“Especially if they’re headed to a remote cabin where they could get snowed in,” I agree.
We watch in silence for a bit as the hero stomps his way through the tiny regional airport, insulting the heroine’s hometown.
“I just don’t understand why they can’t find handsomer men to cast in these,” Gabe says, and I laugh in delight at how closely his thoughts mimic mine.
“Right?” I ask. “In all of Hollywood, there’s not a better-looking guy to read this dialogue?”
He leans forward to peer at the TV, making a show of studying the character grumpily checking into the B&B after his flight was canceled due to snow. “I can’t believe they think women want weak-chinned men with obvious hairpieces.”
My mom gasps. “That’s not a hairpiece. Is it?” She pauses the film on a close-up shot of the hero’s thick mane of sandy-blond hair.
“See there?” Gabe stands and walks to the TV, pointing at the hero’s hairline. “It’s too straight across his forehead.”
She sets aside her sewing and stands to joins him at the TV, her nose almost brushing the glass as she leans close. “Well, I’ll be. I think you’re right!”
“I’m always right.” He ambles back to the couch but settles himself on the floor in front of me. “Back rub, babe?” He tilts his head back to look up at me, a boyish smile on his face, and I can’t help but grin back.
“Sure, you moocher.” I set my mug down and rest my hands on his shoulders, digging my thumbs into his muscles.
Gabe Dickenson hasso many muscles.
He hums gratefully as I work, and I move from his neck down to his shoulders, marveling in the strength I’m encountering with every sweep of my hands. Landscaping must be a hell of a workout. When I reach his back, he twists away. “Hang on.” Then my heart stutters to a halt when he reaches behind him to grab the back of his long-sleeved T-shirt, pulling it over his head.
“Oh, ummm…” I can’t seem to find any words, not with Gabe’s bare back on display in front of me. Between the TV, the fireplace, and the Christmas tree lights, there’s enough illumination to see the many dips and swells of his muscles, along with the long curve of his spine.
I tentatively rest my hands on his skin, and he makes a noise deep in his throat that has my mother glancing over at us.
“Oh! Oh.” She stands abruptly. “I’ll just… run to the bathroom.”
She pauses the film and darts out of the room, leaving us alone with my sleeping father.
I lean forward to whisper, “This is the weirdest family movie night of my life.”
“Honestly, same.” He twists around, bringing his lips close to my ear. “How would your mom feel about walking back in here to find us making out?”
His breath tickles my cheek, and I shiver. Every time we’ve touched today, my body’s reacted.
“She’d be freaked,” I whisper back. Hell,I’dbe freaked. Why hadn’t Faith sent me a less attractive fake boyfriend?
“Then I guess we’d better do it.” He glides onto the couch in one sinuous movement, taking my hand in his. And just like that, I’m so damn grateful Faith sent me such an attractive fake boyfriend.
“I guess so,” I say as my soul leaves my body to hover near the ceiling where it won’t miss a second of whatever’s about to happen to the rest of me. “This is playing it by ear, right?”
With no idea what to expect, I close my eyes and lift my face in his direction, waiting for the press of his lips. Instead, I hear an amused chuckle.
“You’re so damn cute.” He slides a hand behind my head, and when he grips my neck, my eyes pop open. He’s Good Gabe again, his expression gentle. But whenhis mouth descends on mine, there’s nothing gentle about his kiss. He’s insistent, sweeping his tongue along the seam of my lips and nibbling on the corner of my mouth until I open for him. His hand moves to my hair and tightens, while his other hand slides along my shoulder to rest at the base of my throat, his thumb finding the hollow where my pulse flutters wildly.
The fireplace isn’t the only thing blazing once his tongue meets mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back, not sure if this is for my family’s sake or for my own. I’m just working up the courage to move onto his lap when my mom’s voice drifts from the kitchen.
“Oh, look! It’s snowing!”
CHAPTERNINE
Gabe
Am I worked up? Absolutely. Do I want to hear Darby’s father snorting himself awake while I’m trying to deal with a hard-on? Absolutely not.
“Whazzat?” Clint says groggily as Darby scrambles upright, leaving me cold and shirtless in her family’s living room.
