Euan picks up the hotel’s landline, his voice a low rumble as he speaks to the employee. His gaze shoots to me, contemplative, and then he says, “Yes, I’d like to extend my stay.”
“Oh shit, is it check out time?” I whisper as I look at the clock. Fifteen minutes past, by the looks of it.
Euan finishes his conversation with the front desk and hangs up. “It’s alright,” he says, correctly interrupting my guilt. “Switching hotels would be too much of a hassle anyway.”
My brow furrows. “Switching hotels …” I repeat. Then I remember what he told me last night, sometime between shots: he’s in town visiting his boyfriend. Euan was supposed to stay with said boyfriend until the bastard dumped him unceremoniously through a text message. “Right, you’re only here for a week.”
“Or less,” he says, though he doesn’t sound enthusiastic about the prospect of returning home early.
Come stay with me.The offer is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the impulse down. We’re already dealing with a—hopefully fake—impulsive marriage. Inviting him over to my place would just complicate things.
“How’s your stomach?” he asks. “Settled down any? I could use some breakfast. Or, brunch, I suppose.”
I nod eagerly, telling myself I’m excited about the food and not at the prospect of spending more time with him. I mean, we’ll probably have to spend a lot of time together while we figure out this marriage scam. Put our heads together to figure it out. Very close together …
My eyes land on his lips, pink against the dark backdrop of his beard. They were so soft yet firm last night, expecting me to yield for him. His tongue taking the initiative to boldly explore my mouth.
Those tempting lips quirk in amusement. “Alex?”
I blink and force my gaze up to his dark eyes. “What?”
“Food?” he prompts. “Are you hungry yet?”
Depends on what you’re offering.I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. Then I remember that he’s the real victim of this definitely-fake-marriage-scam, out six hundred dollars, so I blurt, “It’ll be my treat!”
He accepts the offer with a simple nod. “I only arrived in the city yesterday, so do you have any suggestions for where to eat? Or do you want to eat at the hotel restaurant?”
“You mean where they serve overpriced, undercooked pancakes?” I ask, shaking my head in disgust. “No, come on.” I hop off the bed. A quick search around the room shows that my phone and wallet are on a nearby table. My suit jacket, tie, and shoes are draped across one of the chairs. Maybe I should grab it all, so I don’t have to come back, but I leave the jacket and tie there and just slip into the loafers while I fill my pockets with the necessities. “I’ll take you to one of my favorite nearby places.”
“Sounds great,” he says, stuffing his phone and the hotel room key in his pocket. He doesn’t comment on the fact I’m leaving my things behind, as if he expects it anyway.
As we’re walking out the door, I feel a brief brush on my back. Like he naturally reached out to guide me before thinking better of it and immediately dropped his hand. A little shudder runs down my spine as I imagine his big hand pressed against my lower back. Settled onto my waist. Trailing up my side.
Get a fucking grip,I tell my libido, wrestling it under control. I haven’t even been single for twenty-four hours. A one-night stand rebound is one thing, but I shouldn’t be getting horny over a guy I just met.
Even if he is potentially my husband.
Chapter Six: Euan
The café Alex brings us to is packed, but we arrive at the right time—between one wave of Sunday diners and the next. More people are paying at the counter than waiting to be seated, though the hostess informs us it’ll still be a ten-minute wait.
We sit down in two chairs squeezed so close together that Alex’s thigh presses against mine. His trousers are worse for wear after sleeping in them for the night, all the neat creases rumpled into untidy wrinkles. My eyes are drawn again to the scuffs on his knees. Did he tell me how he got those marks last night? We talked about too many things for me to remember.
An image pops into my head of him kneeling on the ground before me, big blue eyes gazing up at me. He reaches forward and places one hand on the inside of each of my knees, gently nudging them apart so he can slot himself between them. His long, slender fingers would look so pretty spanning the width of my thighs.
I shift in my seat, subtly adjusting myself. A small downtown café filled with grannies and trendsetters isn’t the appropriate place for those fantasies. It’s probably better to know how he dirtied his knees, so I stop crafting scenariosin my head. Clearing my throat, I ask awkwardly, “What happened to your pants?”
He blinks at me, bewildered, then looks down at himself. His hand twitches toward his crotch, as if he’s afraid to find a stain there, before he remembers his knees. “Oh, that. Unfortunate byproduct of crawling around on a restaurant floor chasing an annoyingly stealthy ring.”
We both look at the ring still sitting on my pinky finger. It looks out of place, obviously not meant for me. With everything else going on, I completely forgot about it. Now that I’m focusing on it, the metal band seems too tight against my skin. “Here,” I say, grasping it and tugging. “Let me—” Instead of coming off, my flesh moves uncomfortably with it. I only budge it a centimeter before it bumps up against the knuckle.
“Shit,” Alex whispers. “It fit last night.”
I grunt and tug more ruthlessly, until the skin swells and reddens in protest.
“Stop,” he says, grabbing my hands to still them. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.” After a second, he adds, “And probably pop a diamond out.” He holds onto my hands for a long moment before dropping them.
“My hands are just swollen after drinking so much last night,” I explain, not wanting him to misunderstand.
