Page 4 of Fake it for Keeps

My savior’s hand felt warm and steady against the small of my back, and it also felt wildly inappropriate. He wasn’t my date, my friend, or even an acquaintance, and he had some nerve assuming he had any right to my time just because he saved me from rolling an ankle.

If I let my mind wander, I could still feel the press of his lips against my cheek when he’d used me as a prop for the paparazzi. I could smell his cologne now as he twirled me, caught my hand, and pulled me back in. His body was firm and broad and just right for mine.

But this guy? I knew who he was. And nothing about him was right for me.

Colt. Freaking. Jesson.

Asshole billionaire and out of touch womanizer. And he had no idea who I was.

His hand moved an inch lower on my back, warm and possessive, like he had every right to touch me. Like I was his. His hazel eyes—God, they were even more striking than I remembered—roamed over my face with an intensity that made my stomach flip. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole, and despite every rational thought screaming at me to push him away, my body betrayed me.

I kind of wanted him to rip my dress off and have his way with me. There would be no protest from me.

Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like wildfire. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive. I was acutely aware of every place our bodies touched. His chest pressed against mine with each step of our dance. I hoped he couldn’t feel the way my nipples had turned into sharp peaks. Sharp enough to slice through all my inhibitions.

His thigh occasionally brushed between my legs as he led me in a slow circle. The scent of him wrapped around me, making it hard to think straight. His dark chocolate hair was slicked back, but I could see where it had been mussed.

And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint hint of pink on his cheek. Lipstick. He’d been in someone else’s arms just before me. Freaking Colt.

Where was she now? Could she see us? Was I about to get smacked?

Colt didn’t seem bothered about anyone seeing us. He only had eyes for me, and I hated how good it felt.

I hated that after all these years, after all the pain he’d caused me, my body still responded to him like I was that stupid seventeen-year-old girl with a crush she couldn’t control. My cheeks burned.

Get your head on straight, Hallie.

I scanned the ballroom over his shoulder, looking for any sign of John, my actual date for the evening.

But the sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns blurred together, and I couldn’t spot him anywhere. Not good. I needed to get away from Colt Jesson. The boy who’d broken my heart. The man who clearly didn’t remember me at all.

I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid.

But he wasn’t letting go. If anything, his grip on me tightened as he led me toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the main crowd. The music followed us, soft and romantic, completely at odds with the tension crackling between us.

“You know,” he said, backing me against a column draped in shimmering fabric. “That dress you’re wearing is doing things to me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Things?”

“Yeah.” His gaze dropped, shamelessly raking over my curves. “It’s making my pants feel uncomfortably tight.”

Heat flooded my core, but I refused to look away. This was vintage Colt—crass, direct, saying exactly what was on his mind without a filter. I’d known him in high school, had watched him charm and flirt his way through half the girls in our class. Back then, I’d found his boldness exciting. Thrilling, even.

Now?

Well, my body still lit up for him, but the man needed to do more to actually impress me. He didn’t seem like he had changed at all since we were teenagers.

“I should go,” I said, trying to step around him. “Are you done using me as a prop for the cameras?”

He blocked my path with that infuriating smirk still firmly in place. “Prop? Sweetheart, you were the sexiest prop I’ve ever had the pleasure of holding.”

“Save it, Romeo,” I deadpanned. “Your cologne already proposed twice.”

For a split second, his expression faltered. Then he laughed—actually laughed. He leaned closer, his breath brushing across my face and the V of my dress. The cool, collected façade cracked, and I caught a glimpse of something real underneath.

Point for Hallie.

But the moment passed quickly, and his confidence returned in full force. “You’re funny,” he said, like he was discovering some rare treasure. “I like that.”