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“He’s just being coy.” Vicky pinched his butt and he jolted so violently she nearly pitched sideways. “He’s so shy about his romantic side. It can be difficult to be so sensitive. Right, bumblebee?”
If Cory shot any more bullets at her with his eyes, she was going to be picking shrapnel out of her hair for a lifetime. “Not sure sensitive is the word I’d use, muffin.” To her shock, he cupped her ass. Hard. “But you definitely are. Or you will be, later.”
Huh. Was that part of “handling him”? He’d said it was, but she’d been sure he was just trying to get her to back down.
Hot wax, spankings…so much for holding hands and strolling through the falling leaves. Who needed hayrides and cups of cider? He obviously preferred autumn kinky-style.
Ah well. She’d suffer through.
“So you’re saying it’s true, Cory?” Cory’s mother looked between them, her smile still firmly in place. Her perceptive gray eyes never wavered as she stared her son down. “It’s real?”
If any word could’ve cooled her jets, real was it. She was all about helping the guy with his little family issue, but she wasn’t looking to put her heart on the line. Well, any more than it already was, anyway.
Which was not at all.
When she would’ve slid away, Cory locked his arm around her waist. He wrapped his other hand around her chin and tilted up her face, his gaze slamming against hers for one frantic moment before his head swooped toward hers.
Oh, shit.
In self-defense, Vicky braced a hand against his chest. Almost of their own volition, her fingers curled into his lapel as his firm lips met hers. There was no mistaking the command in his kiss, as relatively chaste as it was, and her heart surged against the walls of her chest. In excitement or terror, she couldn’t quite tell.
Perhaps, just perhaps, she had underestimated him.
When he pulled back and began to speak, she could only watch his mouth move. Oh God, that. Mouth.
“Oh, yes. She wanted me.” Wolfishly, he licked his lips. “Now she has me.”
Chapter Four
Night one with his pretend girlfriend and she’d already gone missing.
In under a week, he’d gone from a relatively content single businessman to a man with a fake girlfriend, as evidenced by her disappearing act tonight.
Where the hell was she?
Cory glanced at his watch again. She’d called around dinnertime to say she was running late for their agreed-upon discussion about the parameters of their pseudo-relationship. He’d assumed she meant she was stuck with a client so he’d told her she could meet him at his place afterward. That had been more than six hours ago.
After Monday’s debacle in his office with Victoria and his mother, he’d been sure they would proceed with the ruse immediately. Victoria had been adamant about wanting to pretend to be his significant other, so fine, he’d make
the best of things. After all, it had been his fault they’d gotten into the situation. If he hadn’t responded to her on the gazebo—
Water. Bridge. Time to move on.
She’d been all over him when his mother was there and then she’d vanished. She’d barely returned his calls all week, claiming she was busy with clients and Jill. Jill was a grown woman, surely she didn’t need to be attended to at all times? Apparently such was the nature of female friendship.
He’d finally pinned Victoria down that afternoon at their Friday magazine meeting, where she’d acted uncharacteristically reticent. She’d barely even teased him about his starched pants or made snide comments about his too-tight tie. Instead she’d been cool and distant. When he’d inquired about her availability that night, she’d said yes with about as much enthusiasm as one did when faced with the prospect of wrangling snakes.
Was that the problem? Did she fear he had wrangling of a much more personal nature in mind for this evening? Had his warnings about the kind of sex he enjoyed finally sneaked through and now she thought him some sort of deviant?
He stood on his balcony and stared at the clear night sky. The early-fall chill spread goose bumps up and down his arms, but he didn’t reach for a shirt. He’d tugged on sweatpants after his shower and that was as much as he intended to put on.
The breeze felt good on his skin. He’d just pushed himself through a workout in his gym, courtesy of his rowing machine, and the frosty air offset the burn in his muscles—and the hot shower he’d taken immediately after the session, masochist that he was.
Now he was scoping out the stars with his binoculars because he didn’t feel like dragging out his telescope and feeling oddly like a chump who’d been stood up on a fake first date.
He leaned on the rail and scowled. They were just pretending to date. She was just goading him with that “next step” stuff. Because there was no way, just no way, she really intended to sleep with him. Even Victoria wouldn’t take one-upmanship that far.
What had happened at the gala had been an aberration. End of story.
