“You’ve heard of mom strength, right? That has nothing on fake-wife fury.”
Instead of being offended or concerned about his safety, he just laughed and settled on the other side of the bed. Except there was noother sideof this tiny double bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight, which meantIdipped too, shifting just close enough to feel him slip in beside me. And that was the last damn thing I needed—to be anywhere near enough to brush against him, skin on skin.
Except that was exactly what happened.
No matter how either of us moved or settled, one of us was always touching the other. Our knees bumped, my elbow brushed his forearm, his biceps ruffled my hair. And through it all, I swore I could feel every damn one of his breaths against me.
To give myself some space, I scooted over and reached for the light switch, plunging us into darkness. But that only made it worse.
Static buzzed in the minuscule space between us, hot and charged and completely maddening. Because all I could think about—all I could fucking think about—was that damn kiss at the courthouse. The one I wasn’t supposed to enjoy.
The one I hadn’t been able to forget.
“This gonna work, wife?” Lincoln asked, breaking the silence.
“Don’t call me that.” I yanked the covers toward me a little harder than necessary, which only caused him to chuckle.
“Well, in that case…good night, Mrs. Steele.”
I couldhearhis smile in the darkness. “I’m not above choking you just to get you to shut up.”
“Nice. I already told you, I’m into it if you are. But in that case, we should have a safe word. I pick grumpelstiltskin.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned my head, growled into my pillow, and prayed for peace as Lincoln chuckled behind me.
My restraint was desperately close to snapping. But I just had to remind myself that I could get through anything. Even him.
As long as I had some time to get used to my fake marriage to this jackass before the public got their claws into it, I’d survive.
I hoped.
CHAPTER TEN
WILLA
If I hadany self-preservation instincts left, I would’ve faked a tractor emergency and stayed on the damn farm. But I couldn’t do that to Chloe or Emma or the Little Crafters Camp I’d been contracted to provide supplies for.
So instead of bailing, I rolled up to Xander Steele’s house at dusk. I had a crate full of mason jars and wildflowers on the bench seat next to me, fresh sweat clinging to my spine, and truly unfortunate smears of dirt right across my boobsandmy thigh that I hadn’t noticed until it was way too late to do anything about.
But why should I anyway? It wasn’t like Icared…
Except that lie had been a lot easier to tell myself before I’d woken up this morning next to my husband, my black silicone wedding band a stark reminder of what we’d done. Plus, Lincoln had beenright there, looking all sweet and rumpled and soft around the edges. Like a smug fucking lion, peaceful in sleep but dangerous all the same.
My face had been inches from his as he’d slept soundly next to me, his large palm cupping my outer thigh and damn near throwing me straight into cardiac arrest. Not just from the feelof it against my skin, but from the sight of his matching wedding band on display.
With my common sense on sabbatical, I’d allowed myself to study his face, admiring his thick eyelashes and those full lips. And then I’d noticed just how shadowed his jaw had gotten overnight and wondered what that scruff would feel like on my inner thighs.
On. My.Inner.Thighs.
So basically, I was fucked.
Fucked and about to walk intohisniece’sbirthday partyathisbrother’shouse and pretend like everything was fine. Totallyfine. And I definitely hadn’t married the man I took great pleasure in cussing out on the daily but whom I now apparently fantasized about eating me out.
After throwing the truck into park, I shoved open the door, slid out, and grabbed the crate of supplies for the crafting camp. Once I had everything hefted and settled in my arms, I shut the door with my boot and headed toward my doom.
The party was in the winding-down stage, the music just soft background noise as the murmur of adult conversation and the sudden crack of laughter floated over to me. Lincoln’s entire family sat around the balloon- and streamer-filled yard, the tired star of the show halfway comatose. Lincoln’s niece Emma slumped in a chair with a homemade sign that read,Birthday Princess.
