Page 4 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend (Curvy Girls of Whitetail Falls #3)

I've never been jealous. It's not in my emotional vocabulary.

Yet here I am, watching some groomsman in a rented tux lean too close to Amber as they chat by the dessert table, and I'm contemplating the physics of how far I could throw a man while wearing Italian leather shoes.

"You might want to tone down the death stare," Ryan remarks beside me, amused. "People will think you're actually dating her."

I tear my eyes away from Amber—who looks unfairly gorgeous as she laughs at whatever lame joke the groomsman is telling her—and take a pull of my beer. "That's the point, isn't it?"

Ryan gives me a knowing look. "Sure. Except you're not acting for Callie's benefit anymore. She left twenty minutes ago."

Damn. He's right.

So why am I still tracking Amber's every movement like she's the center of my universe?

That kiss didn't help. It was supposed to be strategic, a clear message to Callie. Instead, the moment Amber's lips touched mine, something shifted. Like a key turning in a lock I didn't know existed.

"It's complicated," I mutter.

Ryan snorts. "Sure it is, buddy." He claps me on the shoulder. "Just remember, she thinks this is all pretend. You might want to clue her in if that's changed."

Before I can respond, the wedding band switches tempo, and the lead singer's voice booms across the reception area.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The bride and groom have a special surprise. Mia and Bradley are both championship ballroom dancers, and they've decided to share their passion with a little friendly competition!"

The crowd murmurs with interest as the singer continues. "Three couples will be randomly selected to join our newlyweds on the dance floor. The audience will judge the winner, who'll receive a special prize!"

I straighten, a grin spreading across my face. This is perfect.

"And our first couple is..." The singer makes a show of selecting from cards. "Tucker Hughes and Amber Hill!"

Amber's head whips around, her eyes finding mine across the room in panic. I just wink and start toward her, ignoring the whoops and applause. The groomsman wisely steps aside as I approach.

"Ready to show them how it's done?" I ask, extending my hand.

"Tucker," she hisses, "I can't dance. Not like this. Not in front of everyone."

"Sure you can." I tug her gently toward the dance floor. "Just follow my lead."

"That's the problem. I don't know how to follow."

I lean close, my lips brushing her ear. "Now why don't I believe that?"

Her cheeks flush that delicious pink I'm becoming addicted to, but she allows me to guide her to the center of the dance floor. The other selected couples join us—Mia's sister with her husband, and an older couple who look suspiciously professional.

"The dance will be..." The singer pauses dramatically. "Tango!"

Amber's eyes widen. "You have got to be kidding me."

I place my hand at the small of her back, drawing her against me. "Trust me," I murmur. "My mother was a dance instructor. I've got you."

"You never mentioned that," she whispers, her body tense against mine.

"Never came up." I position us in the starting pose. "Just feel the music and let me guide you. The tango is all about passion and connection."

The first dramatic notes fill the air. I lock eyes with Amber, summoning every ounce of confidence I have. "Eyes on me. Nothing else exists."

And then we're moving. The first steps are tentative, Amber following a beat behind, her hand gripping mine too tightly.

But as we complete the first turn, something shifts.

Her body relaxes incrementally, her movements becoming more fluid.

When I pull her into the first close embrace, her breath catches, but she doesn't falter.

"That's it," I encourage softly. "You're a natural."

The music swells, and so does my daring. I guide her into a series of more complex moves—a quick corte, a sharp flick of her leg that she executes with surprising precision. Her eyes never leave mine, wide with a mixture of concentration and something else. Trust, maybe. Or desire. Possibly both.

The other couples fade to background noise. All I see is Amber. The flush on her cheeks, the curve of her neck as she executes a perfect lean, the way her body fits against mine like it was designed to be there.

We're having a conversation without words, every step and touch communicating something raw and honest that I can't quite name.

As the music builds toward its climax, I take a risk. "I'm going to dip you," I warn, seconds before executing the move.

Amber doesn't hesitate. She arches back, one leg extended, her throat exposed in a gesture of complete trust. I hold her securely, our faces inches apart, her weight balanced perfectly in my arms. For a suspended moment, we're frozen in that position, breathing hard, eyes locked.

Then I slowly raise her back up, our bodies flush against each other. The final notes hang in the air, and without planning it, without thinking, I capture her lips with mine.

This kiss is different from the one before. It's not for show, not for Callie or the town gossips or anyone but us. It's heat and need and something dangerously close to reverence. Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, holding on as if she might float away otherwise.

The crowd erupts in cheers, breaking the spell. Amber pulls back slightly, her eyes dazed. I keep my arm around her waist, unwilling to let her go just yet.

"And I think we have our winners!" the singer announces, to more applause.

Mia rushes over, hugging Amber tightly. "That was amazing! I had no idea you could dance like that!"

"Neither did I," Amber admits, her eyes finding mine over Mia's shoulder.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of congratulations and good-natured teasing.

Amber accepts the "prize"—a bottle of local wine and a gift certificate to Riverbed Brewery, which makes everyone laugh—with gracious humor.

