she had spent the days apart.
That was when he noticed it.
Her reticence.
“I’d much rather talk about our Barbados trip,” she said lightly, running her hand up his arm in distraction.
He smiled. “We’ll get to that in a moment. But I want to hear what you’ve been doing the last couple of days. Why won’t you tell me?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s a surprise. I’ll tell you soon. Promise.”
“Why not now?”
She scratched her cheek. “Aaron. Why are you being so difficult?”
“Honestly, Camille, I hate surprises. My family would tell you. I like to know what’s coming. I used to read the back of a book to find out the ending before I even started it. No lie.”
She laughed. “That’s really something, coming from a director of suspense films and all.”
He shrugged. “That’s me. So will you tell me?”
Her expression shifted. The playfulness faded.
“No,” she said quietly. “And it’s making me uncomfortable that you can’t respect that.”
That stopped him.
She had a point. He was immediately apologetic. Yet even after that, she didn’t seem entirely settled. There was something beneath her smile—tight, almost anxious.
“Listen,” he said more gently, “I was only half kidding about hating surprises. Honestly, it isn’t that serious. I’m sorry for being so silly.”
She relaxed—only fractionally.
He felt like a louse for pressing her, for dimming the mood. So he steered them back to safer ground.
