Page 49 of Fake it for Keeps

16

HALLIE

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

What the hell had that been?

I actually felt something that could have been called chemistry. There had definitely been a sizzle.

I snatched the robe, put it on, and practically ran to the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I snatched the pajamas from the suitcase and rushed into the massive en suite bathroom.

I dried off and pulled on the silk pajamas. They fit perfectly and felt like being wrapped in a cloud. I didn’t know fabric this soft existed. I quickly brushed my teeth and took my hair out of the bun.

I felt like I had just run through a minefield and somehow managed to come out unscathed. The way he had looked at me was way too much. That was Colt in a nutshell. He was too rich. Too handsome. Too smooth.

Too dangerous.

When I emerged from the bathroom, feeling like I had gotten my shit together, Colt was in the bedroom. I froze and took in the sight. He was dressed in loose gray sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was bare, showing off muscles that clearly came from more than just sitting in boardrooms. Water droplets still clung to his shoulders, and his dark hair was damp and tousled.

I forced myself to look away.

What the fuck?

How in the hell did he actually look that good? I flipped through magazines. I saw billboards. Those men were gorgeous, but I had convinced myself it was lighting and makeup. Photoshop and digital trickery.

But Colt was very real. I was looking at the man in the flesh, so much flesh, with no makeup or AI enhancement.

“What are you doing?” I tried to sound irritated, but my tone ended up being husky and breathy.

He arched a brow, and dammit, he looked even sexier. I didn’t know how that was possible, but he did it.

“Going to bed,” he said.

I shook my head. “Uh-uh. Nope. No way. Not in here. I’m sleeping in here.”

“There’s only one bed in this suite, Hallie.”

“You can have one of the sofas in the living room. They looked comfortable enough.”

Colt laughed, like I had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m sleeping on a couch,” he said, pulling back the covers on the right side of the bed. “This is a California king. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” He climbed into bed, making himself comfortable against the pillows. “You can take the floor if you’re that opposed to sharing.”

“I can take the floor?” My voice rose slightly. “This was your hotel disaster. Your inability to answer your phone. I’m not sleeping on the floor because you screwed up.”

“I didn’t screw up. The hotel did.” He crossed his arms behind his head, looking infuriatingly relaxed. “You’re the one that told the guy it was okay.”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you.” I put my hands on my hips and did my best to look like a boss bitch. Little hard to do wearing jammies.

“And I’m not giving up this bed. It’s mine.”

“It’s ours, according to the reservation.”

“Exactly. Ours. Which means we share it.”