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I already know I’m going to think about that kiss for a while, though. Even though I shouldn’t.

“Why don’t I show you all to the wing of the house where you’ll be staying?” Elaine says with a smile. “I saw they brought your luggage in, you’ll find it in your rooms.”

We all murmur thanks and she leads us upstairs. I feel Hayden lean in, over my head, to whisper to Ford, “Nice one.”

“He should’ve been put in his place ages ago,” Ford mutters.

Elaine shows Hayden and Gabriel each their room, and then Ford’s. “But of course you’ll also be in here now, too, dear,” she says to me.

“Yes, I told them to put her luggage in with mine,” Ford says.

I’m actually a little surprised that Elaine is letting us share a room. She seems the old-fashioned type, so I would’ve thought she’d insist on separate bedrooms for us. But before I can say anything or even finish the thought, I step inside the large, impressively decorated room and everything stops.

Oh. Right.

There’s only one bed.

14

FORD

Maeve stops dead in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the bed. A slight flush rises up her neck, painting her cheeks in a delicate shade of pink, and I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. She’s so damn beautiful when she’s flustered.

“I would’ve thought your mom would insist on separate rooms,” she says, her voice a bit weak.

I snort in amusement. “I’m a grown man in my thirties. My mother isn’t going to force me to sleep in a separate room from my fiancée.”

“None of them know the truth?”

I shake my head. “No. My family aren’t exactly good actors, and I’m not taking the risk of someone letting something slip. We need to sell this charade to them, too. The deal with Silver Start depends on it.”

“No pressure,” Maeve mumbles.

“You’re doing great,” I promise, my voice a low reassurance.

I could feel how nervous she was around my mother and Liam. When I think about how my brother acted just now, my blood boils. He took Maeve for granted and dumped her like she was nothing, and now he has the audacity to act like I’m the consolation prize? Maeve is too smart to still carry a torch for Liam, but that doesn’t mean his presence isn’t a fresh wound.

Of course, plenty of smart people have done stupid things in their lives, and love makes you more stupid than just about anything else.

I force myself to forget about that. Liam isn’t worth Maeve’s time or mine. It’s unfortunate I have to spend so much time with him during these holidays, but at least I can use my fake relationship with Maeve to rub it in his face a little. Maybe next time he gets a beautiful, smart woman like Maeve, he’ll know better than to lose her.

Maeve still looks flustered. In fact, she looks even more flustered than she did a moment ago.

I step in closer, but Maeve backs up a step. I can’t help but smirk, stepping forward again, then again, until Maeve’s legs hit the edge of the massive bed and she has nowhere else to go.

Rookie mistake. Always hold your ground.

I lean in, just close enough that I can get a hint of her scent—blackberries and cream. It suits her, since she loves baking. Fucking delicious. I want to lean in closer and get a proper lungful, but I restrain myself.

“I don’t see any reason why sharing a bed between two adults should be awkward. I’m perfectly capable of sharing a bed with you while keeping my hands to myself,” I murmur, my voice dropping lower. “Are you nervous you won’t be able to do the same?”

The way Maeve’s eyes go wide and her breath hitches in her throat is intoxicating. It makes me want to see what more I can do to unravel her.

I shove that thought aside. Maeve is gorgeous. That’s nothing new. But she’s still my employee, and she still dated my brother. I’m not going to cross those lines for her. Especially when I know I can’t really give her what she wants. I didn’t know Maeve very well when I first met her while she was dating Liam, before I offered her the job, but I had suspected it then, and I’m sure of it now: Maeve wants a proper romance.

Good fucking luck to her, and everyone else who wants that.

Maeve shoves at my chest, her eyes flaring. That’s my little spitfire. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps.