If I thought Robin was cute before she’d tasted her first Champagne in the limo a couple of days ago, watching her finish off third glass then lean back and get the giggles for about three minutes straight after the stressful awards show night we’ve all survived, has permanently robbed me of my heart.

Despite the Champagne region’s sponsorship, during the show, we’d decided last minute she’d only pretend to drink it, because I was worried about how quickly this stuff had gone to her head the other day.

With the long hours of waiting during the banquet meal we’d had to sit through—and then waiting more while the awards were televised—and then waiting more as an entire show was performed by the various artists who’d been honored at the awards (including Guarderobe) — I was afraid Robin would wind up either falling asleep and snoring in her chair, or she’d get tipsy and do something unexpected.

Mostly, because if the last option, I didn’t want to miss one second of any antics she might pull.

To compensate, I’d personally dragged a bottle from the sponsor stand on our way out of the ceremony. I’d made a big show of holding the bottle up high with one arm, while my other arm was draped heavily around Robin’s shoulders.

It was a fake pose I used to execute all the time before I got married. Half-drunk bad-boy rockstar, dragging a bottle and a beautiful woman to a limo and ‘home to bed’ is just what the paparazzi loves.

Of course back then, it was just acting. After much waving and provocative public kissing, we’d drive away as quickly as possible. Once out of camera range, I’d have dumped my date straight back at whichever hotel or home she’d been staying in, while I’d apologized to her for suddenly having a horrible headache.

Watching Robin now, as she’s staring at the bubbles in her third glass I can’t even pretend that I want to dump her off anywhere. Ever. I also can’t pretend that I’m not in love with her. She’s been stream-of-consciousness babbling to me non-stop to me about things like: how amazing it was to see us perform in such a small setting, because we are all really so very talented. And, how cool it was that I got to hand out the Best New Artist award. And, how awesome my stage presence is—and did I know that I have this cool power to lift people’s spirits up just with a smile and a twinkle of my beautiful silver eyes? And, did I know my eyes were beautiful, or did I just take them for granted, because pretty much all of me top to bottom, inside and out is made so beautifully?

After that last one, I’m to the point where she’s going to my head as much as the Champagne is going to her head. I’ve had compliments from girls before, but I’ve never believed them, or hell, I don’t know, I guess I’ve never accepted them as any sort of ‘truth’. But, the other people who gush crap at me like Robin is doing now always want something—expect something from me in return for those compliments. There’s always this underlying…motive. Only, I know this very uninhibited Champagne filled version of Robin doesn’t want anything at all but to make me happy as she’s chattering away. Because even when she’s not lit, that’s her ultimate goal. With me, with everyone.

And hell-there she goes again calling my eyes beautiful all over again. Something about moon-beam-comets. To which I’ve replied, “You’re the one with the combo ocean-sky pretty eyes.” I realize that analogy kind of sucks for a guy who’s a songwriter, but it’s the best I can do right now, and it did the trick of making those cheeks of hers go pink.

She’s so great—and kind.. and utterly happy right now, that I might lose my mind from how badly I want to kiss—touch—consume her and that happiness. If only I could swallow down that smile of hers, and somehow keep how that grin—beaming back at me—makes me feel—keep at least that, forever.

She’s skyrocketing the chronic-want-feeling I always have, and she’s taking my heart all the way to the top of the moon. And I’m calling out all of those ’to the moon and back’ sayings. To the moon is where I want to stay—because who in the hell would ever want to come back from the moon, if the moon is where you felt like this.

I laugh a little at my thoughts, and lean back into the seat, trying to stretch tension from my neck while wishing for a tall glass of ice water. Unlike Robin, who only just started drinking, I’ve been participating on the Champagne all night long. Every time I was handed a glass of the stuff I drank it down. And who could blame me? After being near Robin in that damn dress, with that damn sexy-straight-waterfall-hair—I needed a drink or two to calm myself down. And then I needed a drink or two more to just…keep myself mellow, because going back to my dressing room and placing ice on the back of my neck didn’t help one damn bit, just how yelling at Clara for being part of trying to cut Robin’s hair before the show didn’t help, either.

The Champagne helped while I was drinking as we were surrounded by people and my bandmates. Only now, watching Robin lean across the seat towards me and gravity takes over, making the soft, half exposed rounded skin of her breasts swell in my direction while she asks, “Hello? Earth to Royce? Are you okay?” That…plus how I’m half drunk, and how she’s always wondering if I’m okay… has just wrecked me.

“Yes. Totally okay,” I answer, removing her full glass from her hand just as she tips it up for another sip.

“Hey…you…why?” She lick-giggles the few golden droplets that made it out of the glass off of her pouty-bottom lip, then leans even closer, like her body’s gone all limp, and warm and languid and she’s eyeing my lap like she’d like to sit on it!

