Page 61 of Faking it with the Billionaire

“Pajamas,” I correct her, but she isn’t wrong. I’m not wearing a shirt, and if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be walking around in my boxers for the world to see.

But it’s just Em.

Bristol is asleep, and the nanny didn’t stay the night. She must have gone home once Emerson came in after the game.

“That’s not pajamas.” She laughs under her breath. “Do you make a habit of walking around in your underwear?”

Em does a decent job of meeting my gaze, not staring at my bare chest or my low-riding boxers. I can’t quite read her this morning, which only makes me more puzzled. She could have just walked away or given me the cold shoulder, but I’m glad she hasn’t done either.

Her cheeks redden as she holds my stare, and I’ve yet to answer her. I want her to look, to take it all in. I’m proud of what I have to offer her. And it isn’t like she hasn’t seen the goods.

Hell, she took it for a bit of a test drive.

My cock begins to stir at the heated memories of her lips around my shaft. Fuck, I cannot get hard while she’s staring at me and things are finally getting back to normal after last night.

Hockey.

Pucks.

Fights on the ice.

I try to throw random hockey thoughts into my head to keep my dick in check.

“You shouldn’t have proposed to me on the ice, not without first discussing it.”

There’s a chill in the air, and it’s coming entirely from Emerson. That’s one way to crush a man’s ego and his boner.

Not that I thought it was a real proposal or that she was in love with me. But the kiss on the ice had been spectacular.

“Will you marry me?” I ask, holding the microphone with one hand and gripping her hand, staring up into her eyes.

She smiles and nods, and for a moment, it feels real. The happiness behind her gaze appears one hundred percent genuine, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was as ecstatic as I was.

I slide the ring onto her finger. It’s a simple gold band and far too big, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

I stand and wrap my arms around her waist, crushing her lips against mine. My heart pounds against my chest, the drowning of the crowd hushed by the heat building between us.

She opens her mouth, her fingers playing at the back of my neck, tangling in my hair as I deepen the kiss.

The world fades away, it’s as though it’s only the two of us, and I pull her tighter, closer. My clothes are thick and hard between us, making it nearly impossible to feel her body against me.

But she doesn’t seem to care or notice. Her tongue glides past my lips, and I want to explore every inch of her body from head to toe on the ice.

A loud thud jars us apart, and I realize I’ve dropped the microphone, forgetting it was in my fingers with her body pressed tightly against mine.

Emerson is staring at me, waiting for a response as to why I proposed without discussing it with her first. Because I knew she’d never agree to it.

“I was just emphasizing our fake relationship.”

“You don’t emphasize by proposing,” she says. “Or by moaning my name in the middle of the night. Were you seriously fantasizing about me while jacking off?”

“Daddy, what’s jacking off?”

Neither one of us heard Bristol climb out of bed and sneak into the hallway with us.

SIXTEEN

EMERSON