“It’s vital. And you can’t replicate it in a lab. At the very least, it ought to be part of the foundation of any romance, don’t you think?”
Her eyes say she’s doubtful. “I’m not denying it has some power, and that you’re gleaning how to harvest it. But only for those who’ve been selected by you and who can afford the price of admission.”
“Most apps aren’t free either,” I counter.
“The fee for your parties is so much higher. And sure, maybe you can offer spark. But one person is choosing the spark. You. And what if you’re wrong?”
“But see . . . I’m not choosing the spark. I’m simply offering the opportunity for it to sizzle.”
“So long as you’re lucky enough to score an invite,” she says. “Many of our listeners have told me how terrible it makes them feel if they don’t make your list.”
“Understandably,” I say. “But that’s why I’m here today—the more publicity I receive, the more demand I can create for parties. And the more parties I host, the more people I can help find love.”
We chat more, and she’s tough as nails, as I expected. That’s for the best, though. I don’t want a puff piece but I’m pretty sure I’ve impressed the doubtful.
Soon enough, the interview winds down and she flashes me a professional smile. “Thank you so much for your time, Easton. You have a particular and specific approach when it comes to romance. I appreciate you sharing it. I learned so much about Carpe Diem.”
The consummate pro at the mic, Bellamy comes across as edgy but fair—which makes it nearly impossible to get a read on whether she thinks my livelihood is utter garbage or if I’ve changed her mind.
“The pleasure was all mine,” I say, and I hope the result will be pleasurable too, when she airs the piece.
She takes off her headphones and turns off her mic. I do the same.
“Better than having your teeth pulled?” she asks.
“I can’t say. I’ve never had a cavity. But I suspect, yes.”
She shoots me a saucy stare. “You show-off with your perfect dental health.”
I laugh, flashing her my pearly-white grin. “It’s all part of the . . . spark.”
Her expression softens. “You make some good points about spark.”
I’d like to make all the points.
And yup, there goes the brain. My thoughts are most decidedly back on sex now. But hey, the interview is over, so the sex brain is allowed to step up to the plate.
“Some sparks are undeniable,” I say in a low voice as I push out of the chair.
As she stands, she reaches for her bag from the floor. “Can’t disagree,” she murmurs as she slings it on her shoulder when a thunk hits my ears.
My eyes snap to the noise. Her phone must have slipped out of the pocket and hit the floor. I bend, reaching for it at as she does. We’re both kneeling, inches from each other.
Our eyes lock. Her gaze is stripped bare. That gamesmanship is gone from her face. “Such a shame you wouldn’t give me your number when we met,” I whisper.
A vein in her neck pulses, and it’s so fucking sexy. “What would you have done with it?”
“You know what I would have done, Bellamy.”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea,” she says, a little smoky.
“Called you that night,” I say.
“You wouldn’t have texted me?”
“Texting’s for men who don’t know what they want.”
The air between us crackles and neither one of us moves. “What do you want, Easton?” Her question is full of delicious import. Full of possibilities.
“To do something about this chemistry,” I say roughly, making my meaning clear.
The silence expands between us as the temperature in the studio kicks up.
With a soft shudder, she whispers a command. “Do it.”
Enough said.
I lean into her right as she parts her lips. In a hot second, our mouths fuse together. Her soft lips slide over mine. I kiss her a little harder, savoring all the flavors of her kiss. The hint of cinnamon in her mouth, the honeysuckle from her lotion. Most of all, the pure sex appeal of Bellamy Hart as she melts into an afternoon kiss in my arms.
She wobbles a bit because we’re still kneeling. I drop a hand to her hip, holding her tight. “Thanks,” she whispers.
“Anytime,” I say, then return to her lips.
I graze my thumb along her jaw, then thread my fingers through her hair. A sexy gasp escapes her throat, and I want to linger in the decadence of this moment. The softness of her breath. The spike of my pulse. Every second of this kiss is like taking time to eat a delicious bar of chocolate, relishing every bite.
I don’t want to miss a single thing about this kiss. I want to experience all of it, from her tongue slipping inside my mouth to her hands on my knees.