Page 40 of Faking It
He shakes his head subtly, like you would with a child who isn’t understanding what you’re explaining. “The look on your face tonight during our presentation. The one that said you wonder what this could be like between us if it were real. Don’t mistake our act for reality.”
His words slap me awake in a way I’d never admit because he’s right. I was thinking that tonight. As he spoke sweet words about me and comments about relationships and finding someone new that I knew someone else scripted for him, I still wondered.
For a man who says he doesn’t pay attention, he sure as hell noticed that one slip of my cover.
I won’t let it happen again.
“Just like you, I can play this part perfectly,” I say.
“Uh-huh. You may be able to fool them, but not me.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” I step back, needing space, hating that he can see through me so clearly.
“Why not?”
“You know what? Cut the crap, Zane. You want to be big man on campus, then be him. You want to be the big wig who owns the company. Good for fucking you, but I hate both of them. Can’t you just be the guy who stood in the tour bus this morning and offered me a mulligan? The one who gave me an apology for being an asshole because he was a big enough man to realize he’d been a jerk and wanted to fix it. Why can’t you be that guy all the time?” I run out of breath and I hate that it makes it harder to draw in the next one when he shifts on his feet so that his chest brushes ever so slightly against mine.
“I said be careful what you wish for, Harlow.”
“Why?” I throw my hands up in defeat and frustration, realizing this conversation isn’t going anywhere.
“Because that guy . . .” he says as his hand reaches out, finger tracing the line of my jaw as my breath catches and burns in my lungs. “That guy would walk up to you and do this.”
And before I can think to breathe, he steps into me and brushes his lips against mine. Once. Twice. My lips part. They grant him access so the third time he slips his tongue between them and lights every part of me on fire.
I hesitate and question but before I can even pause, he changes the angle of the kiss and begins all over again. So
ft lips. Rough stubble. Warm tongue. Restrained groans.
Desire.
Something I don’t want to feel.
I lie.
I want to feel it. I want to give in to it.
But not with him. Not this way. Not . . .
Good God the man drags me under with him. In this garden full of fairy lights and dark shadows there’s an underlying hint of restraint beneath his kiss that thrills and warns and hints at what else he wants.
When he breaks it off . . .
This is just an act.
When he steps back and rubs a thumb over my bottom lip as if to let me know, yes that was real. The lips that just drugged me turn up into a roguish smirk., and the wicked gleam in his eyes both scares me and thrills me.
“And that’s not even the half of what that guy you want would do with you . . .” He whispers as he steps back, his hands on my face holding it still, when he glances to the doorway at my back and says a single word. “Finlay.”
Still flustered from the kiss it takes me a second to register what he just said. The name of the guy hitting on me inside. But when I glance over my shoulder, there’s no one there.
Was Finlay there? Watching? Or was this just Zane’s way of staking some kind of invisible claim on me in a ruse that’s getting more confusing by the second, more impossible to separate what is real and what is fake.
He retreats another step, all touch now removed.
“Finlay?” I ask when my thoughts align, only to get a subtle shake of Zane’s head in response. “That’s what this was all about? You want to make sure to get in there and stake your claim before some guy you obviously hate does? You don’t want me but that means no one else can have me either? How dare you.”
My heart races out of control and that small part of me that thought he really meant the kiss—the one I keep telling myself I didn’t want because I won’t be his game to play—deflates a little.
