Page 29 of Lying Is My Love Language

I take a sip of my coffee as we manoeuvre around each other.

He places his cup under the machine, drops one of the pods in the lid and presses start.The low hum of the machine echoes through the pantry as he leans a hip against the bench and says, ‘What about you?’

I smile.‘What about me?’

He steps closer.‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Not really,’ I lie.We’re both circling each other, waiting to see who’ll break character.

His hand lifts, slow and unhurried, and tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear as if it’s a thing he’s allowed to do.As if this is normal.Casual.My eyes flick up to his, and suddenly all the hairs on my arms are on alert.This is not how the script goes.I do not see my one-night stands in daylight.I do not have casual kitchen conversations with men whose tongues were between my legs less than eight hours ago.

There’s no manual for this.No chapter called ‘How to Behave While Pretending Your Body Doesn’t Remember Exactly What His Hands Felt Like’.

‘Is that so?’he says, his voice barely above a whisper.My heart is pounding in my chest as I nod, unable to form any coherent words.I mean, it’s probably best I don’t say anything right now, given my track record.

He waits for my answer, one brow raised, his gaze all heat and hidden meaning.

I give him a tight smile.‘Yes.’Another lie.

He leans against the opposite counter, reaching for his coffee.‘Shame,’ he says, voice still low.‘You looked pretty relaxed when I left.’

I nearly choke on my croissant.

Luke pushes off the counter.And suddenly, he’s in front of me –

coffee abandoned, dirt-covered collar and all.His hand slides to my waist, his body crowding into mine.The kiss is soft at first.Familiar.A recent memory he’s chasing.But then his hands tightenon my hips, his mouth demanding more, and I melt into him – again.Like an idiot.

I place my coffee down blindly, arms slipping around his neck, and let myself get pulled back under.

Because screw it.

It’s only a kiss.

It doesn’tmeananything.

Right?

I feel the ache growing between my legs as Luke’s hands trail down to grab my arse, lifting me up onto the counter.He steps between my thighs, his hand sliding underneath my t-shirt to cup my breast.

‘I can’t stop thinking about last night,’ he whispers, his lips trailing down my neck and nipping at my collarbone.

A throat clears.Loudly.

We pull apart and, leaning against the doorframe in an oversized t-shirt and yesterday’s eyeliner, is Abbey.Arms crossed.Smirk fully loaded.

‘Well, well, well,’ she says, her voice dripping with amusement.‘Someone got an early start this morning.’

Luke steps back like a gentleman.‘Coffee?’he offers, already turning towards the machine.

‘Sure,’ Abbey chirps, all innocence.

While his back is turned, she mouthsoh my godto me and does an extremely graphic hip-thrust against the counter stool.

I narrow my eyes.‘I thought you’d still be passed out in some field.’

She shrugs.‘Evidently not.Turns out I’m very resilient.’She accepts her mug with a wink at Luke, who – thankfully – says something about checking the helicopters and makes a hasty exit.

As soon as the door swings shut behind him, Abbey turns to me.‘You broke your rule.’