I glared at him. But apparently, in Holden’s limited experience with rejection, glaring was an invitation because just then he growled—like a real growl—and lunged for me.
I screamed and jumped onto the desk, sending my pen cup scattering. I swung the book in his direction, but I was laughing now. “Seriously, Hot Lips. Get. Back.” Swing, swing.
His jaw pulsed as he craned his neck up at me. “Unbelievable.”
I held the book as a shield. “I’munbelievable? Excuse me for not wanting to be another one of your groupies.”
Irritation flashed across his face, and his jaw juttedforward. And then he lunged again, quicker this time. In less than a second, his arms were locked around my knees, and I was hanging upside down, butt to the ceiling, tossed over his shoulder.
I whacked his backside with the book. “Put me down!” I yelled like a helpless little girl. But he already was. My feet hit the floor with a thunk and his arm was back around my waist like we hadn’t just played a ridiculous game of cat and mouse at all.
“Hand over the weapon,” he ordered, and with his free hand, he ripped the book from my grasp. Then he tossed it onto the floor and kicked it away with his foot like it was a gun.
I huffed. “I guess you’ve never been dumped before so you don’t know how this works. But let me tell you, this is the wrong response. Obviously, your massive ego is unable to comprehend the concept. So I’m going to make this perfectly clear.” I gripped his shoulders. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend anymore. Fake relationship over. The end. So stop wielding your cocky masculinity all over the place and leave me be.”
All the joking left his face. It was finished. He’d walk away and that would be that. The thought left me sick. But my heart couldn’t keep this up.
His head tilted, eyes serious. “What if I don’t want to leave you be?”
“T-too bad,” It came out embarrassingly breathy. “I just dumped your fake butt, so…”
But if that was true, I wouldn't have my hands hooked around the back of his neck. And I wouldn’t be letting him pull my hips closer to his. Or staring at his perfectly kissable lips. I was so pathetic. And weak. Pathetically weak.
“I’m glad you dumped me as your fake boyfriend.” His voice was scratchy like sandpaper. “That guy needed to take ahike so your real boyfriend can take over.” His nose brushed against the tip of mine. “That’s me, in case you didn’t know.”
I stayed there, noses touching, breathing in his aftershave and cinnamon-scented breath.“You don’t do real, Holden. You and I both know that.”
“Yeah, well…I’d like to try. With you.”
Was he serious? I leaned back to study him.
His eyes were hooded, so soft and vulnerable. “Give me a chance?Please?” He ran his fingertips over my cheekbones. “Beautiful Christy.”
His gaze was so intense that I couldn’t hold it. I had to look away. But then I whispered, “Please don’t do this if you don’t mean it. I don’t have another heartbreak in me.”
He tipped my chin up, forcing my gaze to meet his. “I’m fairly confident the only heart that might get broken here is mine.” His voice was small, like it had taken everything he could muster to admit that.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said, almost breathless, and a little terrified.
His forehead rested against mine for two heartbeats as we breathed it out, lips hovering. Just when I thought he was going to put me out of my misery, he whispered, “It’s a good thing you didn’t marry my brother. I think it would’ve been a real problem for me.”
I whimpered, the suspense about to crack me in two. I gripped his shirt in my fists, waiting, willing it to happen.
His chest rose one last time like he was taking a deep breath before jumping into the deep end. And then his lips landed against mine with so much force that it stole my air. It was needy and urgent. Even more than the gym kiss. As if he was desperate for me and maybe he’d been dreaming of this moment for weeks. I knew I had.
My fingers threaded through the back of his hair. Our tongues found each other and he let out a moan. It was socute. I slid my hands under the hem of his shirt and traced his lower spine. Another moan and then he shuddered. With a jerk, his arms curled around my waist and suddenly my feet were off the ground. Before I knew what was happening, he dropped me onto the edge of the desk, and pushed my legs apart, stepping between.
His lips were moving faster, harder as his hands slid up my thighs, over my hips, and onto my waist. Then his mouth pressed kisses down, down, down until he reached the base of my throat. He slid the neck of my shirt over to peck more kisses onto my collarbone. I shivered in delight, my entire body covered in goosebumps. His thumb brushed down the other side of my neck. When his mouth met mine again,Imoaned. He smiled against my lips and came back for more.
Every nerve ending tingled, the heat almost more than I could take. My fingers curled around the hem of his shirt, peeling it up and over his head. He laughed as I whipped it across the room where it hit the wall and fell to the floor. Mouths never coming up for air, my fingertips ran over his chest and down his six-pack—no, that was an eight-pack—feeling every dip and curve of his muscles. This was too much, too intense. Why did this man make me lose control of all rational thought?
I dove back in, lips firm against his mouth, roving, memorizing him. I wrapped my legs around his waist in a vice grip, and kissed him with more ardor, verging on frantic.
“Chris.” He pulled away, chest heaving.
“Hmm,” I murmured but pulled his mouth back to mine.
