As we make our way into the castle, my stomach dips when I catch sight of my boss and his wife ahead of us in the queue. I swallow a groan. Damnit. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see him for at least another week, maybe more, maybe never. Never would be good.
The invisible bands around my chest ratchet tighter, making it hard to breathe.
In an instant, my glamorous night of wining and dining my fake girlfriend becomes about trying to avoid making eye contact with the man who wants me to scandalize the woman on my arm.
Nothing’s ever simple and straightforward, is it?
CHAPTER 35
Rhiannon
From our weekly quizzes, I know Robert is grand with either Jameson or Bushmills from the offering behind the bar. He offered to get drinks, but I needed to walk off some of this nervous energy before the rest of my family arrives. So, he’s sitting like Billy No Mates at our table, watching my every movement.
There’s been a heat behind his stare since he picked me up, the same kind of heat I saw the day I strode into the bathroom at The Rusty Anchor, and he bent me over the sink. It’s electrifying, alluring, and there’s a piece of me that wants to reach my fingers to his flame and get fucking scorched to ash.
For the most part, we’ve stuck to the rules. Aside from an accidental sleepover, we don’t message each other late at night, and we don’t talk about our exes. He doesn’t pry about rugby, my parents, or my ex, and I don’t press him about why he wrote his article, his accident that resulted in his amputation, or his time in the Middle East.
Some rules are easier to follow than others. The no flirting one is getting kind of hard, especially when he looks goodenough to eat, and he’s looking at me like I’m his favorite food and he hasn’t had it in years.
My return to the table is slow, partly because I have two full drinks, and partly because I’m balanced on high heels. Why didn’t I stick it to the patriarchy and put some trainers on? I’ll never learn.
Robert sees my stop-start self and jumps out of his seat to intercept and help me with the drinks. “Not that you can’t do it yourself.” He grins. “I just don’t want that beautiful dress getting covered in my whiskey.” His hand brushes mine as he takes a glass off me and a delicious shiver slithers through my limbs.
We sit, and there’s an electrically charged awkwardness hanging between us as we sip our drinks.
“Good choice.” He tips his glass to me. “You pay attention.”
I give him a thin smile. I can’t hear anything over the roar of my nipples pressing against my dress. I feel like I’ve been reduced to my basic instincts. Hot man, in a tux. And… oh shit. Shit. No. He’s taking off his suit jacket.
Please don’t roll up your shirtsleeves. Please don’t roll up your—I’m done for. He’s turned up his cuffs, flashing his forearms like a total slutty slut. Fuck, they’re such nice forearms.
“Rhiannon?”
I slowly drag my stare from his toned muscles to his face. “Mm?”
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to make a scene.”
My lips quirk. The feeling’s mutual, mate. “It feels weird.” When in doubt, go with rule number twelve, always being honest.
He nods, confirming my suspicion. “It does.” His eyes wander around the room before he knocks his knee againstmine. I swallow a groan, because who the hell gets turned on by knocking knees with another human being?
“Is it because we’re in a fishbowl surrounded by people who either want a story from us or who want to kill me?”
The fluttering in my chest tells me it’s nothing to do with anyone else in the room other than the man sitting in front of me. But I’m not sure I’m brave enough to be that honest. He’s nothing like my ex. He’s confident in an unassuming way, he acts like he has nothing to prove to the world, like nothing bothers him.
George spends his life at an eleven on the arrogance scale, always eager to flex his superiority over other people. I didn’t really realize it until I met Robert and wasn’t slapped in the face by his every achievement. Not everything is a competition with Robert. I don’t feel that same tightness in my chest every time I open my mouth to say something; I’m not concerned that he’s going to dismiss it, downplay it, or try to one-up it.
Who knew there were people out there who didn’t try to best each other?
It seems the longer I stayed with George, the less aware of our incompatibility I became. I found a groove, a routine, and accepted the status quo without question.
Maybe if I’d paid more attention to my relationship, I’d have left him long ago, and in a much more private manner.
I clear my throat. “Maybe.”
He studies my face, and even though he’s not touching me, my body hums from the proximity, from how he’salmosttouching me. Our legs are an inch apart, our elbows a similar distance, and when he looks at me,reallylooks at me, it’s like I can feel his stare…everywhere. “Do you have any other ideas about what could be making this weird?”
Is he fishing? Or simply trying to analyze the situation? I can’t tell. Maybe a little of both. He leans forward and brushes his knuckles across my cheek, and like every romance movieheroine ever scripted, I suck in a sharp breath that makes him smile.
