"You're here," I said, staring at him as if I'd never seen him before. I wanted to be livid at him showing up out of nowhere, unexpected, giving me the fright of my life as he sat there in the back of my car. But this wasn't out of character for him. This was normal.

"I'm here." He barely moved an inch, but his eyes roved up and down my body as the engine rumbled and we took off. "You're...perfect. Sexy."

"Don't," I said, lifting a finger and planting a stern glare on him. "Don't you dare turn this into something else. You walked out, Leo. You stomped out like a teenage boy throwing a tantrum and I want an explanation."

Should I have been firmer? Whatever expression I gave him didn't seem to do the trick, because he launched from his seat and landed over me, hovering, his feet planted to keep his balance as the car moved.

"Leo," I tried to push him away, "this is dangerous, what are you doing?"

The vehicle parked, as if at Leo's silent command. I side-glanced to see we were in a metered spot, and heard the driver sneak out, close his door, and stand in front of it like a bodyguard. Leaving us alone inside.

"Not dangerous anymore." He licked his lips, and his breath smelled like peppermint and spice. "I missed you."

I tilted my chin up and—fuck. I connected my gaze to his and felt myself crumbling. I wanted to smack my fists on his chest, but if I touched him, it'd be worse. I wanted to scream into his face but if I got too close, he'd kiss me. And I'd let him.

"I missed you too," I breathed out, wishing I hadn't said it. Again, too late. He'd read my body language, no matter how hard I tried to maintain a sturdy, angry facade on my face. He knew I missed him, knew I wanted him, knew I was stressed. And in his mind, the best way to fix stress was...you guessed it—

His lips found mine in a hurried blur of tongues and teeth and saliva. Inside my brain roared at me to shove him off, to demand that he talk to me first, before fucking me. But my body didn't want that. My body wanted him.

I returned the kiss, and melted under his intensity. It felt like years had passed since I'd tasted him, and the more he gave me, the more I greedily wanted.

Instead of discussing this like two adults, we were groping, getting handsy like two horny teenagers. Except we weren't teenagers; we were boyfriend and girlfriend, on the verge of either breaking up or fixing things. I realized that in this moment, I didn't quite care which outcome happened as long as I got my fill of him.

He made quick work of my jacket and blouse, chuckling. "Jeez, Belle really likes red on you, doesn't she?"

I let out a laugh in response, as I pulled his shirt over his head, too impatient to unfasten all the buttons.

"She's right," he said, licking my earlobe, his breath coming in heavy spurts into my ears, down my neck. "You look fucking hot in red. That's why I can't resist you now."

I undid his belt and yanked it off. "Then hurry up and fuck me before I change my mind."

He pulled away to remove his pants, exposing his hard, throbbing cock beneath his boxers. I salivated, all my concerns and confusion dissipating at the sight of him, hardened in desire for me. Whatever else happened, at least I knew that this worked between us. The sex was fiery and delicious, and I'd remember it that way.

Thankfully, the windows were tinted, because as I lifted my ass to remove my own pants, I detected motion outside. People were walking by, none of them trying to peep inside, thanks to our bodyguard-driver. But any of them could have approached the window and seen us stripping. And to be fair...that concept turned me on more. Getting caught by passersby, none of which had any idea of the celebrity whipping his dick out behind these thick windows?

Hot.

As I threw off my panties, he bent to retrieve something from his pants pocket—always prepared, this guy. The condom wrapper shimmered as he tore it apart, then pulled down his boxers to roll the thing over his length.

"This won't be too comfortable," he said, tipping his head this way and that, calculating how he'd be able to fuck me. The backseat was larger than most vehicles, but this wasn't a limo, so space was still limited.

"You sit," I said, scooching to the side so he could take my place. "I'll sit on you."

He moaned as he dropped onto the leather seat and bit his bottom lip, eyeing my pussy with hunger. "I wish I had time to devour you but...please, ride me, baby. Ride me until we both explode."

His words fueled me, so I crept up to him, set my legs on either side of his, and slowly lowered onto his cock. I was already wet with need for him. The filling sensation had me groaning in arousal, and the look of pure pleasure on his face made me hurry to slide him fully inside me.

