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And the bizarro factor amplified tenfold.
He cocked his head to the side. “Who’s Carol?”
She leaned into him again. “My car. The hotel had my car towed.”
“Your car’s name is Carol?”
This was getting confusing.
“Yes, she’s a brown nineteen ninety-four Volvo wagon. Of course her name is Carol.” Harper pushed onto her tiptoes, glanced past his shoulder, then stiffened. “Katrina and Jude are watching us, and they look a little wary. They may be on to me. Please, play along.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You’re the one who called me your fiancée,” she barked, sneaking another peek. “Do something fiancé-ish.”
He stared into her eyes as the music changed and the thump of a new track pulsed through the club.
A cheesy, overdone Vance Vibe track.
Of all the times for this bullshit music to come on, this had to be the worst.
He stilled, preparing for the deluge of maddening emotions.
Soul-crushing envy reared its ugly head and threatened to tear him apart.
Harper bristled in his arms. It was as if the song made her skin crawl as well. She gripped his shirt and twisted it in her hand like she wasn’t sure what she hated more, Vance Vibe’s music or a poly-cotton blend.
Were they both on the edge of a complete breakdown thanks to a Vance Vibe song?
“Hey, Mr. Fiancé? The ball’s in your court. Do something before my shrimp cocktail privileges get revoked and those two figure out I crashed their wedding.”
He knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he didn’t care what the drunk newlyweds thought.
He focused every ounce of energy on her, and something remarkable happened. His spiraling thoughts ground to a halt, and time stood still. The layers of anxiety and uneasiness building in his chest melted away, and all he saw was her. His gaze dropped, and he drank in the apples of her cheeks and those plump, sexy as sin lips. Hungry to memorize every detail, he traced his index finger down her jawline.
The breath caught in his throat, and he repeated the motion. This time, he cupped her face in his hand.
He’d never touched her like this before.
Scratch that.
He’d never touched her at all, which made it even stranger that stroking Harper’s cheek was like coming home.
How could that be?
Their bodies began to move. They swayed to the beat, but he didn’t hear Vance’s modulated voice. The sound condensed into a pulsating reverberation—a thrum that drew them together. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and her breasts grazed his chest. Her touch ignited a spark, and his blood popped and fizzed as a titillating buzz raced through his body. Cloaked in flashing lights, a blanket of breath and beat wrapped them in a melodic cocoon.
With one hand on the small of her back, he tangled the other in her mess of wavy hair. She stared up at him. It was too dark to observe the color of her chameleon eyes. Were they more brown or gray or blue? It didn’t matter the color. Harper Presley had worked her magic and cast a spell.
Was Vance’s song still playing? He had no idea. Whatever rhythm they were dancing to, they each heard it. Or perhaps, somewhere between watching her on the dance floor and claiming her as his fake fiancée, they’d created their own frequency—a melody only detected by the two of them.
Tucked against the end of the bar, he caressed her back, rubbing circles on her exposed skin before sliding his hand lower. His fingertips brushed against the coarse tutu fabric, and a scintillating thrill overtook him as he bypassed whatever the hell tutus were made of and squeezed her ass.
It wasn’t like anyone could see what he was doing. It was too dark, and there weren’t any couples dancing near the line of empty barstools.
Heated anticipation tore through him. It was as if they’d entered one of his dirtiest fantasies.
With an ass that didn’t quit and those hazel eyes, of course, Harper had made it into his daydreams.
