But as we leave the restaurant, her hand still in mine, I can’t bring myself to let go. The lie doesn’t feel like a lie anymore. It feels like getting everything I’ve ever wanted, without realizing I wanted it.
Could this really work?
CHAPTER 6
RILEY
Duke walks toward the pool bar, and I’m not the only one watching him go.
The rooftop infinity pool sparkles under the unexpectedly warm Vegas sun, water shimmering like liquid sapphire against the endless blue sky. The Strip stretches below where we’ve claimed two loungers near the edge, close enough to the infinity ledge that it feels like we’re floating above the city.
I’m trying very hard not to stare at Duke in swim trunks. Trying and failing. The sun catches the planes of his shoulders, the ridges of his stomach, and my mouth goes dry.
He’s my best friend, not really my husband, I remind myself, trying and failing to not feel horny as hell as I watch Duke.
A brunette in a white bikini doesn’t hide how she’s watching Duke. She’s another one of the impossibly pretty and perfect women I’ve seen in Vegas. There’s no way I can compete with women like that, and it’s uncomfortable to even see them, and it stirs up ugly feelings when I see them looking at Duke.
I brace for the old wound to open if Duke looks at her, even if he doesn’t talk to her. The ache is familiar. Of course. Why would he want me when women like that exist?He was just being nice on Valentine’s Day, before the concert.
I adjust my swimsuit and shift in my seat to try and minimize my lumpy tummy.
But Duke walks past her with barely a glance and keeps moving. He gets our drinks, laughs at something the bartender says, and walks straight back to me. His eyes find mine as he walks back to me, and my heart nearly explodes at the way he smiles at me.
He settles onto his lounger and hands me a frozen something-or-other with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it.
“Hangover finally gone?” He takes a sip of his own drink, squinting against the sun.
“Mostly.” I watch the condensation drip down my glass, acutely aware of our bodies touching. “Still can’t believe we actually—”
“Yeah.” His thumb finds my hand. Traces absently over the ring on my finger like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve been doing this forever.
My breath catches.
The brunette is still watching. She adjusts her bikini top in a way that’s clearly meant to draw attention.
Duke doesn’t notice. He’s looking at me.
Possessiveness surges through me in a way I’ve never felt before.
Back off, bitch. He’s mine.
The thought shocks me. We’re not really married. This is fake. He’s myfriend.
But the ring is warm on my finger, and Duke is warm against my side. Before I can think better of it, I reach over and lace my fingers through his. Rest my left hand on his chest, right over his heart, ring prominently displayed. His heartbeat thuds against my palm—steady, strong, accelerating slightly at my touch. He doesn’t flinch at all.
The brunette’s eyes flick to the gold band. Her smile falters. She turns away, reaching for her phone with a little too much determination.
That’s right.
Duke glances down at our joined hands, then up at my face. His fingers tighten around mine, and he squeezes gently, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I just staked a claim on a man I’m not actually with. On my best friend. On a fake marriage.
What the actual hell is wrong with me?
But the wordminekeeps echoing in my head.
And I don’t hate it.