I needed him. He needed me.

I rode him, rocking to a slower rhythm at first, before he gripped my hips and kept me in place while he thrust up into me. Fast, faster, the fastest cadence—I couldn't breathe as he fucked me harder, deeper. I had no sense of time or space. My mind fogged up, my eyes blurred, and I tipped my head back as I unleashed a low, growling moan when I reached my peak.

"Hang on, baby," he said, his pace steady but quick, the sensation of him rubbing inside me like dynamite. "I'm almost there. Wait for me, baby."

I couldn't wait. My climax was there, right there, and I selfishly wanted to take it. A sort of payback for his absence, and for his abrupt—albeit glorious—return, for every stroke into me that made me want to burst.

But he caught up with me. I felt him tensing, pulsating, preparing to let go—and as I shuddered with absolute bliss, succumbing to my orgasm, so did he.

"Fuck," he said, allowing me to sit there, astride him, as we both took a moment to recover. "Fuck, that was..."

Unnecessary, I wanted to say; but I wouldn't. Deep down, I'd wanted it badly. How many times had I rolled over in our bed, expecting him to show up in the threshold, a shining sex-angel come to ravish me in the night? How many times had I felt the ghosts of his fingers sliding between my folds and touching me until I woke to myself coming almost painfully?

Yeah, I wanted this. But now that I'd gotten it...

"Get dressed," I told him as I stood up and searched for something to clean myself off. I'd usually want to get to a bathroom ASAP, but I doubted I'd be able to rush outside and find one. "We need to talk, now that that's done."

He frowned, but didn't defy me with any more kisses or flashing of his perfect penis. He discarded the condom—there were trash bins in all his service cars—and we crawled around the backseat, plucking pieces of clothing from the floor and hurrying to button everything up. Once we were covered, he leaned over the front seat and tapped the window, signaling for the driver to come back in.

As the man entered, reanimated the engine, and took off, Leo sat across from me, right where I'd found him earlier. He buckled his seatbelt, motioning for me to do the same.

I couldn't hold my tongue any longer. Enough was enough of his sheepish attitude. "Why do you always use sex to change the subject?"

His cheeks flushed with warmth as he peered into his lap. "I can't help it. It's how I've always been." He sighed, raising his chin to link our gazes. His eyes were sparkling, either with emotion or with leftover arousal, I couldn't tell. "I'm sorry, Emma."

"For the sex?" I furrowed my eyebrows. "Or for everything else?"

His eyes narrowed. "I will never apologize for sex. Unless you tell me it wasn't consensual, in which case we'd have to have a different kind of talk."

I shook my head. "Of course it was consensual. I wouldn't have stopped you."

"Good." He rolled up his sleeves, shifting the fabric of his shirt against his smooth, toned arms. "I'm sorry for storming off like a coward."

I wasn't sure if coward was the word I'd been thinking of on repeat for the past few weeks, but it worked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. This whole," he waved at the air, "Cameron ordeal...it bugs me, and I'm not good at communicating anything about it, you know?" He winced, turning to glance outside. We were passing through an industrial, dilapidated side of town that I recognized as one of our driver's shortcuts. "You know our history, how we steal each other's significant others and shit."

"I do know." I searched inside my purse for my compact powder, and checked my reflection as I dabbed at my nose, under my eyes. Sex sweat still gathered at my hairline, but my lip-stain remained in place and I didn't look otherwise too disturbed by what had occurred.

"You're the first person we've both been really serious about in a long time." Leo fidgeted, his mouth bunching and unbunching as he searched for his words. "It's scary, okay? He found you, he let me borrow you, then I fell for you, now I have you, and he seems to pop up everywhere we go, all the time? Yes," he raised a hand, stopping me from interrupting, "he's working with Sapphire, which means it's sort of normal that he'll be around. But at the show? I never meant to invite him, and I guarantee he knew that. He took advantage. He shouldn't have been there."

On that point, we were in agreement. I didn't think Cameron should have showed up either; he knew better. He'd showed up to stow discord, no doubt about it.

