Page 65

My body ignites. I feel his kiss all the way to my toes. It’s gentle and rough. Discovering and certain at the same time. Wonderful and scary.

All the conflicting feelings rake through my body, which quivers with every swipe of his tongue.

One thing is for sure, Cormac Quinn kisses like he does everything else. With perfection, he controls the pace, while delivering an experience that has my heart racing, my stomach tickling with butterfly wings, and my core clenching.

This is the best kiss of my life. The thought pops up from nowhere, and I want to discard it, but I lied enough tonight already. Even if this is my last kiss from him, the damage is done.

I won’t forget it. I won’t be able to erase the memory of this delicious pain. Not now, not tomorrow, not after we divorce.

Shit. This is a disaster. We’re to live together for what… at least two months? I need to save myself.

I push him away, both of us panting. He stares at me bewildered, like he can’t believe it happened.

Or he’s equally shocked by the intensity of the connection. Surely not. He must have kissed hundreds of women.

“What was that?” I step away, as if that could save me from reliving this impulsive moment for the rest of my days.

The venom in my voice is such a stark contrast to the warmth of that kiss, I almost recoil at my question.

He flinches and then gives me his unimpressed smirk. I guess we’re both very capable of turning our internal thermostat on and off.

“That was a moment of insanity. Forget it; let’s get this dinner over with.” He turns on his heels and leaves me standing there.

Chapter 12

Corm

Saar’s eyes widen as she grabs a napkin and spits into it. We’re seated around the kitchen island since my dining room is out of commission.

As much as I’m pissed about a fucking diner replacing my dining room, this setup seems better for the purposes of the cozy, natural experience we’re trying to sell. Better for my image.

“This is delicious, Corm,” Diane exclaims. “The best chicken pie I’ve ever had.”

Saar blinks a few times and looks at Diane like she’s just grown a horn. I guess my beautiful fiancée doesn’t like the extra spoon of Tabasco I doctored her portion with.

Not my proudest moment. In my defense, I had planned it to punish her for desecrating my house.

I briefly abandoned the childish idea when she flinched under the flash of the camera. She should be used to the dog-and-pony show, but clearly something in the whole setup triggered her. It was obvious the minute she stepped into the kitchen.

Her struggle awakened something primal in me. Like it’s my job to protect this woman.

And then she answered Diane’s questions, professionally and with a believable conviction.

The way she fucks around with the wedding planning, trying to rile me up all the time, the way she destroyed my house for fun, I was getting worried she might make me look worse, not better in the public eye.

But this woman is eloquent, well-mannered, and quite delightful company. And, apparently, a proficient liar.

And the absolute mind-fuck is that for a moment, I believed the ruse.

For a beat of insanity, I almost wished it was real. That she truly was my partner. There to support me. To trust. I didn’t even know I needed someone like that in my life.

And why the fuck did I kiss her?

She was looking at me with those doe eyes and I… I couldn’t resist her pull. It was a mistake. I returned to the kitchen so pissed that despite my better judgment, I poured hot sauce into her meal.

With her stupid antics—bouncy castle, carnival meal, and the trailer decor in my house—she turned me into a teenager. At least mentally. Not only because I return her pranks, but because my cock dictates my actions.

I should have known living under one roof with a supermodel would impact me. I’m only a man, after all.Yeah, keep telling yourself that it’s about her looks.