Rick clears his throat, glancing nervously between us.“I think...if my boyfriend cheated on me and I showed up with someone who looks like that, it would be pretty good revenge.”
I release Alexander’s jaw and turn back to him.“Fine.Ricky agrees with you.I’m in.”
“My name’s Rick,” the man whispers weakly, but I’m not paying attention.
Alexander’s smile is slow and satisfied, like a predator that’s just cornered its prey.“Then we should seal the deal.”
I get to my feet and hold out my hand for a shake, professional even in my drunken state.He wraps his fingers around mine and yanks.I slip forward, falling into his lap, my hands landing on his chest to catch myself.He's solid and warm, so warm.It seeps through the fabric beneath my palms, steady and grounding.I can feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the firm muscle that doesn't yield under my touch.His cologne wraps around me, woodsy and expensive and entirely too distracting.
Then I blink, and reality snaps back into focus.
Suddenly I'm very aware of how close our faces are.
His hand on my waist is steady, possessive even, and it makes me feel...small.Feminine.Like I’m not the hyper-competent executive assistant who runs a billion-dollar empire, but simply a woman being held by a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
“If we’re going to make this work,” he says, his voice low and intimate in a way I’ve never heard before, “we’ll have to make it realistic.”
My brain is fuzzy from the whiskey, but I manage to ask, “How?”
His thumb moves against my waist, a slow circle that has me biting my lower lip to stop myself from making an embarrassing sound.“I’ll have to touch you in front of your family.Make it believable.”
I choke repeating that last word.“Believable.”
“Yes.”His other hand comes up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture is so casual, so intimate, that my breath catches.“People who are dating touch each other, Olivia.They stand close.They...”He trails off, but his fingers linger at the side of my face, tracing along my jaw.
“We can hold hands,” I say quickly, trying to regain some control over this situation.“That’s...That’s believable.”
He laughs.Actually laughs.It’s a low, rich sound I’ve maybe heard twice in six years, and it does something dangerous to my insides.
“Hold hands,” he repeats, like I’ve just suggested something adorably naive.“That’s not nearly enough.”
“It’s a start.”
“It’s what teenagers do on their first date.”His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, and I have to suppress a shiver.“We’re supposed to be adults in a serious relationship.One serious enough that I’d travel to a small town in North Carolina to meet your family.”
“So what are you suggesting?”My voice comes out breathier than I’d like.
“I’m suggesting,” he says slowly, his fingers moving through the hair at my nape, “that if your ex-boyfriend is going to believe you’ve moved on with someone better, I need to look like someone you can’t keep your hands off of.”
“I—” My brain is struggling to form thoughts.“That’s?—”
“Olivia.”He says my name like a reprimand, but his eyes are dark with something that isn’t annoyance.“When I touch you, you need to look like you want me to.When I kiss you, you need to kiss me back.When I put my arm around you, you need to lean into me like you belong there.”Each word is delivered in that low, commanding tone, and I realize with growing alarm that my body is already responding to it, already swaying closer to him.
“Kiss you,” I echo, my eyes dropping to his mouth before I can stop myself.
“Yes.”His hand tightens on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.“Because holding hands won’t convince anyone.But this...”He leans in, his breath warm against my lips, close enough that I can see the darker ring around his gray irises.“This might.”
“We’re in public,” I manage weakly.
“We’ll be in public in Silverbell Hollow, too.”His thumb traces my lower lip, and my eyes flutter closed for just a second.“Better to practice now, don’t you think?While you’re drunk enough to have an excuse if it goes poorly.”
That snaps my eyes open.“Goes poorly?”
“Chemistry can’t be faked, Olivia.”His voice drops even lower.“Either we have it or we don’t.Either this will work or it won’t.So let me kiss you, and we’ll see.”
I should say no.Should pull away.Should remind him that he’s my boss and this is crossing about seventeen different lines.But somewhere, “Silver Bells” is playing from a speaker, and his hand is sliding back into my hair, and his body is warm and solid against mine, and I’m just drunk enough to think that maybe—maybe—this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.
“Fine,” I breathe.“Practice.”
