Page 48 of His Fake Fiancé

Chapter 14

Jake had just sat down and flicked on the TV when KC wandered into the living room and dropped onto the opposite end of the sofa. He glanced at her, steeling his nerves for whatever she was about to unload on him.

He always got the feeling she didn’t like him, although he could never figure out why. No surprise there, but it always bothered him—not that he’d ever let her know it—because he knew how close she and Claire were. And seriously, he didn’t have much going for him except his looks. It threw him off when they let him down.

“How’s things in the big city?” He kept his tone light, his shoulders relaxed. No point in letting her know how tense she made him.

“Good.” She kept her gaze trained directly on him.

He wanted to squirm, maybe fidget, but he locked his muscles. What was it about KC that made him so nervous? She was a tiny little thing, and yet there was something about her.

He flipped the channel, keeping his eyes locked on the screen. Her gaze burned into him, searing through his shirt and skin, and right into the muscle underneath. Making him feel jumpy and jittery.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. He turned to her. “What? What’s the problem, KC?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

Yeah, her tone said it was far from nothing.

But he was too tired to get into it with her right now. He just wanted to watch the Baron’s game and veg out for a bit. Maybe go to bed early, which was hard when he had to sleep on the pullout, and KC’s butt was currently planted on it.

“Whatever,” he said, and flicked the channel to the game. The puck hadn’t dropped yet, so the sports network was still doing the whole pre-game show thing. It wasn’t something Jake was interested in—he preferred the actual hockey and not all the talk—but he kept his focus locked on the TV.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

He looked over. Claire stood next to the sofa, looking fucking hot.

She had her hair down, the soft golden waves framing her face. She’d done something with her makeup, a dark smoky thing that somehow made her eyes look bluer. The pink, shiny gloss on her lips was practically calling his name. He swallowed hard, memories of their make out session flooding back.

The way she’d felt straddling his hips, her soft flesh under his hands. The sweet, delicate taste of her lips and her tongue. The soft hum she made in the back of her throat when he squeezed her hips, pressed her flush against him.

And now he was getting a semi sitting here on the couch. Jesus, he was such a fucking screw up.

“Let’s go.” KC stood, grabbing her bag and hiking it onto her shoulder. “I love that top. Where did you get it?”

He flicked his gaze to Claire’s top, and all of the blood in his body rushed south. It was a blouse type thing made of some kind of black, silky material, with long sleeves and little black buttons up the front. Well, what little of the front there was. Because the top had a really deep V-neck thing going on. It was cut so you couldn’t see a bra or anything, just lots of creamy, pale skin.

His cock went from semi-hard to lead-pipe-in-his-pants in seconds. Good thing he’d grabbed the knitted blanket off the back of the sofa when he sat down. It was bunched up next to his hip but should provide enough cover to not humiliate him.

Claire and KC walked to the door, talking about something. He had no idea what, because for some reason, his gaze was glued to Claire’s ass. She was wearing dark skinny jeans that hugged her curves to perfection.

He tore his gaze away, focused on the game which had finally started. What the fuck was wrong with him? This was Claire. Why was he checking out her ass? Looking at her cleavage? And what was with the little seed of jealousy that sprouted in his belly at the thought of her out, flirting with other guys?

Stuff like that had never bothered him before. He’d always been happy when Claire was seeing someone. Hadn’t he? Except, now that he thought about it, had he ever really paid attention to who and what Claire was doing?

Fuck, he was a shitty friend. Because the truth was, he’d never given Claire and her relationships much thought. He’d been too busy focused on himself, and his own relationships—not that you could call anything he did a relationship. Sure, he didn’t think the last idiot she’d been with deserved her, but honestly, no one was good enough for her. It wasn’t like he thought he was good enough for her. That was laughable. Claire was so far out of his league they weren’t even playing the same game.

Besides, she wasn’t interested in him that way. Why would she be? He was a pretty boy dope. All flash and no substance. And she deserved so much better. She was smart and talented and beautiful. He would never expect her to settle for someone like him.

The Barons scored, but he barely noticed. His mind was still replaying the way Claire’s ass looked in those jeans. The way her curves felt under his hands. The way she was the perfect weight when she was straddling his hips. The softness of her skin. The silkiness of her hair. The taste of her lips.

Jake was up and changing into jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, pulling on his boots and grabbing his hat, before he even had time to consider moving. Then he strode toward Olivia’s room, a quick plan forming. He scooped up the baby who fussed a bit and made the sweetest little sound. She popped her thumb in her mouth, but stayed asleep. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and cuddled her close. Grabbing the soft, fuzzy blanket out of the crib, he wrapped it around her, making sure she’d be warm.

He snatched up the diaper bag and slung it over his other shoulder. Not that he’d need it. Mama kept plenty of supplies in the house. He just hoped someone there would be willing to watch the baby on such short notice. With Mama out of town, he had to hope he ran into someone else, or he’d be knocking on Mason and Grace’s door.

He hurried across the lawn to the main house, tucking Olivia tighter against him to keep away the cold. She didn’t seem to be affected, since she was wearing a fleecy sleeper, had the blanket wrapped around her, and was tucked inside his coat, which he’d draped over his shoulders from the front, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

The lights were on in the den, which was a good sign. It meant someone was probably home. He let himself in the back door and hurried through the kitchen and into the hallway. The television was on in the den, some cooking program or competition from what he could hear. Another good sign. There was no way in hell either Owen or Simon would be watching anything other than the hockey game.