Page 10 of Claimed By my Fake Husband

There isn't any. We head straight up to the bedroom.

"Well, hopefully I scared off the Pollyannas enough to dodge future invitations." I laugh to myself, already in the closet, unzipping the cocktail dress. "If I have to live in this house, I'm perfectly fine skipping the neighbors."

The dress goes in the laundry bin, and I reach for the long nightgown I packed.

Except that's not what's in the drawer.

I pull it open, and instead of the nightgown, there's a single piece of lingerie I bought myself back in college, back when I thought I might actually try this whole dating thing. It's sat in a drawer for years, untouched.

Somehow it made the trip in my duffel. The nightgown didn't.

"Fuck."

I'm still staring at it when I hear the floor creak near the door. Logan's coming, and I need this thing on before he sees me bare.

I yank the nightie over my head, tugging the silky black fabric down as far as it'll go, cursing the hem that barely covers anything. All I need to do is dive into bed and stay buried until he leaves for coffee in the morning.

The floor creaks again.

Shit. Go, go, go.

I spin around and slam straight into Logan's chest. His hands come up on instinct, catching my arms, and I'm pinned there against him, looking up into those dark eyes.

The closet light is way too bright, and heat floods my cheeks as I realize exactly how good a look he's getting.

"What the?—"

Oh, hell.

4

Logan

No, no, no. This isn't... Goddamn it. Get out of this room, Logan. Now.

Tess is pressed against my chest, her weight warm and inviting. That's a terrible fucking idea.

No, it's worse than that. It's against the rules—my rule. The big one. The one I haven't broken since the moment I made it.

Fifteen years ago. When I left special forces to join Boss's company. When I was seconds from ruining my own life because I failed to save... her.

Staring into Tess's storm-cloud eyes, I can hardly breathe. It's so fucking stupid. I'm worked up over nothing.

Except she throws me off. I'm the guy who can read anybody—except her, apparently.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—crap."

She isn't reading manipulative. She isn't reading desperate, isn't angling for a shoulder to cry on or a quick fuck.

She's genuine. Why is that?

Other women in her position would test the boundaries with the bodyguard. I've seen it happen.

But Tess isn't like that. All night at the party, she was oblivious to the looks she got. Didn't notice a single one.

I did.

It's all I can think about now. The way those men looked at her. Married men, tempted by a woman who—for all they know—is married too.