“Your tie’s crooked,” I say, even though it isn’t.
I reach up and adjust the knot. My fingers brush the warm skin of his throat, and he freezes. When I glance up, his eyes are fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my core fill with heat.
We stand there for a moment that stretches into forever. My hands on his tie. His eyes on my mouth. The air between us charged with electricity.
“We should go,” he says quietly. He doesn’t move.
“We should,” I agree. I don’t move either.
Finally, he offers his arm. I take it, sliding my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his jacket. He escorts me to the sleek black town car waiting at the curb.
Inside the car, the leather seats are cool against my bare shoulders. Archie settles beside me, and the driver pulls smoothly away from the curb.
“Okay.” Archie shifts to face me, all business now. “We need to get our story straight. How long have we been dating?”
“A few weeks. New enough that we’re still in the honeymoon phase, which explains why we’re disgustingly into each other.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are we disgustingly into each other?”
“We should be, if we want to sell this.” I hold his gaze, willing my voice to stay steady. “Can you manage that?”
“I think I can handle it.”
The intensity of his gaze catches me off guard, and my stomach fills with butterflies.What did I get myself into?
“Favorite movie?” he asks.
“Die Hard.”
He stares at me. “Seriously?”
“What? It’s a classic. Action, romance, Alan Rickman being perfect—what’s not to love?”
“It’s my favorite movie.”
Now I’m the one staring. “You’re kidding.”
“I’ve seen it probably thirty times.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I watch it every Christmas.”
“It is a Christmas movie,” I say firmly. “I will fight anyone who says otherwise.”
“Same.”
We grin at each other like idiots.
“Okay, what else?” I lean back against the seat. “Musical preferences?”
“I like country music.”
I wrinkle my nose before I can stop myself. “Country?”
“Some country. The older stuff. Johnny Cash. Patsy Cline. Hank Williams.”
“I can tolerate Johnny Cash.”
“High praise.” He’s definitely smiling now. “What about you?”
“Eighties pop. The cheesier the better.”
