“Nah, not this time.” I shake my head. “I probably won’t see Aunt Ruthie again for a while, and I promised her this whole week.”

“So the next time we see each other, it’ll be a new year.”

“Yep.”

I’ll see him in a week, so it’s foolish how my heart sinks at the thought of him leaving tomorrow.

“Pep, I know you wanted to take things slow and to make your own way before we took things to the next level between us.” Rhyson slides away and squats on the step below me, catching and holding my eyes. “But next year can’t be like the last few months.”

I gulp, pulling back from the intoxicating heat and scent of him.

“Rhyson, I—”

“Nope,” he interrupts, trapping my eyes with his. “I’ve let you take the lead for a long time, Pep. I’m doing this.”

“Doing what exactly?”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his phone, and turns it around so I can see the screen before suspending it over our heads.

I don’t know whether to laugh or pass out.

“A mistletoe app?” My voice is small and uncertain. “Digital mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Rhyson shrugs like this is normal. “Guess Pops inspired me. This way I can keep mistletoe around all the time too. And always have an excuse to kiss you. Starting tonight.”

“Rhyson, I think we should—”

“Any last words before we have our first kiss?”

“We’re not going to—”

“The hell we aren’t.”

He sets the phone on the step, captures the back of my neck, and pulls me so close his breath invades my mouth. The kiss starts slow, a brush of our lips together. A catch and release, him pulling back and running his eyes over my face before pressing my breasts back into his hard chest. He’s kissing me again, his tongue stroking mine, sucking gently until my toes curl in my boots. He’s imprinting his taste into the lining of my jaw, into the underside of my tongue, into the skin inside my lips. A sweet heat is trapped in my mouth, like lightning in a bottle. Exploding and suffusing the sensitive tissues with delicious fire.

His thick hair curls around my fingers as they dig into his scalp. My hands drift down to cup either side of his face. I stretch my mouth wider over his, pulling his tongue in so deep it whispers across the entrance of my throat. We pant into each other’s mouths, and we’re so tight together, his heart slams into mine.

I’m standing at the edge of flame. Singed, not yet burned. If I don’t break this kiss, there is no way back. I’ll find a way to have him. Even with Aunt Ruthie upstairs, even with Mama’s memory lingering in every room, even with the family Bible on the living room table—I’ll have him tonight if I don’t put a stop to this.

“Rhyson, please stop,” I beg against his lips. “Not yet.”

He pulls back a few centimeters, pressing our foreheads together, hard breaths against my mouth, palms at my throat, fingers at the back of my neck.

“Pep,” he whispers against my lips. “When?”

How do I answer? My heart and my body scream right now! I thought I could hold out until I made it big, till I got my break, and stood on my own two feet. Had my own accomplishments separate from Rhyson’s fame. My own career. But asking myself to wait is like asking my heart not to beat. Or my eyes not to blink. Rhyson is my involuntary response. I can’t help but to want him, and not just physically. To want everyone to know he’s mine and I’m his. To wake up with him on my mind and in my arms. I don’t know how much longer I can resist him. As a matter of fact, I’m forgetting why I should, so I lay my lips against his softly and whisper the truth.

“Soon.”

IT’S A NEW YEAR, AND I’M going to Rhyson’s house.

I mean, technically, he invited me to see his home studio and sit in on a session for Grip’s new album. But still . . . I’m going to Rhyson’s house. I’ve lost count of the times he’s been to my apartment, but I’ve never been to his place. I drive across town in San’s beat-up Toyota, letting Google maps lead me to Rhyson’s Calabasas address.

If Google maps girl could comment on the changing landscape, she’d probably say something along the lines of, “Holy crap.” The closer I get, the more exclusive the scenery becomes. Everything is gorgeous and gated. When I reach Rhyson’s community, the first thing I notice is the photographers parked alongside the road, poised to jump in their cars and give chase as soon as someone famous rolls through those gates. They probably assume I’m delivering pizza or something.

The small structure housing the security guard intimidates me, though Rhyson promised to leave my name up front. Sure enough, when I show my ID, I’m buzzed right in. The closer I get to Rhyson’s home, the more tangled the knots in my stomach become. I haven’t seen him since he kissed me on the porch over a week ago. Between Times Square, his other commitments in New York, and all the hours I’ve been putting in preparing the girls for their next dance competition, we’ve barely spoken. And when we did, it wasn’t as natural or as easy as I’m used to. I think we’re figuring out what’s next. I’m not sure, and Rhyson feels like he already knows. Will we compromise? That doesn’t seem to be something Rhyson’s especially good at.

We’re at a turning point. I know we can’t keep doing this, but I’m not sure I’m ready for what a relationship with Rhyson means. Am I ready to be chased all over town, followed because of who I’m dating? Splashed all over the media any time we go out? Potentially not taken seriously in auditions, or given a chance only because I’m Rhyson Gray’s girl? Am I ready to be Rhyson’s girl? To trust him with everything? Because when he looks at me, eyes already possessive, I know he’ll settle for nothing less.

A gigantic house looms ahead with its gate standing open. I park in the cobblestone driveway, San’s compact car dwarfed by the beautiful Mediterranean architecture of Rhyson’s home. After a few deep breaths, I get up the nerve to ring the bell.

The short, round woman who answers the door offers me a warm smile.

“Ms. Pearson?” she asks in a soft voice with a heavy accent.

“Yes.” I step in when she opens the door wider. “But please call me Kai.”

“I’m Sarita.” She leads me through the foyer with the stone-slabbed floors and the modern chandelier glinting overhead. “Mr. Gray told me you’d be coming.”

We walk down the long, wide hall with art-splattered walls and down a flight of stairs until we reach an open room with pinball machines, arcade games, a gargantuan plasma television, and a pool table, where Rhyson leans, holding a cue and grinning.

“Welcome to Chez Gray, Pep.” He walks over and grabs my hand.

“Will that be all, Mr. Gray?” Sarita asks.

“Yeah, thanks.” He looks down at me as Sarita walks away, his eyes devouring me. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a week.” My cheeks heat and my belly somersaults under that look.

“I’ve gotten spoiled seeing you all the time.” He sets one hand at my waist and one at my neck, dipping to brush his lips over mine. I enjoy the warm contact for a few seconds before pulling away, my pulse slamming against my wrists.

“You were already spoiled, Rhyson, and it had nothing to do with me,” I say, hoping to thin the air that thickens around us when he touches me. “Where’s Grip? You promised I’d get to see a session.”

“I may have invited you over a little early.” He pushes back into me, sliding an arm around me again. “You think I want to share you with Marlon?”

“Rhyson.” I step back again and take a deep breath. “We need to talk about—”

“You said soon.” His voice, his eyes declare he means to hold me to it.

“I know.” I lean against the pool table. “But it’s a big step, and we need to talk about what this could look like.”