AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Pretend to be my girlfriend, in fact. I clear my throat, glancing at the doorway. Should I mention this? We’re still alone.
“For my family to believe our ruse, I’ll need to… touch you. Appear intimate with you.” My pulse spikes at the mere thought.
Felicity snorts, though her smile seems bitter. “Think you can handle it, Mr B?”
Honestly? I’m not sure.
But it’s not me I’m worried about.I’mthe boss in this situation; I’m the one crossing a line. Who cares what I think?
“Perhaps we should rehearse that too. Set some boundaries.” God knows I need them. “You can tell me what you’re comfortable with, and I’ll respect that, I promise. I won’t take advantage.”
“Too bad,” Felicity murmurs, so quietly I nearly miss it. I blink, stunned—but she’s teasing me, clearly. Always teasing.
My assistant steps closer, coming to stand within arm’s length, and every thought leaves my brain except one:Touch her. Touch her.
Obviously, I ignore my caveman impulses. Like I said, I’ve had four years of practice, because whenever my assistant stands this close to me, all the nerves tingle under my skin. I breathe heavier, and it’s like my senses are heightened. I hear every gust of wind outside; smell every ingredient in her fruity shampoo; feel the warmth radiating off her body.
Not. Appropriate.
“Okay,” Felicity says. “Do your worst, sir. How are you gonna touch me in front of your folks?”
This is a bad idea. What was I thinking, suggesting this? It’s a HR nightmare just waiting to happen. But my hand lifts, and I watch it like it belongs to someone else as it coasts along Felicity’s slender shoulder, then slides down her tanned arm. Her skin is so warm and smooth, and my gut twists.
Our fingers knot together.
“Like this?” I rasp.
Her hazel eyes dart up to mine then away. “Okay, that’s fine. What else?”
I should let go of her hand, but since she’s squeezing me back, I don’t want to. So I lift our joined hands instead, and slide my thumb over her pinned-up hair. It’s so fussy in this style, so un-Felicity, and I’d love to pull it loose over her shoulders; to grab a dark handful and press my face against it, breathing deep.
But that would be bad. And nothing I’d do in front of the Bamfords anyway, so what would be my excuse?
“Hm,” I say when she peers up at me, lips parted. Her chest rises and falls a little faster too, the motion hypnotic beneath the cream dress, but I don’t let myself look properly. “Now what? I’m open to suggestions.”
Her eye roll is fond, thank god, and when Felicity spreads her free hand over my chest, my heartbeat lunges against her palm. Like it might burst through my shirt to reach her.
“Haven’t you ever taken a girlfriend home before?”
My face heats. “No. That’s why I need a fake date this time. My family keeps trying to set me up. They think I’m defective somehow.”
“Because you don’t parade your personal life in front of them?” Felicity scoffs, shaking her head, and her hand rubs a gentle circle on my chest. It’s like she doesn’t realize she’s stroking me, too busy glaring up at me, so mad at the Bamfords.
On my behalf. How alien.
“Felicity,” I grind out.
“Fliss,” she says, tugging my tie straight like she’s done it a thousand times before. “My fake boyfriends call me Fliss. Keep up, sir.”
Sir.
Heat pounds through my veins, and I reach for her. There’s no plan, no innocent touch I want to rehearse, just pure need to feel her skin beneath my palm.
“Cocktail dresses next,” Pamela calls, her heels thudding down the corridor, and we spring apart just in time for her to waltz through the door. The stylist glances between us, but she doesn’t mention our flushed cheeks or my guilty expression. “And you mentioned a garden party, Mr Bamford?”
“Ah. Yes.”
Felicity gives a strained laugh. She raises both eyebrows at me. “This is going to be fun.”
