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Cristo. He took a long sip of his drink, wishing it would reach all the way through him and cool down his over-heated veins.
This was one weekend. Three more nights and then they’d be back in the office and everything would return to normal. Right?
5
“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE KISSED ME.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly smooth. She’d been fuming all morning, or maybe she’d just been steaming hot, she couldn’t say, but memories of the way he’d drawn her to his body and claimed her mouth had tormented her for hours and she wanted to put the blame for that squarely at someone’s feet. His made sense.
“Che?” He shut his laptop with a small frown, placing it on the bed beside him.
“Don’t ‘che’ me,” she muttered, pushing the door shut, trying to cool her temper even as emotions she didn’t understand roared through her. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“You don’t think couples kiss each other goodbye?”
“We’re not a couple!”
“You want people to believe we are though, right?”
She stayed where she was, staring at him, even more infuriated by the logic of his argument. “That’s beside the point.”
“No, Bronte, that’s exactly the point.” He spoke with irritating calmness. “You want people to believe this is real? So we have to show them that.”
Heat simmered in her veins. He made it sound as though he was going to kiss her again, when they were next with her family. Her heart burst through her.
“They do believe it’s real. My family would never suspect I’d lie to them.” Guilt clamoured for space inside her.
He stood up, immediately overpowering the space. She stayed where she was, her back pressed to the door. “What’s the problem?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just a kiss. Barely even a kiss, in fact – hardly red-hot passion.”
Great. Just when she thought she was done with mortification he made it clear that the brief interlude which stirred her body and mind to feverish heights had done no such thing to him.
“Bronte?”
Don’t be mad with him. He’s doing you a favour. This isn’t his fault.
She blinked, every feeling she possessed going completely haywire.
“What’s going on?”
She opened her mouth, with no idea what she wanted to say. “I just –,”
He scanned her face, his eyes intelligent and assessing, reading her as easily as if she were a large-print book.
“Is it possible you liked it when I kissed you, Bronte Hill?”
She shook her head, well aware her expression must make a liar of her.
“It’s not – I –,” Great. Now she was bumbling like an idiot. Her fingers lifted to her lips – unnecessarily. The kiss was imprinted on her flesh, burned into her memory banks.
“It was weird, that’s all.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not you. Not that you kiss weirdly or anything.”