But I notice how she keeps a slight distance from me now, her smile a touch too bright, her laugh a bit too careful.

When she slips away during a lull in the music, I follow, drawn like gravity.

I find her at the edge of Acorn Circle, beneath a canopy of golden lanterns strung between ancient oak trees.

The sounds of the reception fade to a distant hum here, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the soft gurgle of the nearby brook.

She stands with her back to me, arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth of my jacket still draped over her shoulders.

"Amber."

She turns, and the sight of her in the lantern light steals my breath. Honey-gold hair caught in the gentle breeze, brown eyes reflecting tiny points of light, lips still faintly swollen from our kiss.

"That was some performance," she says, aiming for lightness but missing by a mile.

"It wasn't a performance." The words come out rougher than intended.

Her eyes widen slightly. "Tucker—"

"Let me finish." I step closer, needing her to understand. "I asked you to fake date me to avoid Callie. That was the plan. A simple arrangement between two people with mutual problems."

"I remember," she says quietly.

"But something happened. Is happening." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my sudden inability to charm my way through this conversation. "When I'm with you, I'm not pretending. That's what scares the hell out of me."

She studies me, guarded hope in her expression. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever." The admission costs me, but her soft intake of breath makes it worth it. "And I think— I hope you might feel something too."

Amber looks away, vulnerability crossing her face. "Tucker, you don't have to—"

"I do." I close the distance between us, gently turning her face back to mine. "Look, I know my reputation. Whitetail Falls' resident heartbreaker, right? The guy who flirts with everyone and commits to no one."

She doesn't deny it, just watches me with those perceptive eyes.

"What people don't know is why." I've never told anyone this, not fully, but suddenly I need her to understand. "I fell hard for a woman. Thought she was it—the one, forever, all that. I planned this elaborate proposal, told everyone we were getting married."

I pause, the old pain duller now but still present. "She was seeing someone else the whole time. Had been for months. When I found out, she just said she never thought I was serious. That I was fun, but not the kind of man women actually stay with."

Amber's expression softens. "Tucker, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a decade ago." I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "But after that, it was easier to be what everyone expected, the charming player who never gets too deep, never risks getting hurt again."

"I understand that more than you know." She sighs, her gaze dropping to where her fingers fidget with the edge of my jacket. "When Cameron left, it wasn't just the humiliation of being dumped before the wedding. It was this... confirmation of everything I already feared."

"Which was?" I prompt gently.

"That I'm not enough. Not exciting enough, not adventurous enough, not..." She gestures at herself. "Not thin enough, pretty enough. Just... not enough to keep someone."

The raw vulnerability in her voice makes my chest ache. "Amber, look at me."

When she raises her eyes, I cup her face in my hands. "You are more than enough. You're extraordinary. The way you take care of everyone around you, how you notice the little things, your stupid jokes—"

"Hey!" She smiles despite herself.

"The point is, Cameron didn't leave because you weren't enough. He left because he wasn't enough for you, and he knew it."

A tear slips down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb. "You deserve someone who really sees you and knows how goddamn lucky they are."

"Someone like you?" she asks softly.

"I'm trying to be that someone." I stroke her cheek, marveling at how right this feels. "I know it's fast. Crazy fast. But I stopped pretending somewhere between you bossing around that florist and watching you dance with your grandmother at the rehearsal dinner."

Her lips curve into a small smile. "You did look genuinely horrified when Gran asked about your intentions."

"I respect a woman who threatens bodily harm while offering me homemade cookies."

Amber laughs, the sound clear and bright in the autumn night. Then her expression turns serious again. "What about Callie? I saw how you looked when she showed up. That history seems... complicated."

"Callie was a distraction." I shake my head. "I thought I still had feelings because it was easier than admitting I was just... lonely. Seeing her today made one thing crystal clear, whatever we had is long gone."

"And this?" Amber gestures between us. "What is this, Tucker? Because if it's just attraction—"

"It's not." I cut her off, needing her to understand.

"Yes, I'm attracted to you. Wildly, maddeningly attracted to you.

But it's more than that. I like who I am when I'm with you.

I like how you see through my bullshit but laugh at my jokes anyway.

I like that you're kind without being a pushover, and strong without being hard. "

Her eyes shine in the lantern light. "That's a lot of feelings for forty-eight hours."

"Tell me about it." I step closer, my hands finding her waist. "I'm not usually this honest, you know. It's terrible for my mysterious bad-boy image."

"Your secret's safe with me," she whispers, her hands coming to rest on my chest.

"So," I say, my heart pounding harder than it did during our tango, "are we still pretending? Because I'm not. Haven't been for a while now."

Amber studies me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine for any trace of insincerity. Whatever she sees makes her decision. She rises on her toes, eliminating the last space between us.

"No more pretending," she agrees, her breath warm against my lips.

I close the final distance, kissing her with everything I've kept carefully contained until now.

This kiss is a promise, an exploration, a beginning. Her arms slide around my neck, pulling me closer as she melts against me. I taste wine and sweetness, and I know with sudden, perfect clarity that I'm in trouble.