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“I’ve been inspired.”
I’m about to reply when something hot pink in Cash’s windshield catches my eye. At first, I think it’s a ticket. Then I register how ridiculous that assumption is, because tickets aren’t hot pink. Ever.
“What’s that?” I ask as Cash reaches for the folded cardstock, leaning closer to read it when he flips it open.
Thanks for the fun, Sinner.
XOXO
I frown. “Who is that from?”
“Don’t know,” Cash mutters, but his jaw is tight, and his eyes are dark as they scan the parking lot. I get the sense that he does know, and that bothers me.
Cash shoves the note into his pocket and saying nothing, I reach for the passenger door and pull. The note definitely put me in my place,reminding me that this thing between us isn’t real. After tonight, after the high I got dosed with when he sang his new song, the plunge I take with the fall from that note is steep.
As soon as we enter Cash’s condo, he moves to his room. When he emerges again, he lands those dark eyes on me and says, “Get changed, Kitten.”
I blink, frowning. “What?”
“Swimsuit.” His eyes glitter with dark mirth. “Unless you’re in the mood to soak naked.”
I lift my chin, feeling suddenly prickly. I can’t stop thinking about the note. I can’t unsee it. The pink of the cardstock or the sharp, feminine slant of the writing.
“I’m not in the mood for anything but bed.”
He just stares at me—all the parts of him hard. “Kitten.”
“I’m tired, Cash.”
He continues to study me, before he closes the distance between us until I’m backed into the wall, trapped, and he’s all around me, but not physically touching me at all. “The note is from a woman I used to fuck. I haven’t been with anyone since you moved in. Not even thinking of other women, Kitten.” He drops his head a notch when I inhale a sharp breath that tastes of him. Of sin and darkness, warm whiskey and cinnamon hearts. “She knows I’ve moved on, that I’m with you. She’s trying to start shit.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t let her.”
Dropping my head to his chest, I close my eyes and inhale deep. I feel suddenly overstimulated and overdone. Minutes ago, I’d said I was tired because I was angry. Now, now I just want to snuggle in bed and dissect the reality that is the undeniable feelings I have for Cash Jagger. Because I do have feelings for him. Big feelings.
I shouldn’t. He’s my fake boyfriend. Boundaries have been drawn—hell, I’m the one who drew them. I knew better than to let myself fall for him. Iknowbetter.
And yet…
Defeat slumps my shoulders when I sigh loudly against his chest. “I do want to go to bed, Cash.”
His arms wrap around me, pulling my body flush to his. Heat stirs where it shouldn’t stir. My body aches in a way it shouldn’t ache. I drew the lines to protect myself and look at me, I fell anyway.
“Tell me you’re not mad.” The bite of rough stubble nips into the tender skin of my neck as he speaks against my throat.
“I’m not mad,” I whisper, but is that sadness I hear in my voice? No, not sadness, it’s something else. Something worse. Something like loss.
I don’t even have Cash, not really, and yet I feel as though, with the realization that I’ve fallen for him, I’ve lost him. He’s not real. Not in the way I need himto be in order to let my heart crack wide to let him slip inside.
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have any control over who invades my heart. Cash is proof of that, because in just a couple months he broke his way inside. An invasion of the most stealth and ruthless kind. Now I’m at his mercy.
So painfully at his mercy.
His arms tighten around me, and he lifts me off the ground, forcing me to lift my legs around his waist, linking my ankles at his back as another stab of painful longing daggers me deep. I want him to feel for me the way he’s made me feel for him. I want him to want me as more than his fake girlfriend.
For a moment tonight, when I’d stood on that dance floor and let the lyrics of his song touch me, I thought he did.
Then I saw that note. It was a punch to the gut I can’t forget even if he says it’s an ex trying to stir the pot.
Still, I can’t ignore the truth of the way I feel, either. But I can shove it down deep to fester, and I do just that as I wiggle from his arms, chancing just a quick peek at him. “I really am tired, Cash.” He releases me as he rocks back on his heels, angling his head back so I get a good view of the hard set to his square jaw. My voice rattles, “Goodnight,” as I make my escape.