It’s all I can do not to groan out loud and adjust what’s happening in my pants right in front of her. “Maybe you’ve had enough?” I ask, leaning away from her some for self-perseverance, but as her brow creases into a small frown, one I can read too much doubt in, I lighten my tone, careful to add, “You will thank me later, okay? This sugary stuff gives massive headaches on the flip side, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She smiles, looking relieved. “Then, I’m goin’-to-thank-you-how-‘bout now?” She hiccups, wrecking me a second time because oh man—that sound—this girl—is so damn surprising. Cute. Hilarious. “Thankss-Royce.” She closes her eyes, wobbling some like she’s trying to get her balance against the seat. “This was-sush-fun-speshhial-times-tonight.”

“It was,” I agree, trying not to laugh, and to force my gaze away from her face I place my lips on the exact spot where her lip-gloss has darkened the crystal glass, then I drain the remainder of the Champagne, hoping she will forget to ask me for jus-one-more-lil-taste, which is how she got this last glass out of the bottle.

Who could deny her right now? Not me, and not tonight—that’s for damn sure. Because I can’t seem to say ‘no’ to this girl ever. Whatever she wants, I want to get it for her. If it weren’t way past midnight right now I’d be trying to piggy-back her up the Eiffel Tower like King Kong, just to make that last dream of hers about Paris happen. It still kills me she didn’t get to go to the top of that with me.

“How about, I ask you a srri—eeeous—thing?” She blinks, making her lips scrunch up. “Wait. Serrr-his-ishhh.” She holds up one finger. “I can say this word. Holll—on. Seeer-is-ishh. Quesshton. There. Can I?” She giggles again then looks over at me as the limo pulls into the Parisian Orb Hotel driveway, the bright lights of the portico suddenly distracting me.

I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “How about you wait to ask me questions until we get up into our suite? We’re home.”

“Home.” Her eyes dart to the window, then she sends me a lopsided smile and ramps into singing, “Home is whenever I’m with you.” She grins like she’s proud of herself with that one and leans her body weight half onto my knees, that or she’s toppled, I’m not that sure. “Thass-not your hit-song. I know. That’s how I feel. Home with you is great.” Her eyes grow wide as she hiccups again. “Royce. What is happening to my head? It’s spinning some. This is probably me being-drunk, huh?” She whispers, glancing around. “If I’m drunk, does that mean I can’t have the rest of that?” She points to the bottle. “Delishhhious. Stuff. Probbbly-I-need-jusss-one-more-sip up in the room. One more time?”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh out loud at her again. “You’re tipsy, not drunk. As for any more Champagne, the bottle is empty, which is for the best. We’re both switching to water upstairs.”

“Okay. But water plus cookies because we need a snnnack.” Her brow creases. “Or…wait. Pizza could be also delishhhious?” Her eyelids droop heavily. “Let’s make a plan. One of the plan-plans. A new plan,” she jokes.

“Fine. The plan is water, and we’ll get you any snack you want. Also, based on how you just broke out singing and you just botched the word delicious twice, I am going to have to ask that you staple on a smile and stay very quiet while we cross the hotel lobby. I’ve already tracked how many paparazzi are waiting for us outside, and it’s fucking way, too many. Got me?”

“Okay. Check. No singing-songs.” She leans her weight onto my side. “Do you know? When you’re stressed you all-alla-always drop f-bombs?”

“Yes. I know that.”

Her head bobs heavily, and her smile says she’s maybe already forgotten what she’s just said.

As the chauffeur opens the door, a nervous giggle escapes her. Then, as though that was a complete accident for her, she purses her lips extra tight and she bites down hard on the bottom one, rolling her eyes a little like she’s holding back more giggles.

I step out, and turn to guide her out then tilt my head raise a brow, wanting to ask if she’s with me, just as she moves forward me and says with a glower, “What? I know. Be. Quiet. Your eyes is ruining my concentration. Stop the beaming silver color.”

“I’ll try.” I grin, laughing some and placing my arm loosely around her waist as she stands right next to me.

The crowd that’s been waiting outside the hotel ever since we left for the awards ceremony cheers as we pause to wave. Everything goes great until we try to head up the steps into the hotel.

It seems Robin’s forgotten that she’s wearing the Champagne-glass heels.

I’d also forgotten.

“Damn.” I utter, feeling her careen away from me like a train heading off a track. I dive in and scoop her up into my arms, then spin her around to face the crowd who cheers even more at my rescue.

Instead of being mortified, how she usually is about public mess-ups, she simply wraps one arm around my neck and crosses her legs in front of her so everyone can see the shoe that almost killed her while she points at them saying, “These things are dangerous.” After the crowd cheers more and the paparazzi has gotten more than their fair share of shots of Robin’s shoes, legs, and how she’s wrapped up in my arms, she tugs at my lapels to get my attention asking, “Royce? Is it time?”

“Time for what?” I frown down at her.

“Time for you to kiss me? It’s my favorite part.” She sighs up at me, her big blue eyes drawing me in in this way that makes the noise, and the people and the whole damn world around us fade.

“Kissing.” She goes on. “Happens each time we go out and people are watching.” She waggles her brows. “If iss-time, I’m ready.”

