Her hips move against mine. My cock strains against my pants. I shouldn’t be feeling this, but the sensation is not unwelcome.
I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her closer, and her breath catches. I feel it more than hear it. The slight hitch. The way her fingers press harder into my shoulders.
I bend down, mouth near her ear. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?” she asks.
“Pretending.”
She looks up, her eyes finding mine. “So are you.”
I grin. “Who says I’m pretending?”
Her mouth opens, yet she doesn’t respond.
The music builds. Lights flash. Someone bumps into her from behind, and Tania stumbles forward. Her palms land flat against my chest, and now our faces are too close.
Her lips part.
My focus narrows to her mouth. The curve of it. The way her tongue brushes her bottom lip.
I lean in. Not thinking and not planning.
The space between us shrinks. Her eyes drop to my mouth. She’s not pulling away.
A firm hand lands on my shoulder. I freeze.
“Callum.” Evan’s voice cuts through the noise. “Let’s head back up.”
I blink and pull back—the spell breaks.
Tania steps out of my grip, her breathing uneven.
Evan’s already reaching for her hand. “Come on. I’m thirsty.”
She takes it, and he leads her off the dance floor. I follow, watching them closely as they navigate the crowd.
Back in the VIP section, Tania slides into the booth. Evan doesn’t sit.
“I’m getting more drinks,” he announces. “Callum, help me carry.”
It’s bullshit. He’s pulling me away from her. I let him.
We move to the private bar in the corner, far enough from the booth that Tania won’t hear us.
“What the fuck was that?” Evan asks, keeping his voice low.
“Dancing.”
His eyes narrow. “That wasn’t dancing.”
“We’re supposed to make this relationship look believable.”
“Believable. Not real.” Evan glances back toward the booth where Tania sits, then returns his focus to me.
I drag a hand through my hair. Sweat clings to my neck, my back, and adrenaline is still spiking through my system. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
