Page 47 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

I roll my eyes. “And the glaring ridiculousness of you ever dating me.”

Nathan places a hand on my arm, and we stop. He tucks a wayward lock of hair behind my ear, like some romantic lead in a movie that isn’t real life. A graze of his fingertip over my cheekbone shouldn’t leave a trail of heat, but it does. My shoulders tremble, and I lower my gaze.

“Look at me.” He brackets my jaw with one hand like he’s done many times and tips my head back until our eyes are level. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and if you were mine, I’d never let you go.”

My heart stalls.

Nathan’s hand slides down my arm until his fingers lock with mine. Inside my palm, his thumb draws lazy circles.

“Are you sure he’s worth it?” Nathan asks.

“I . . . I . . .” I glance away and swallow a painful lump. This question scrambles my brain. It would be easy to lie, but when pressed, the truth always seems to find its way to the surface. “You . . . you make me unsure.”

My breath hitching, I watch in disbelief as he lifts my hand until it meets his lips. Tenderly, they press onto the base of my fingers.

The immediate and unexpected connection of his mouth on my body while we’re alone causes lightning to race up my arm and drop like a rock through my center, landing squarely in my vagina. The traitor pulses there, dancing like a stripper until I’m off-balance.

“Let me know when you decide.” He pins me with a devilish gaze, waiting for an invitation.

A few hours ago, I was imagining this in my mind. And now, somehow, it’s real.

All is silent in the taxi to the hotel, but the sexual tension between us is so tight, it plucks like a cord. The vibration fills the space, surrounding us. I came with the intention of breaking up a wedding and stealing the groom, but now I’m considering a diversion—a Nathan diversion.

I think of my mother. She goes through men like a catalog, choosing who will make her happy that day.

I peek at Nathan.

He rolls down the back window, allowing the tropical breeze inside. His hair blows. The glow from passing streetlights highlights the planes of his face. His dark eyes brighten when they glance at me. He takes my hand, somehow completely confident in whatever’s going on between us. He owns every moment, no questions asked.

I’ve been chiding myself for drooling over him, but what if I set aside my fear and do what my heart wants, even for one night?

That music of tension builds into a crescendo as it follows us down the hall to my room.

Our room.

I stop at the door, becoming nervous. I turn to his chest to say something but give up and turn back to open the door. Inside, the light pops on, and I stop in my tracks.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“I had a cot sent up, so I’d have a place to sleep.”

He slips off his sweatshirt. When he does, the T-shirt lifts to reveal his abs.

This shouldn’t leave me so jittery. I’ve seen his body several times, but the mystery of touching him in that way, when it’s not a show, remains.

“It’s a king-size bed. I think we can sleep in it and be good.” I wave at its grand size. The cot looks like it’s made for a toddler.

“Maybe I don’t want to be good.” His pecs are still smeared with paint. Tiny neon-blue globs stick to his chest hair like he’s some kind of artistic masterpiece.

“Bobo will sleep between us.” I scoop up the blow-up doll, looking for some way to get closer to Nathan, but not too close.

A safe close. If there is such a thing.

“That’s not Bobo, that’s me,” Nathan says with a laugh.

“What?” Initially, I’m confused. But when I see the resemblance, my jaw falls slack. The face and the body look eerily familiar to Nathan.

“I don’t believe you,” I say, regardless of the evidence.