"Unhinged," he supplied.
It was an insane 2 a.m. idea, the kind that should wither in the daylight. Her mouth twitched. "Yeah."
"If we tell the office we're engaged," he said, "they'll expect us to act like it." He stepped closer. "They'll expect us to be unable to keep our hands off each other." His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up.
"We should probably practice," he said. His fingers closed around her wrist. She didn't move. His thumb dragged up the inside of her arm, tracing the vein, and April forgot what she'd been about to say. "For the sake of the prank."
"For the prank," April echoed, though it came out as little more than a breath.
His fingers slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, thumb tracing the curve behind her ear. His other hand settled at the small of her back.
She told herself it was adrenaline. She tried to remember the plan, the logic, the reason for this.
He leaned in. Slowly. So slowly she could have stepped back, could have laughed it off, could have remembered this was supposed to be fake.
Her head tilted back on instinct. Her lips parted.
"Tell me to stop, April."
She felt the sound of her name more than heard it. His breath was warm against her mouth. She didn't tell him to stop.
His mouth found hers. Soft at first, testing. Then his hand flattened against her back and pulled her in and April forgot what forgetting felt like. The kiss turned slow and deep and she tried to remember why this was supposed to be fake.
She made a sound she didn't plan on making—something between a gasp and a sigh that got lost between their mouths.
Her hands were in his hair. When had that happened? And why did he taste like coffee and why was she leaning into himlike he was the only solid thing in the room and why was this supposed to be fake again?
His thumb traced her jaw. She chased it. The cologne she'd noticed earlier was everywhere now, his chest solid against hers, and somewhere in the rapidly shrinking logical part of her brain a voice was saying this is supposed to be practice but the rest of her had stopped listening three seconds into the kiss.
They pulled apart at the same time but didn't step away. Their foreheads nearly touched.
April kept her eyes closed. She wasn't ready to let the room back in. The ghost of his mouth was still heavy on hers, and if she opened her eyes, she'd have to acknowledge the "practice" was over and the "strategy" had resumed.
Killian's thumb brushed her cheek. Back and forth, slow enough to steady her.
They stepped back further, just enough to put air between them.
Killian cleared his throat. "That should be convincing enough."
She adjusted her blazer and glanced at the diamond glinting on her hand. "Ready."
His mouth twitched, close to a smile, as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his hand returning to the small of her back. April fell into step beside him.
Chad came around the corner at a near-jog, tie askew. His eyes landed on April first, relief blooming across his face, then dropped to Killian's hand at her waist. He stopped so fast his expensive loafers squeaked on the marble.
"April!" Chad's voice cracked. "Thank God. I've been looking everywhere for you. You saw this—this hilarious prank I was doing with Brenda, and you just left."
April didn't stop walking. "Chad, leave me alone."
His eyes flicked from Killian's face to the arm on April’s back.
"Uh…" Chad blinked, his brain clearly misfiring. "What's going on? Why are you holding my girlfriend?"
Chad's eyes tracked Killian's hand as it slid from the small of April's back to wrap around her waist, tucking her closer.
"Actually, Chad, I'm glad you're here. Saves us an awkward phone call."
"An awkward what?"
