Page 51 of Fake it for Keeps

The air between us shifted immediately. Colt’s expression changed, surprise giving way to something darker, more heated.

“Is that right?” His voice had dropped to that low register that did unfortunate things to my insides.

“Mmhmm.” I turned my back to him, my pulse racing as I inched my ass back. “But only if you promise to behave.”

There was a pause. Then I felt the mattress shift as he moved closer.

His arm slid around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. The contact was immediate and overwhelming. Suddenly, his solid presence at my back and his breath stirring my hair was nearly too much.

“How’s this?” he murmured near my ear.

“Fine,” I managed, even though my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.

He adjusted slightly, fitting our bodies together more completely. My back pressed against his chest. My hips nestled against his. My legs aligned with his under the covers.

It was intimate. Too intimate.

And it felt way too comfortable.

His scent surrounded me. Clean and masculine and intoxicating. His arm was heavy and warm around my waist, his hand splayed across my stomach.

This was supposed to be strategic. Part of the plan to make him fall for me.

So why did it feel so easy? So natural? Like we’d been sleeping like this for years instead of minutes?

Colt’s breathing began to even out, becoming deep and steady. He was falling asleep, completely relaxed, like having me in his arms was the most natural thing in the world.

Meanwhile, I was wide awake, my mind racing, my body hyperaware of every point of contact between us.

I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. The warmth of his breath on my neck. The strength in the arm wrapped around me.

And God help me, I could feel other things too. The lean muscle of his thighs pressed against the back of mine. The hard planes of his abs against my lower back.

My ass pressed against his crotch.

My thoughts started wandering into dangerous territory. What would happen if I shifted slightly? If I pressed back instead of holding still? If I let myself stop thinking and just feel?

Stop it, I commanded myself. This is Colt Jesson. The guy who broke your heart. The guy you’re supposed to be using, not fantasizing about.

But my body didn’t seem to care about logic. It only cared that I was being held by a devastatingly attractive man who smelled amazing and felt even better.

I tried to focus on something else. Anything else.

My mind drifted back to high school. To the boy Colt had been then, charming and confident and completely out of my league. I’d been so naïve, thinking that someone like him could actually be interested in someone like me.

Why had he asked me to meet him at the beach that night? What had he been planning to say? To do?

Had it all been a joke? A dare from his friends? Let’s see if the chubby girl with the crush will actually show up?

I could imagine them laughing about it afterward. Colt and his buddies, probably surrounded by the pretty, popular girls they actually dated, telling the story of how pathetic Hallie Bellrose had waited for hours for a guy who was never going to show.

The humiliation still burned, even after all these years.

And now here I was, lying in his arms, and he didn’t even remember me. Didn’t remember breaking my heart.

Not even a flicker of recognition.

I was that forgettable to him.