Pretend It's Love(10)

"And you like to feel up all your dates with your parents sitting not three feet away?"

"You're the first one I've brought home in a long time, remember? I've forgotten how it works."

She swallowed, ignoring how close his lips were. If she turned her head she'd catch them with her own. "Me, too."

His hand remained on her thigh, the heat from his palm matching the fire  that had started to slow-burn low down in her belly. He traced shapes  on her leg, every so often inching his hand farther up her thigh. She  could have easily knocked him away, but the insistent throbbing in her  sex overrode her desire to be sensible.

"Are you sure you want me to stop?"

His aftershave filled her nostrils as he leaned a little closer, his  hand mere inches from where she wanted to be touched. So close and yet  the distance seemed unbearable-her body cried out for him to stroke her.  To explore her.

She cleared her throat as she noticed that the conversation had died  down at the table. Interlacing her fingers with Paul's, she drew his  hand away, relieved and devastated at the same time.

"We should clear the dishes," she said to Paul, loudly enough that he wouldn't be able to back out of it.

Without waiting for his agreement, she pushed up from her chair and collected the empty plates.

"You don't need to do that," Leone said, reaching out to stop her.

"Please, it's the least I can do. You accommodated me without any notice  at all, I'd like to help." She sent Paul's mother her most charming  smile, and the older woman sat back down, a pleased expression on her  face.

Okay, so maybe she was better with families than she first thought.

Although it was clear that the Chapmans were nothing like her own  family. The conversation was filled with in-jokes, playful teasing, and  all the love she'd wished for as a little kid. In only one evening she  could see herself being part of this family, being accepted and loved  and cherished.         

     



 

All the more reason to make sure you remember the point of this  "relationship." It's business and you're lying to these people, which  means you can't get involved.

Paul followed her, stacking the empty plates and bowls as expertly as he  did at the bar. "You're such a girl scout," he said as they walked into  the kitchen, a smirk tugging at his full lips.

They opened the dishwasher and began to rinse and load the crockery. "I was raised to have manners."

The kitchen was small, and they stood next to each other, working  together as though they'd done it a thousand times before. Their rhythms  matched as if on some basal level they understood the other person's  movements and habits. Paul reached past Libby to grab a plate, brushing  her ribcage with his knuckles.

"Hands off," she admonished, though she was starting to mean it less and less.

"You seemed to enjoy it when I had my hands on you before." His eyes  swept over her, his lips wearing that predatory smile again.

The same smile she knew would feature in her dreams if she didn't shut this attraction down now. "And how could you tell that?"

"You got this look on your face." He leaned closer to her. "Your eyes got all wide and I could feel your thighs clenching."

Her face flushed hard and fast. "You could not."

"Could so. You wanted me to keep going."

She grappled for a protest but none came to her lips. He was right. "Regardless, we have an agreement."

"That's the best you can do?" He laughed, cocky and as sure of himself  as a guy who was used to charming women out of their pants. "Are you  telling me you're not attracted to me?"

It was no use lying, she wasn't the best at hiding her feelings anyway. "I didn't say that, but it's beside the point."

"Why?"

She looked behind her to make sure they were alone. "Because this is a  business arrangement, nothing more. I don't want things to get messy."

Messy was an understatement. She didn't want to get used and discarded  for a newer model the way she had back in university. The way her father  had done to her mother years before that.

History would repeat itself if she wasn't careful, and Paul would only  be able to use her if she let him. But she wouldn't. Their arrangement  gave her something precious-an opportunity, a chance-and she would  otherwise keep him at a distance.

"But getting messy is so much fun." He reached out to her and pulled her  to him, his hips flat against her belly as he wedged her against the  kitchen bench. "Besides, they're spying on us."

"Who?"

"My family." He inclined his head back toward the kitchen door with a  movement so subtle she felt as though they were spies communicating  undercover. "We should sell it; we don't want them thinking this is just  business."

His hands touched her hips, his fingers tracing the line at the top of  her jeans just under her shirt. The throbbing started up again,  insistent. Demanding.

"They don't think that," she protested, but her hands came up to his  chest as if controlled by a puppet master tugging her strings.

His muscles were hard beneath her palms, and she had to stop herself  from rubbing against him. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a flash  of red. Gracie.

"Okay, maybe they are watching us."

"Ready to play the part?" One hand came up to cup the angle of her jaw. "Let's see what kind of actress you are."

"This is purely for show," she said, the breath rushing out of her lungs as his face hovered close to hers.

"Of course." His lips brushed the space next to the corner of her mouth,  so close and yet the distance felt like pure, unadulterated torture.  "You won't enjoy this at all."

"I won't."

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He angled her head, coming down over her in a way that was completely  possessive and in control. As his lips parted hers, she sighed against  him, her body losing the ability to hold itself upright. Every nerve  ending in her body sparkled like New Year's fireworks, and her fists  curled into his T-shirt.

The moment his tongue touched hers her mind went blank, the taste of  wine on his lips and the scent of his skin driving her to a point of  desperation. His fingers thrust into her hair, pulling her head back so  he could take more, demand more. Taste more.

Unable to stop herself, Libby pressed her hips against him, gently  rubbing up and down until a wonderfully guttural sound came from the  back of his throat. He was hard beneath her hands, the muscles in his  chest perfectly shaped. The press of his thighs against hers enough to  spark wild images in her mind.         

     



 

"You seem fairly invested," he murmured against her lips, pulling away  from the kiss with a dark fire in his eyes, "for someone who's not  enjoying herself."

"Just playing the part." The crack in her voice betrayed just how much she'd wanted that kiss to continue.

"Right." A cocky smile passed over his lips as he nudged her legs apart with his thigh.

A small gasp came rushing out as he pressed against the distracting ache  there. If they'd been alone her restraint would have shattered like  glass against stone. Thank God his family was in the next room.

"You don't look like you want to jump me at all," he teased.

"I'm a good actress." Sucking in a breath, Libby pressed her lips  together and straightened up. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"It's one thing I want."

Paul was not a guy who would be easily fooled. She'd have to be more  careful about how much she revealed around him. She'd already made it  clear she was attracted to him, but her business came first.

That was one thing she didn't have to pretend.

"Your family is waiting," she said primly. "You don't want them to think  I'm some floozy who's ready to jump their son in the next room."

"I don't much care what they think, you just say the word." He brushed  his hand down the side of her neck, tracing her collarbone with a  fingertip.

"You should care." She wriggled out of his grasp and closed the door to  the dishwasher. "You have a family who loves you. If you don't care  about that you don't deserve them."

A moment later, when they'd no doubt decided that the kissing had stopped, Leone entered the kitchen. "How about some dessert?"



"Why didn't Libby mention anything about being your girlfriend when she  met with me the other day?" Des asked, leaning back in his chair and  rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. The bottom of one tattoo peeked  out. The colored ink looked even more intense against the white cotton.

"We hadn't decided that we were going to go public yet." Paul shrugged,  pretending to inspect his coffee so he didn't have to face his brother's  doubt. Or the churning in his own gut. "She wanted to come to you on  her own so you'd focus on her business idea rather than seeing her as my  girlfriend."

The lie tasted sour on his tongue. Paul was many things but he'd always  been an open book. Lying wasn't something that felt natural, but he  reminded himself why he and Libby had entered into this arrangement. He  was done being second best.