I swallowed. “I’m not...” My voice came out raspy, so I cleared it, irritated. “I left because I didn’t want to make any of this more complicated than it has to be. And you saying all those things right now isn’t helping.”
“You complicate things by merely existing.”
“Oh, please.” Now Ihadto roll my eyes.
“You don’t have any idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” The sincerity in his gaze caught me off guard.
“Are you making fun of me?” I crossed my arms, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. We’d entered serious territory. It was confusing. I’d never seen him so...unraveled. I crossed my arms to keep them from accidentally unbuttoning his pants.
He brushed his face with his hands, shaking his head, looking up at me with a pained expression. “No, you’re just fucking delectable by nature, Nora. Sitting by the fire, writing. Not wearing a bra under those band tees of yours. Having the audacity to smell this fucking good.”
“I smell good?” I smiled, the fluttering in my belly impossible to ignore. Didn’t know if I wanted to.
He bit his lip. “Ink and coffee and rose perfume. It’s strongest on your neck, which looks positively edible when you tilt it.”Not to fall into rom-com territory, but his eyes were positively smoldering.
“This neck?” I tilted my head, unable to hide the smirk. Bad Nora. Worst Nora.
John rose, moving around the bed to meet me. His hand slipped under my jaw, his thumb tilting my face, exposing my neck.
“Just...like...that.” He brushed his thumb along the exposed skin to where my short bob grazed my jaw. Over my pulse point. I didn’t know what to do with my body. I was a puppet—helpless. I was fucked.
Or hoped to be.
NORA.
“So beautiful. I want to sink my teeth into that porcelain skin of yours. Again.”
The memory of the fading love bites along my thighs had me clenching them now.
“John,” I said, sternly this time, pushing his hand away even though it almost physically hurt to do so. But there was still a part of my brain that wasn’t horny, thank fuck, and reminded me that all of this was:
Bad news. A waste of time. Would end in heartbreak.
“We have to stop. You’re engaged.”
He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, staring at me with his incredibly dark eyes. “I told you it’s fake.”
“It’s still a fact.”
His jaw clenched, and he nodded. I thought that was it, but then he took my hand, intertwining our fingers, and pulled me to sit beside him on the bed. There was nothing sexual about the gesture. He sat as far away from me as possible while still holding my hand. The bed dipped as he shifted his weight.
“What are you doing?”
“I think it’s time I told you about Vivian.”
He hung his head low, studying his shoes. “I’m not with Vivian. I never was. She is...with someone else.”
A pause. I could feel there was something else coming. Something bigger.
He twisted his watch with his free hand and finally looked up at me.
“Promise me this stays between us. You and me. No word to Otis, or your mom.”
I nodded. He exhaled. “Vivian wouldn’t have ever gotten the Bond Girl role if the world knew she was...gay.”
Not where I thought this was going.
“She’s been with her makeup artist, Stephanie, for nearly four years now. If anyone—if the press…” He broke off. “If they found out, her career would be over.”