She licks her bottom lip and like a starving man, I bend in to capture the tip of that tongue of hers before it makes it back to her mouth.

I know full well this move of scooping her into my arms would have been sufficient to get two days of social media posts. And because of the ‘look at my shoes’ talk Robin shouted out we probably don’t need to do this kiss.

But…fine…we’re doing it… it’s not a big deal, right?

Only, instead of pulling away like I normally do at just the right moment, I press my kiss a little longer telling myself it’s because the lingering taste of champagne resting on the curves of her kiss-and-smile lips is like an amazing drug that I didn’t know. And…when she says, “Mmm,” against my lips and makes her arms twine around my neck, trying to deepen the kiss, well…I kiss her more.

Fuck. I think cannons have shot off behind my eyes.

The sound of the crowd’s cheering slams into my very out of control body, and it’s so loud I feel like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on me.

I pull back and spin both of our faces away from the cameras who have surely caught on to just how badly I want this girl right now. I’m hardly able to keep my expression in check, muttering, “You trying to kill me?”

“That was the best kiss.” She’s nodding, cheeks flushed, lips swollen—every smiling “Kissed-me-right-out-of-my-shoes. So you need-to-help-fix-this. If they drop, we’re in big trouble.” She’s smiling up at me, totally oblivious to my pain, the crowd, to the paparazzi which is when I realize her insane shoes are now dangling by their very thin straps off of her ankles like they’re cowbells something.

“How in the hell did that happen?” Laughing, and happy for this distraction, I reach down and slide them off her pointed feet. This makes the crowd go crazy again, because maybe they can’t see our faces, but they’ve still got a prime view of Robin’s bare legs hanging over my arm, and now it looks like I’m undressing her in front of them, but instead of shouting, “It’s just shoes, can’t you idiots see they’re falling off?” I play it up and turn back to wink at all of them like, hell-yes-I’m–undressing-my-sexy-wife, because at this point, and after how we just kissed for so long in front of all of them? What else can I do before I carry her into the hotel.

* * *

I gently set her down in front of the elevator, and push the button, but keep one hand firmly around her waist in case the Champagne has gone too far to her head and she winds up toppling around again.

My fingers brush against the skin on the waistline of her backless dress and I realize it’s searing hot. As hot as my hand that refuses to do anything but stroke the length of her back up and down, up and down because, again…what else am I supposed to do here? I’ve got to keep the flow of this natural.

Quickly, when the doors slide open I lead her into the elevator.

Too late, or—again fuck-my-insane-life! But, before she turns to stand shoulder to shoulder to shoulder with me, I realize the jostling of her out of the limo and into my arms, then all the way across this lobby to here, has caused that sticky tape the stylists had placed around her chest to come loose. If I let her turn, Robin will boob-flash every reporter that still has a straight shot into this elevator!

As the doors stutter, trying to close while the bodyguards are deciding who will ride up with us, I signal them both to step out, and ask if they’d leave the two of us alone and then I drag her up to my chest and hold her there tight.

This draws a little “oof” out of Robin, and more cheers from the crowd. Grins fire at me from Hunter and Vere who just exited their limo and came up into the lobby, and frowns from my entire entourage as well as my grandmother and uncle.

Knowing Robin would be mortified should she realize why I’m holding her like this—exactly how I shouldn’t as in— smashing her too tight against my chest—with my arms locked so tight around her that should she suddenly get mad, or try to pull back and ask me. ‘what the fuck I’m doing?’— which is what she should be asking, then at least her chest will stay covered.

But…damn her, she doesn’t resist. Not one bit.

Aside from her surprised little sound, she’s now nestling in, and sighs happily like she’d been hoping for me to do this. She beams up at me, presses into me harder, and twines her arms around my neck. That damn sexy hair of hers tangles between us and the smell of it, all lavender mixed with some new expensive perfume she’s never worn before tonight is making me insane.

When the elevator doors close us off away from the world, and she looks at me and smiles like she and I have zero walls between us, like she knows me better than I know myself, I don’t step away how I should.

I lean in and kiss her like I’ve never kissed her before.

And she leans up and kisses me like she’s completely mine—when she’s not allowed to be mine.

So I kiss her back, like it’s the last time I’m going to kiss her, because maybe it will be. Tomorrow we go to Berlin and her father is coming to take her away…and so, I kiss her again, like I don’t fucking care about anything other than how soft her skin feels and I work hard to erase all space between our bodies.

Hell yes, I kiss her and kiss her and she’s kissing me back like she can read my mind.

I let my hands go everywhere and I melt into her as she melts back into me. I turn and push her against the elevator wall so I can get some better leverage and I’m thankful for the slit up the side of the dress because it allows her to wrap her legs up and around me as I lift her up some.

I know I should stop. I know this, but I’m too weak to resist wanting her like this, because I love… I love…I love…Christ…how much I love her ways, her smiles, the feel of her lips under mine, the way she just lets me do whatever I want the way she seems to want me back. Because…I love… I love…her.

Love her far, too much.