She looks at me as my phone buzzes, though, and I take a quick look.
There’s an email from Luis—no matter what he said earlier, he doesn’t really do time off when he’s on the clock. He’s been working from the car while we’ve been wandering through our own secret conservatory.
The document attached to the email looks enormous.
I can’t resist opening it and quickly scrolling through as we walk, skimming pages and pages of what looks like some very sketchy history regarding Harry Jay’s business dealings.
Fucking checkmate.
“Brady?” Lena stops and looks at me. “What’s so important?”
I blank my expression and swipe away the PDF. “Just thinking we should do a selfie. It’ll be great timing to post it when we’re on our way back, after the snapshots in Bainbridge start making the rounds.”
“A selfie? Oh, you’re serious?”
“It won’t kill you, will it?” I smile, opening my camera app.
There’s no sense in letting Harry goddamned Jay rot my brain and ruin this. Plenty of time for that later. And for charting ways to send him to hell.
“My hair’s a mess. That wind on the ferry did terrible things,” she complains, but when I turn the screen to us, she doesn’t try to hide.
That’s the girl I tell myself I’m not fucking falling for. Bold and determined to push through life.
Just as I’m about to take the photo, my last thread of control snaps.
I lean in.
I kiss her hard, drawing a gasp from her lungs.
One for me, one for the camera—Instagram will love it—and then another for me.
Tongues flowering, all fire, sticky as hell.
I am obsessed.
And I bring her closer, chasing away any question about what was on my phone with my mouth.
Then I forget about her twisted ex, too, because I’m enjoying her that much.
She kisses me back slowly, sensually, her slim arms winding around my neck and her nails digging at my collar.
When I break away, her eyes are amber stars in daylight.
“That was way more than your fans needed,” she whispers.
“Hell yes, it was. No regrets.” I kiss her again before she can pull away. “But they’ll eat it up just the same, I promise. Just don’t tell me I’m the only one to blame.”
Her face heats scarlet. She doesn’t deny it, because she can’t.
The sparkle in her eyes tells me I’m not the only one struck with this madness.
Shit, shit.
She’s falling, hard and fast.
I can feel our little no-strings agreement ripping apart, and it hasn’t been a solidmonth.
How do I convince myself this just make-believe?
