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Taking one hand, he grabs my waist and pins me even closer to him, our bodies now molding together.
I gasp faintly, not expecting a direct touch.
Instinctively, I grab onto his shoulders and spread my fingers across his broad and large muscles, feeling the crevice they create from their hardness.
Fuck, this is exhilarating.
“Oh, you’d like to give them a show?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting playfully and his eyes twinkling.
“Well, you are the best at that.” I smile and force myself to remain unaffected.
He feels so amazing, and every part of my body wants to give into my need for him—fall into him, touch him, and for heaven’s sake, let him touch me!
But I need to use my head.
My body can play tricks on me, clearly, but my wits have never failed me. At least, they haven’t yet.
He pulls away from me—painfully—but his eyes never veer from mine.
Without another word or a response, he grabs my hand and pulls me forward, putting a finger to his mouth to shush me again.
“Excuse me?” I screech. How many times is this man going to tell me to be quiet?
“Trust me.” He winks.
Fucking hell. Here we go again with that damn trust.
Before I can respond, we’re running towards the other end of the alley.
Reaching the opening, he peeps his head out to see if there are any cameras.
He nods towards the few paparazzi standing at the other end of the street, and I look to verify.
Yep, that’s them. They look like vultures, swarming around a dead carcass, preparing for their attack.
We casually make our way out to the sidewalk and pretend to act like any other pedestrian.
But they notice us seconds later, which I’ll blame on Tanner’s height, as it is unusual for an average person.
God, why does he have to be model-worthy attractive?
We’re able to manage a sizable head start, providing a decent buffer between us and the paps, but we still make a run for it.
He grabs my hand again, and we run together as the vultures scream and chase us.
“TANNER!”
“ELSA!”
“IS IT TRUE? ARE YOU LOVERS?”
“WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO DIRTY LITTLE ANGEL?”
“WHAT ABOUT PRETTY LITTLE VIXEN?”
Fucking Lis, she must’ve tipped them off already. She’s quick—quicker than a fucking jackrabbit in heat, I swear.
We swerve in and out of traffic, dodging cars and slow ass walkers.