"Agreed." I pinched my lips. "But you have to stop acting like this, Leo. You can't bolt at every difficulty. And I can't be honest with you if this is how you're going to react every time. We're in the public eye constantly, so there's bound to be issues like this. Paparazzi who will twist stories to get more drama, you know? We just went through that with Sfuria, and then you let something like that stupid picture get you all infuriated? No." I huffed. "You're better than that. We," I pointed at me, then him, "are better than that."

He deflated, a heavy breath pushing out his mouth. "I know." He shrugged his hands through his hair, shaking it out. He'd had it cut to its regular short style, I noticed. "With you, I'm more insecure than I've ever been."

I leaned forward and set my hand on his knee. "Then don't be. I'm with you, Leo, okay? Regardless of whatever choices I might have been about to make back then. I chose to be here, to be with you, to suffer the spotlight with you. I'm happy." My eye twitched, my heart skipped a beat. Was that true? Was I happy? I didn't have time to debate it with myself—if Leo believed it, then we could move past this spat. And we needed to. "We said we loved each other. Doesn't that count for something?"

His mouth moved into a small smile. "It does." He let out another deep sigh, and placed his hand atop mine, over his knee. "It does. Okay. Okay. We're good, then?"

I scowled playfully. "Oh, you'll need to do what you just did to me plenty more times before I forgive you, mister."

He laughed, then tilted sideways to fish something out of a briefcase I hadn't noticed until now. "I can manage that," he winked as he extracted a long envelope, "but first, I have more news for you."

I blinked at the envelope. "What's that?"

"This," he said, removing what looked like two plane tickets, "is an opportunity to travel somewhere far. To get out of here."

I scoffed. "Don't you have a private jet?"

He snickered at me. "Play along, Emma, this is for show, okay?" He cleared his throat. "How about a trip to Paris?"

I gasped. "Whoa."

Paris? The city of love, the Eiffel Tower, fresh baguettes and fragrant cheese and deep red wines and tiny streets with massive cathedrals in the backdrop?

Oh, I'd dreamed of Paris. I'd watched videos, collected photographs, doodled in French on notebooks thinking I knew how to speak the language (I didn't). But never in my wildest dreams had I envisioned myself actually going.

And now Leo wanted to bring me there?

"Springing that on me kind of out of nowhere, hm?" I couldn't erase the tremble of excitement from my voice.

"I mean," he chuckled, "yes? That's my life, for you. They tell me to get my ass to Paris for some promotional stuff, and while I can't refuse, I make sure to insist that my girlfriend comes with me. Because Paris...I'm sure you want to go, right?" He pouted his lower lip. "Or maybe you don't? Maybe you have no interest in France? It's possible, so—"

I snatched the fake tickets from his grasp. "Are you nuts?" I glanced down at the lettering, the printed numbers and made-up airline with seats and rows and departure times. It was a well done fake ticket. "How could I not want to go?"

He smiled. "Perfect. We're leaving in a few days."

Wow, the life of an international best-selling rockstar—drop everything and travel to Paris? Okay, sure.

"...and I'll consult Belle about your wardrobe because we'll need some super Parisian outfits for you..."

The words wardrobe and outfit brought me back to reality, and to the interview I'd had, and the request SHOW SoHo's editor-in-chief had for me.

"Speaking of fashion," I gulped, "my interview went well, in case you cared."

Leo took the fake tickets from me and stashed them in his briefcase. "Of course I care. You got the job?"

"I did." I tried not to beam, not to hurl my arms up in excitement. "But they also gave me another opportunity, and while it's not mandatory, I think it'll look good for me."

He crossed his arms, studying me. "And what is it? Why do I get the vibe that it involves me?"

"Because it does." I gulped again, harder. "They asked if I'd interview you. Same as what I did with Sapphire."

He sucked his lips in, then peered at his watch before returning to me. Serious, stern, about to reject me—I couldn't read him.

Then he widened his mouth into a boyish smile. "I'd love that. Let's do it in Paris, yeah? Interview me as we shop at the most high-end, classy stores on the Champs Elysées. SHOW SoHo would eat that shit up."

♪♪♪