My hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned low in his throat. The sound reverberated through me, igniting something fierce and hungry that I didn’t recognize. I wanted to keep kissing him. Taste him and explore the hard panes of his body.
Derek’s hand slid into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss, and I melted against him. He tasted of coffee and mint and very Derek-like. His body was solid and warm pressed against mine, and I could feel the rapid hammering of his heart matching my own.
But this was practice. Just practice.
So why does it feel like coming home? So familiar and perfect?
We broke apart gaspin. Derek’s eyes were dark, his lips swollen, and there was a flush across his cheekbones that made him look even more handsome.
Then, he suddenly pulled away, turning his back to me. His shoulders were tense, his breathing still uneven.
“Derek?” I asked, confused by the distance he created between us.
“That was... good,” he said, his voice strained. “Superb. Fantastic. Very convincing.”
Convincing?
Because we were faking it. This is all for show. The kiss that had felt like it rearranged my heart was just practice for him.
Reality crashed over me like cold water. Of course, it didn’t mean anything to him. I was an idiot for reading more into it.
“Yeah,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “It was very convincing. Especially the thing you did with your tongue?—”
“I should... I need to make a phone call,” he said, moving toward his office, still not looking at me. “The gala starts at seven. We should leave by six-thirty.”
“Okay.”
What the hell was that?
13
THE RING
DEREK
I stood in my living room, phone in hand and scrolling through the list of questions we might face tonight.
“When did you two start dating?” I muttered to myself, practicing the answer we agreed on. “We reconnected when Paige came to me about the divorce. Realized we had been denying our feelings for years.”
It sounded plausible. Almost true, which was the most dangerous part.
The best lies were always wrapped in truth.
I tugged at my bow tie, checking my reflection in the window. The tuxedo fit perfectly with a black jacket and crisp white shirt. I looked the part of a successful attorney attending a charity gala with his stunning girlfriend.
Fake girlfriend, I reminded myself. It’s all fake.
So why did that kiss earlier feel so devastatingly real?
I had to turn away from her, put distance between us before she noticed exactly how affected I was. How fucking hard I had gotten just from one kiss. The feel of her mouth on mine, the small sound she had made when I deepened the kiss, the way she fisted my shirt like she needed to hold on to me?—
I cleared my throat, fighting the heat pooling low in my gut, and looked back at my phone. “Next question, how serious are things between you?”
Pretty fucking serious.
The guest room door opened behind me, and I turned. “Hey, we should probably go over?—”
The words died on my tongue.
