Rowdy’s gaze runs over my face, down to the snaps at the front of my jacket. My nipples turn to pebbles.
Damn cold studio; I need to talk to Daphne about that.
“So,” I say, my throat so dry my words come out like the sound of corn husks rubbing together. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
He answers so quickly and with such heat in his eyes that I have to step backward and take a breath.
Yeah, he’s definitely giving me the vibe of a man who is down to fuck. There’s no other way to say it.
And he wants me to know that.
I begin to piece together everything that happened to me this morning. Ellen at the Red Hen, Jared at the coffee stand, and Foster and his menacing smile.
“Rowdy, I’m pretty sure everyone in town now thinks we are an item.”
He pauses, his eyes staring strangely at the top snap of my jacket. His jaw ticks.
“I don’t know what to tell you. People come to their own conclusions.”
My heart is beating fast, and I don’t want it to. I try to calm my blood when I reply, “And you’re letting them come to those conclusions, and you’re not denying it.”
He smiles. “I’m just not denying that we’re in a relationship, because I thought it would make more sense. If everybody has a clue about us before they see us together at the gala, that would only make the story more convincing.”
I stare at him for a long time. I can’t decide if he’s got some ulterior motive for letting people believe what they wanna believe, or if he really wants to go this deep into a fabricated backstory to help us seem like a convincing couple to prospective donors.
“You’re just supposed to be my buffer for one night.”
“Yeah, but I’m extremely good at…buffering. It’s fun to go deep with this whole charade.”
His voice lowers. His hooded eyes practically caress my mouth, my throat, the skin just above the top snap of my jacket.
He’s in complete delusion now.
“Rowdy,” I rasp. “You might be losing your grasp on reality. You’re enjoying this too much.”
He blinks slowly, and although he’s a foot in front of me, I can practically feel those long lashes of his brushing my cheek as he does.
“It’s a fake date. I got that.”
“You’re my buffer,” I emphasize.
“Buffing is my favorite.”
Why does that sound sexual?
I exhale sharply, a bit exasperated. “You mean buffering is your favorite.”
He chuckles, “I’m not gonna lie, buffering is what my brain is doing right now. I can’t stop staring because you look gorgeous today.”
With my coffee in one hand, I close the distance between us with the other by grabbing the front of his shirt.
The next thing I know, I surprise myself by pressing my mouth to Rowdy’s lips.
And oh my goodness…they are softer and warmer than I expected.
And he’s not resisting. Not even a little.
