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“We’re finishing our date at Margaret’s office?” I ask. “I’m not crazy about ending every meal with your publicist.”
Gavin doesn’t smile. His lips remain pressed together in a tense frown.
Oh no. It’s happening.
“What did Alexandra do?” I whisper.
“Margaret wouldn’t provide details over the phone.”
I nod and slide out of the booth. Then I head for the shoes, leaving Gavin to pay the bill and gather our doggie bags. I hadn’t expected the next threat so soon. But it’s probably better this way.
Once Gavin retrieves his shoes, we head for the door. He’s carrying three large to-go bags in one hand. His free arm wraps around me, drawing me close against his side as we walk through the door. The unexpected contact sends mixed signals to my nervous system.
In another world, at another time, I would surrender to the feel of his muscular body. I would let my imagination paint a picture of Gavin in bed with his arms stretched overhead and his abs on full display …
Gavin transformed from a thin, nervous teen into a freaking model of male perfection when we were twenty. I’ve had fifteen years of practice admiring Gavin from afar while treasuring his friendship.
But you’re not far from him now …
He draws us to a stop on the sidewalk. I scan the street for his driver, knowing the black town car must be nearby.
“Kayla?”
I turn my head and lift my chin, meeting his gaze. Determination stares back at me. “Please,” he murmurs. “I need to kiss you.”
But he doesn’t lower his lips to mine. Instead, those beautiful, oh-so-familiar dark eyes scan my face as if waiting for my approval.
“Yes,” I say, momentarily surprised by how easily the answer slips out.
He presses his mouth to mine. It’s a soft touch. Lips against lips. Not the deep, sensual, barrier-breaking experience I anticipated for a heartbeat after he asked for a kiss.
He turns his mouth away and begins walking. He’s still holding me close to his side, so I follow, practically tripping over my shoes to keep up.
That’s it?
And the pesky voice in my head is right. He gave me more of a kiss last Valentine’s Day when he ditched his girlfriend-of-the-hour to take me to dinner.
We reach the car and he releases his hold on me. Using his free hand, he opens the rear passenger side door. I slide across the cream leather.
“Sorry, Kayla,” he murmurs, once he’s buckled up beside me in the backseat. The take-out bags rest at our feet, filling the car with tantalizing smells. “But that was necessary.”
The car pulls away from the curb, and I’m still trying to makes sense of his apology.
“A necessary kiss,” I say.
The realization hits me as the driver brakes for a red light. The seatbelt presses tight against my chest as if forcing me to hold tight to the truth.
Gavin Black is a mediocre kisser.
I let out a laugh as the light changes and the car lurches forward. The seatbelt relaxes against my chest, and I realize I can do this. I can wake up to the sight of my best friend’s abs and leave dinner dates with a kiss. A necessary kiss. I can follow through on this ruse and still hold tight to my heart and my independence. I’m not going to fall for Gavin.
Oh, I love him. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember. That won’t change. When our fake engagement ends, we’ll still be best friends. I reach over and take his hand, intertwining my fingers with his.
“Margaret said a reporter might be waiting outside the restaurant to get a picture,” he explains. “I didn’t see one, but—”
“It’s okay, Gavin.” I give his hand a squeeze. “It’s all going to be okay.”
He nods and stares straight ahead. “We’ll find out when we get to Margaret’s fortress.”
