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“I don’t like the thought of him staring at all your posts, probably drooling, knowing the shape of your mouth … imagining God knows what.”

His honesty knocks me sideways.

“You’re jealous of a director? Even though he’s part of our bargain?”

“I’m jealous of anyone who seems obsessed with you. I don’t even like the thought of him thumbing through your Instagram.” His jaw flexes. “Fake or not, you’re here with me, in my town, under my roof.”

The song changes to a slower beat, with a heavy bass.

Gideon looks at the floor and then locks me in a stare. “Dance with me.”

“Is dancing part of our fake engagement show?”

“Come here, pumpkin.” He gently tugs my hand and I let him bring me closer. His other hand finds the small of my back and draws me in until my sweater brushes against his shirt. He smells fantastic as usual. I rest my palm on his chest and feel his heart beating fast as we slowly rock together.

“People are clocking us,” I whisper.

“Good.” His lips touch my temple. “Let them watch a man who can’t keep his hands off his fiancée.”

“You’re such a good actor. Thanks for letting me barge into your life, for helping, and spending all this time with me.”

His hand slides an inch lower on my back. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

“Because of our little pact?”

“Because you were scared and still tried to be brave in that cabin.” His voice is a low rumble as he pulls me closer. “And because I want to show you how real this can feel.”

I let out a shaky laugh, not knowing if he’s laying it on thick because of our agreement, or what.

We turn again. Derick is watching from the bar. So is a woman with a lanyard and a camera bag. Clara would be proud of the optics. I should care too, but right now the only thing I’m thinking about are the circles Gideon’s fingers are making on my back.

“You’re doing a good job of making this feel awfully real,” I say.

Gideon peers down at me with smoldering dark eyes. “You know what would really seal the deal in front of everyone? A kiss.” He traps me in a stare that means business.

I peer over my shoulder and see Derick is still watching us. I don’t know what comes over me, maybe Gideon is too irresistible, maybe I have zero willpower and a propensity to make my life even more complicated, but I reach up on my tiptoes just as he comes down and captures my lips.

The kiss at first is almost careful. Almost. His lips are warm, delicious, and unquestionably addictive. I’m melting. His hand flattens on my back, pulling me in so there is no space left to pretend this is only for the room. A small breathy moan escapes me and he answers it by tipping my chin, deepening the kiss.

I’m in another world. The sounds of the bar fade to nothing. I’m obsessed by the heat of his mouth and the slow, deliberate way he’s claiming my lips like he’s been waiting forever. He tastes like whiskey and something I’m dying for. I slide my hands up the front of his shirt and cling to his collar, keeping him exactly where he is.

When we break apart, it’s only far enough to catch my breath. He rests his forehead against mine.

“Real enough?” he murmurs.

I don’t look back at the bar. I already know they saw. I only nod, because in my mind, I’m still kissing him and I’m not positive my vocal cords will even function. He’s still holding me close, with a strong hand on my spine. And his eyes … let’s just say I can’t look away.

“That,” he says roughly, “is going to be a text on someone’s phone in about four seconds.”

“Good,” I hear myself say, coming back to reality, remembering our deal ends after the contest. “Let them post it. Engaged people kiss.”

His eyes are almost black. “If I take you home right now, what we just did won’t be the last thing we do.”

The warning lands lower than my stomach. I’m already wet, and if we keep holding each other this way, I’m going to lose control. I think of our almost-kiss last night in the loft and the way his arm felt around me all night, all the things he thinks I didn’t notice.

I hold his gaze, as my mind scrambles for an anchor. Winning. The contest. My only way out. The memory of my collapsed dessert is the only thing cold enough to cut through this heat. “The contest,” I manage. “It’s in two days. After that … we’ll see if this worked.”

Somehow, we leave Timber Jack’s without kissing again. Gideon’s hand stays locked in mine as we cross the parking lot, but his thumb is rubbing slow, distracted circles on my knuckles like he’s forgotten he’s performing.