“Which category does your girlfriend’s child fit into?”
“I understand you’re hurt, but this is not the same thing.” I stand up, done with the conversation. “It doesn’t change anything between us.”
Frustration simmers on the surface, my limbs heavy as the past seeps in to taint the present. A hand catches on my wrist, and I turn in surprise. Phoebe’s stepping into me, trying to get close, but all I can see is Maevyn watching us in the distance.
I back up from my ex, snatching my hand back as I shake my head at Maevyn. The only person whose feelings I care about right now. The expression on her face almost looks wounded, but I see the moment it’s replaced with fire. She stands up taller, storming over to me with determination.
“Mae, it’s—” The excuse dies on my lips when she grabs the lapels of my jacket and yanks me down, smashing her mouth to mine.
I give it one stunned second to sink in before my hands find her hips and pull her into me, aligning my body with hers. The feel of her under my hands is out of this world.
One hand is still fisting my clothes, as if she’s holding me in place, unwilling to let me go, while the other runs up the back of my neck. My arm circles her lower back, hauling her closer as I bite her lower lip.
She chases my mouth, biting me back, and I cup her jaw, my thumb running over the smooth skin of her cheek. All these weeks of dancing around our rampant chemistry. Teasing. Flirting. Blatant want, hidden behind a ruse that’s finally manifested itself into something that feels undeniably real.
Slowly, she pulls away and looks over her shoulder. That’s when I realise Phoebe’s no longer standing there.
“Felt like the kind of situation a real girlfriend might stake her claim,” she says breathlessly.
“I fully support that theory.”
“Really? It wasn’t too hard to fake that enthusiasm?” She bites her lip, full of brazen attitude.I fucking love it.
“It was a little tricky, but I think I managed it,” I say, running my hand down her back to squeeze her arse. “Maybe I need some more practise so it looks more natural next time.”
“Who says you get a next time?”
I look to the side where couples still dance, getting more lively as the music turns playful. “The night’s not over yet. And according to them,” I tip my head to the crowd, “you’re mygirlfriend. I could kiss you all night long if I wanted to, just to prove a point.”
She slowly steps back, eyes alight with challenge. “What point are you looking to prove, Thief?”
My footsteps follow hers like a magnet as she continues to edge closer to the dancefloor. “That you want me to kiss you.”
“Have fun getting me to admit it.” She smiles as she slips into the crowd. Dipping between couples, she dances to the beat, her gaze never losing mine.
My heart beats wildly, burning with the need to make her admit that she wants it as much as I do.
It makes me wonder if I hadn’t seen Phoebe on the street and forced us to fake it, would the last few weeks have still happened? Would everything I feel now be real?
Isn’t it already?
23
I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I know a thing or two about the art of seduction. I know about purposeful, lingering touches, about using my body to hint at desire, but it’s all an act. Part of the job. When I perform, I’m selling a fantasy. It’s not something I’ve ever gotten to use because I actually want something.Someone.
I throw my arms above my head, dipping my hips low as they sway side to side to the music, and I know, this time, this is no act. This is an invitation. One that Westley happily accepts as he follows me through the crowd to the centre of the dancefloor.
The heat of his eyes on me has me turning on the spot, hiding the way his attention has me smiling. His chest pushes into my back, warm and solid, and his hands find my hips, moving with them as they roll with the rhythm.
“Is this you trying to tell me you don’t want me?” Westley says, with a deep, gravelly rasp. His words dance on every nerve ending, making my body fall against his.
My head rests back on his shoulder, and my hands run through his hair until they settle behind his neck.
“Never said I didn’t want to dance with you.”
His hand falls from my hip, sliding down my thigh, then back up again. It crosses over my waist, then drags up my side, and I close my eyes, revelling in the sensual way he’s not only exploring my body, but my patience. My pussy is throbbing, and my breath is stolen when he stops on my ribs, his forearm brushing the underside of my breasts as he hugs me closer to him.
“And everyone here knows it,” he says, dragging his nose up my neck and leaving the barest kiss behind my ear. “I believe the challenge was getting you to kiss me again”—he leaves another kiss on my neck—“but this time, because you want to.”
