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“Who says you didn’t earn it?”
He tugged the blankets up over his body. “Being my father’s son isn’t a fucking job qualification, Kayla. And I have other debts to pay. Now drop it.”
“Maybe he’s offering the position to you because he feels you’re the right man for it. Maybe he admires your work and dedication. Did you ever think of that?”
He glared at her and rolled over, giving her his back. “My father is not your father. Now go the fuck to sleep, sweetheart.”
She punched her pillow, fidgeting to get comfortable. “Sleep tight and secure in your ignorance, darling.”
He stiffened even more but didn’t rise to the bait. When she realized he wasn’t going to fight back, she rolled over and glared at the dark room. She’d been right to avoid love and commitment like the plague.
Even fake relationships sucked ass.
…
The next morning, Kayla lay in the bed, staring at the sunlight forming shapes and shadows on the hotel ceiling. Last night had been…weird. The fight had been way too intense and…well, real.
Since when did fake relationships start having real fights?
Maybe they were getting too caught up in the charade and just needed to laugh it off this morning. Do a reset or something. She rolled over and rested her hands under her cheek, watching him as he slept. He looked so peaceful.
She knew he wasn’t.
He was haunted by his memories, and there was nothing she or anyone could do to help him. He had to let go of those nightmares all by himself. And he had to forgive himself. She only wished she could make it easier. They’d come together because he’d been trying to save her.
But he needed saving, too.
His lids fluttered open, and his bright green gaze met hers. His light brown hair was sloppy and standing up on ends, and he had a major five o’clock shadow going on. His tattoos stood out against the white sheets on the bed. He was even super-hot first thing in the morning.
Not. Fair.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling at him. “So, that fight was…interesting, huh?”
His lips twitched. “To say the least.”
“Why were we arguing when this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing is fake, anyway?”
“I have no clue.” He curled his arm around her waist and rolled her underneath him, his eyes back to being warm and carefree. Thank God. “But you know the best part about fake fighting?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “What would that be?”
“The real make-up sex you have afterwards.” He grabbed her leg and bent it at the knee, his cock brushing against her with deadly precision. “You ready to make up, sweetheart?”
“God, yes.”
She tugged him down and kissed him, her tongue finding his. His hands roamed everywhere, exploring her body as if he was memorizing every single curve. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped his muscled back. Man, she loved how hard he felt.
How invincible he seemed.
She had a feeling he liked showing that image to the world…even if it wasn’t entirely accurate.
He nibbled his way down her neck, her chest, and then clamped on to her nipple. He sucked with the perfect amount of pressure, as he ran his fingers down her stomach and over her hip.
Her insides quivered. Begged for more of it—lots more. And he gave it to her. He rolled her over onto her stomach, then slid lower, his hard body moving down hers with teasing slowness. She curled her fingers into the mattress and held her breath. He kissed down her spine, and then over the curve of her butt.
And then, oh God, then he slipped between her legs and lifted her hips so he could go down on her from behind. She cried out and buried her face in the pillow, loving the way he made her feel. It was such a vulnerable position, but with Cooper?
There were no words.
