Behind the Camera (Love through a Lens, #2)

by Chelsea Curto

Me. He's talking about me. His eyes twinkle, and he keeps his gaze locked in place, a sure thing in a world full of maybes. That pressure behind my ribs expands, a weight on my chest the longer I look at him, and it’s hard to take a deep breath. “My view isn’t so bad either,” I reply. It’s quiet enough for him to shrug it off and pretend like he didn’t hear me. I expect him to ignore it, to let it slip by, another admission from a silly girl with a silly crush on the man she can’t have. Instead, he steps closer. I can hear his breathing—slow and steady until it changes to rough and ragged when the cotton of my shirt presses into his tan, bare skin. A nearly silent gasp falls from his mouth when neither one of us pulls away, and I wonder what else I could do to hear that sound again. “Maven,” he murmurs, sweet like honey. I wish he’d find a way to whisper my name like that every second of every day. It’s reverent. Secret. Loving. He doesn’t talk to anyone else like that, and I know I’m the lucky one. I tip my head back. He reaches out and cups my cheek with his free hand. His thumb is warm as it runs down my jaw and hooks around my chin, a spot I think might be his favorite. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to find more of his touch, if only for a second. “Fuck,” he says around an exhale before it gets snatched up by the breeze.