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“We’re supposed to be in love,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t think scowling at me at the dinner table qualifies as affection.”
“Who said anything about love?” I mock. “Just because I brought home my boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m in love.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who would bring a person home to meet your family if you didn’t love them,” he observes.
I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to entertain the idea of inviting anyone to Aspen Grove. That doesn’t mean I haven’t fantasized about it.
I hate to admit it, but Jack’s right. I would never consider bringing a man home unless we were madly in love and in a committed relationship. I laugh at the irony that I did just that with my broody boss who also happens to be my fake boyfriend.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, brushing him off. “If you weren’t such a demanding boss, it would be easier to pretend that I like you.”
His brows knit together as my response sinks in. Without a word, he sits on the end of the bed, gesturing for me to take a seat next to him.
I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but it’s clear there’s something on his mind. I contemplate ignoring his request, but I don’t think it’ll do me any good, considering we’re sharing a room. I hesitantly approach him, leaving plenty of space between us when I sit down.
A crooked smile tugs at his lips as he moves closer, erasing said distance between us. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and warmth spreads across my cheeks when his leg brushes against mine. I’ve always found Jack attractive, but it’s been overshadowed by the fact that I can barely tolerate him most days. I should push him away, but for some unexplained reason, I don’t.
“I know I’m not an easy person to work for, and I apologize for being so difficult. I appreciate everything you do for me, and I should do a better job of showing it.” His tone is remorseful. “I would really like it if we could get along, especially considering we’re in such close quarters for the next few days.” He gestures around my room. “What do you say, Presley? Give me the chance to make things right?”
My breath hitches when he places his hand over mine. Those damn butterflies in my stomach are now swarming, and it feels like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.
“That depends on if you’re capable of acting like a civilized person rather than channeling your inner Jack Frost,” I quip.
He chuckles at my jab. “I haven’t heard that one before.”
“Well, I think it suits you nicely,” I taunt him. “If you haven’t noticed, there are much better ways to getting what you want rather than acting like a tyrant.”
He rubs his thumb against my hand, and the movement has me transfixed. What is wrong with me? Seconds ago, I was setting him straight, and now, I’m imagining what it would feel like to have his hand caressing my cheek while he kisses me. I rapidly shake my head to dispel the unwelcome thought.
I gently but firmly move his hand away from mine.
“I’m sure we can come to an agreement. However, I refuse to tolerate your brutish behavior any longer and expect you to treat me with respect moving forward,” I say.
“Duly noted, Ms. Stafford,” he acknowledges.
“Presley.”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to call me Presley, remember? Considering your status as my fake boyfriend and all.”
“You’re absolutely right, Presley. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I like the sound of my name rolling off his tongue. When he calls me Ms. Stafford, it’s so stiff and formal, but when he says my first name it comes out warm and inviting.
“We have an early start tomorrow,” I remind him. “We should get some rest.”
These runaway thoughts of mine really need to be tamped down. Hopefully, my conflicting feelings will have disappeared by morning.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Jack agrees. “Why don’t you go first?”
I give a small nod, excusing myself to get ready for bed.
We follow a similar routine as last night, and when Jack steps out of the bathroom, I can’t resist sneaking a quick peek at him in his boxers. It’s downright criminal for someone to be this attractive. When he turns to face me, I lie back on my pillow and snap my eyes shut, not wanting him to catch me ogling him. I hear him moving around for a moment before the mattress dips as he gets into bed, and I swear I can feel him looking at me. I cautiously open one eye, and sure enough, he’s watching me intently.
“How do you expect me to sleep when you’re staring at me like a creeper?”
“Need me to take the edge off, baby?” he taunts me with a smirk, clearly getting a kick out of provoking me. “An orgasm might help you fall asleep, and an attentive boyfriend would never leave you wanting.”
