Page 72 of Bound Lies

It’s good to see her spirits have lifted after last night.

Riley might think I don’t pay her much attention, but I could tell the second we got back to the hotel last night that she started overthinking everything. It was written all over her face. Hence a day of sightseeing to keep her mind off of things.

After making a quick stop for iced coffee and overpriced souvenirs for her friend Lucy, we continue on down the Strip.

Riley is full of commentary and questions and an occasional smart-ass remark that gets under my skin in a way I both love and hate.

It’s disarming, the way she makes me laugh. Even more disarming is the way her hand brushes mine sometimes when we’re walking, how our shoulders bump just enough to remind me she’s close.

Every touch, no matter how casual, sends heat right through me, but no matter how badly I want to slip my fingers through hers, I hold back.

She pulled away after the first kiss. But then after the one we shared at the altar last night, from the dazed look on her face, it felt like she forgot her own name.

It was incredible, and I wanted nothing more than to take it further, but I don’t want to push her. It’s clear she’s in her head about a lot of things, and so, I’ll keep the boundary in place for as long as she wants to.

But when she’s ready to cross that line, I’ll be right here, waiting for her.

As we head back toward the hotel, I catch a glimpse of her profile in the reflection of a shop window. With her auburn hair in a messy bun, sunglasses perched on her head, and a slight flush to her cheeks from walking in the Vegas heat, the thought hits me like a punch to the gut.

This fake marriage is starting to feel a lot less fake.

The thought should scare the shit out of me. Instead, it just makes me want to reach for her hand again.

Riley gets in a few hours of studying before dinner, and I take the opportunity to catch up on some work.

I brought my laptop with me, so I set myself up in the living area of the suite to keep out of Riley’s way. As much fun as I had studying with her the other night, she does need to focus, and so do I.

By the time eight o’clock rolls around, we head out to a trendy little French bistro. It’s quieter than the Italian place we went to last night and a hell of a lot more intimate.

It’s dimly lit by a single candle on each table, and there’s a small jazz trio playing in the far corner.

Riley looks divine tonight, with her hair down and her lips painted a bright red that are just begging for my attention. She’s wearing a silky little dress that slides off one shoulder every time she shifts, and I can’t stop staring at the flash of skin.

She catches me looking more than once and grins like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Of course, she does.

We order duck confit and steak frites, but I barely taste it. All I can think about is how small the table is and how every time I shift my legs, my knees brush up against hers, sending a jolt of desire down my spine straight to my cock.

She’s too close, and the tension is unbearable.

She wants me. I know she does. So, why the hell won’t she just admit it so I can finally tear off her clothes and devour her?

“Kieran?”

I blink, and Riley smirks before licking a bit of crème brûlée off her spoon in a way that has me adjusting myself beneath the table.

Christ, this is torture.

My hand tightens around my wine glass, and I’m a second away from shattering the damn thing when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

“Sorry,” I mutter as I pull it out of my pocket. “Shit, it’s Ronan.”

“It’s okay, you can answer,” Riley says before taking another seductive bite of her dessert.

I quickly answer the phone in the hopes that the sound of my brother’s voice will be enough to kill my growing erection.

“Is everything okay on your end?” Ronan immediately asks.