Page 52 of His Fake Fiancé

“Thanks for the dance,” she said, pulling out of his grip. The opening bars of Stay by Sugarland started.

“Not so fast,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back against him. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. We need to dance for at least one full song.” He held her hand in his, settled the other one on the small of her back.

Being tucked against him felt so right. He smelled incredible, all subtle, spicy cologne and Jake Callahan. His hand on her back felt hot, almost heavy. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest, swayed with him to the music.

The singer was good, her voice clear and bright, with just the perfect touch of twang. A perfect accompaniment to the acoustic guitar.

Jake pulled her tighter against him, the heat from his body soaking into her. To distract herself, she focused on the words of the song. It wasn’t one she knew well, had only heard in passing a couple of times.

It was sad, full of angst and sorrow. A woman torn apart when the man she loves goes back to his other lover.

I’m so tired of being lonely. Don’t I give you what you need?

The words wrapped themselves around Claire, each of them sharp and barbed. They dug deep, tearing through flesh. Blood oozed from the wounds, each pump of her heart sending more and more pain spiraling through her.

Her throat thickened, her chest tightened. The lyrics drifted through her, sinking into her soul, making it ache. She understood that kind of pain, that kind of heartbreak. What it felt like to be the one standing on the outside, praying that someone—that Jake—would actually see what she was feeling. Would actually see her.

Unbidden, a tear slipped down her cheek. Followed by another one. And then another, until she couldn’t stop them.

She must have given herself away, because he slowed the dance, pulled back a little.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” The concern in his voice made her breath hitch, the sound coming out too close to a sob.

She looked up at him and shook her head. He was staring down at her, his gaze zeroed in on hers. The blue of his eyes was dark and smoky in the dim light of the bar. He pressed on her lower back, moving his hand in a small circle. She guessed he was hoping it was soothing, but it sent a cascade of goosebump down her spine. And just made her cry harder.

Jake maneuvered them off the dance floor, but it was all too much. She tore herself out of his grip and just ran. Pushed her way through the crowd, out the door and into the cold parking lot.

Jake watched Claire tear out of the pub like she had a bull on her ass, completely confused about what just happened. And also completely confused by the way his chest was aching like a motherfucker.

“What did you do, asshole?”

KC barreled up into his space, fury and fear written in every tense line of her five-foot frame. Fire leaped in her dark eyes, and if he hadn’t been used to her and her infamous temper, he might have burst into flames. Regardless, he still got singed.

He shrugged and rubbed at the spot that hurt the most, the spot right over his heart. “I don’t know.”

KC made a disgusted noise, and took a step, like she was going to chase after Claire. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

“No,” he said, scooting by her. “I’ve got this.”

He was sure KC wanted to argue—it was something she reveled in, and she was good at it—but he didn’t give her the chance. This wasn’t about her. This was about him and Claire. He hurried for the door, weaving around the other customers, silently cursing how busy the place was. A couple of people tried to snag his attention, tried to get him to stop and talk, but he shook them off.

Something about this felt important, like if he didn’t do this, go after Claire, everything was going to change. And not for the good.

He burst through the door, the cold air prickling his cheeks and making him shiver. She could be anywhere. He scanned the dark parking lot. She wasn’t here. Where the hell could she have gone?

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Nothing. No texts or calls. He scanned the gravel lot again. There. She was getting into her jeep.

He ran toward her. “Claire. Claire!”

He knew she heard him—it would be impossible not to—but she didn’t stop or turn around. She climbed into the jeep and shut the door. The jeep burst to life just as he reached the passenger side. She kept her gaze straight ahead and pulled out of the space, leaving him standing there like an asshole.

He watched her taillights as she turned onto the highway. He should let her go. She was clearly upset about something, and if the past was any indication, he’d more than likely make it worse. He was terrible at this shit.

But the weird, sinking feeling in his gut told him not going after her was a mistake.

He sprinted for his truck, not caring that he didn’t have his coat, or what a pain in the ass it was going to be to come back here sometime tomorrow and get it. She wasn’t that far ahead of him. He should be able to catch up with her quickly. He yanked out his keys, cursing that he had to take the time to unlock the door. Why couldn’t people be honest and not steal shit?

He turned on the truck and gunned it out of the lot. Urgency fizzed through his veins, pressing his foot harder on the gas pedal. He just needed to catch up to her, to get her in his sights, and then he could relax.