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He leans in, obviously intending to kiss me.

This is for Winona. He’s putting on a show. It’s a bit over-the-top, if you ask me, especially since I just told him we have to end our charade.

All thoughts of my sister, of faking, of the morning show flee within a nanosecond when his lips meet mine, soft, full, warm. He tugs me closer, his arm wrapping around my back, his other hand still cupping my neck. He kisses like I knew he would, confident, passionate, all-in. Marcus is an athlete and he’s showing off all his skills.

I practically collapse into his embrace, losing myself in the feel of his strong arms holding me, in the barely audible groan that comes from the back of his throat, in the way he’s holding me to himself as if he wants to kiss me—as if I’m his.

Images of him flash through my mind. Us on the dance floor at the gala. Him stooping to talk to children. The ticking of his jaw when the hosts pried into his past. And then I remember him in the seatrain—a rock when I was crumbling, strong, but so very gentle.

My hands lift as if led by invisible strings, and I loop them around his neck, running my fingernails through his hair. I know he loves this. He told me not to do it because it’s his Achilles’ heel. And I want to push his limits, but also I want him. I want Marcus. The thought pushes me to give in to our kiss.

An inner sound like the screeching of a car braking too quickly fills my head.

I place my palm on Marcus’s chest and pull back, lightly shaking my head as if I could rattle loose that last thought.

I want Marcus Delaney.

That’s not right.

I can’t want him.

I can’t have him.

And he’s still Marcus.

But who is that, really?

I make the mistake of looking up into his eyes. He’s smiling a wolfish grin at me.

“Okay,” I say. “Well.”

His smile widens.

“Have a great game and day. And life. And yeah. Good. We’re good here.”

He chuckles softly under his breath.

Winona. I lost track of myself. Completely forgot she was here—the whole reason we kissed in the first place.

I glance around. She’s over near a light post, face buried in her phone, obviously giving us privacy to practically maul one another in broad daylight in downtown Nashville.

Ugh. I let my guard down for one minute and next thing you know I’m kissing Marcus Delaney like my next breath depends on him.

“You okay there?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, straightening my spine and jutting my chin just the slightest. “You?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” he says, winking.

His car pulls up.

“That’s me,” he says. “You have a great life and day too, Cass.”

“Shut it,” I tell him.

He chuckles.

“We’ll table that whole This is over conversation,” he says. “If that’s okay with you. I’m not sure the timing is ideal when we just went on a morning show acting like the hottest new couple in the south. Might not be great for you and Porch Light—or my image.”