Page 88 of Fake it for Keeps

“Yes, you’re on birth control?”

“Yes. But again, this can’t happen again.”

“Sure it can.” His smile was pure arrogance. “It probably will, too. I’d say within the week, you’ll be begging for a repeat performance.”

“I will not.”

“Women are powerless to me, after all.” He said it like a fact, not a boast. “It’s just biology. Sexual chemistry. The way your body responds to mine.” His gaze raked over me. “And it responds very well, if last night was any indication.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was an insufferable, arrogant ass who had an overinflated sense of his own appeal.

But I couldn’t. Because he was right.

My body had responded to his. Eagerly. Desperately. In ways that still made me blush to remember.

“If you’re done being smug,” I said through gritted teeth, “I should probably go.”

“You should probably eat something first.” He moved away, giving me space to breathe again. “I was making eggs. You want some?”

The casual domesticity of the question threw me. “Uh, sure?”

He started cooking like this was normal. Like we hadn’t just had mind-blowing sex and a confrontation about what it meant. Like he made breakfast for women in his kitchen every morning.

I watched him work and tried to figure out my next move.

I needed to play the part. Needed to keep him interested, keep him wanting me, so that when July came and I walked away, it would hurt.

That was still the plan, right?

Except the plan had never included sleeping with him. Had never included waking up in his bed and wearing his shirt while he made me breakfast.

The plan was unraveling, and I needed to get it back on track.

So I changed my attitude. Forced myself to relax, to smile. “You know what? You’re right.”

He paused mid-crack of an egg. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Last night was good. Really good.” I set down my coffee and moved toward him. “Why make it complicated? We’re both adults. We both clearly want each other. Why not enjoy the perks?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to figure out if I was serious. “Just like that? No more talk about boundaries and contracts and how this is a mistake?”

“Just like that.”

He grinned, clearly feeling like he won.

Oh, silly boy. This is just the beginning of the war.

After eating his very fluffy scrambled eggs and drinking a second cup of coffee, I slid off the stool. “I’m going to go shower.”

“I’ll wash your hair.”

I pulled off his borrowed shirt, letting it drop to the floor as I walked. I could feel his eyes on me, could practically feel the heat of his gaze.

“Down boy,” I said over my shoulder, catching him staring at my ass. “I’m a lady. I don’t beg. And I wash my own damn hair.”

I heard him choke on something—probably his own breath—and smiled to myself as I continued to the bathroom. Two could play this game.

If Colt wanted to be all cocky and confident about sex being a “perk” of our arrangement, fine. I’d show him that I could be just as casual about it. Just as in control.

Even if my hands were shaking as I turned on the shower.

This is dangerous, I thought, letting the water wash over me. You’re playing with fire.

But I’d been playing with fire since the moment I’d signed that contract with Colt Jesson.

What was a little more heat?

I stayed in the shower longer than necessary, giving myself time to think. To plan. To rebuild the walls that had crumbled so spectacularly last night.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in one of his plush towels, I found my dress from last night laid out on the bed, along with my shoes and a note letting me know his driver would take me home. He had gone to work.

I frowned. That was not what I was expecting.

But it made sense.

Colt was still playing the game. He was still a playboy.