Page 87 of Spotlight Hearts

“I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

She turns and walks out fast, the door clicking shut behind her.

The second she’s gone, Kai lets out a shaky breath and drops his head back against the wall.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That was close.”

I step back in, crowding him again, one hand bracing beside his head.

“Close?” I murmur, lips brushing his jaw. “She saw nothing compared to what I want to do to you right now.”

Kai’s hands come up to my chest, not pushing me away, only resting there as though he needs the contact.

“Luca…” His voice is low, warning, but his fingers curl into my damp shirt anyway.

I grin against his skin, nipping lightly at his neck.

“You started it,” I remind him. “Telling me my ass is yours? Bold move, Jung.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating against my mouth. “Pretty sure you said it first.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, lips swollen, sweat still shining on his skin. He looks wrecked in the best way.

I hum, weighing his words before I say, “We’ve got press” I brush my thumb over his bottom lip, and he flicks his tongue out to taste me. “Then the after-party. But the second we’re back at the hotel…”

I let the sentence hang, eyes locked on his.

Kai swallows, then nods once, the shy flush returning to his cheeks even as heat burns in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “The second we’re back.”

I steal one more quick, hard kiss before stepping away completely, adjusting my shirt and trying to will my body to calm down. I know we need to talk about what this is, but we have time for that later.

The after-party feels like it’s never going to end.

The label rented out a sleek rooftop bar in central London. The view is insane, the drinks are flowing, and every important person in the industry seems to want a piece of us tonight. I’ve been trying to slip out for the last forty minutes, but every time I head toward the exit, someone grabs my arm.

First, it was a streaming exec wanting to talk numbers. Then a journalist asking about the “new energy” on stage. Then one of the opening act’s managers, who wanted to “compare notes” on choreography.

I keep smiling, nodding, giving short answers, but my eyes keep finding Kai across the room.

He’s stuck too, trapped in conversation with a couple of label suits. Every time our gazes meet, he gives me this small, frustrated look that makes my chest tighten. We’re both counting down the seconds until we can leave.

I finally manage to break free when Tasha gets pulled into a conversation with Harry on speakerphone. I mutter something about needing fresh air and slip out the side door before anyone else can stop me.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet. I’m still buzzing from the show and the teasing touches on stage. My body hasn’t calmed down at all.

I get to our penthouse suite, kick off my shoes, and drop onto the big wrap-around couch with the city lights sparkling below. The master bedroom door is open, the massive bed waiting.

I pull out my phone and start scrolling.

Big mistake.

The #Kuca tag is flooded.

Some fans are confused about the tamer performance tonight:

No1KucaFan: “Kuca felt different… less intense? Did something happen?”