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“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers, a soft laugh leaving her mouth. But still, she doesn’t look away.

“Like what?”

“You know what,” she says, those brown eyes hard but daring.

“Not sure I do, Red,” I say, brushing my knuckles against her cheek. Her eyes warm as my fingers sweep her skin. “You’re earth-shattering, you know that? So beautiful that you shake up every room you walk into.”

She groans, throwing her head back. “You can’t talk to me like that!”

I chuckle, leaning back against the seat.

I just watch her. I watch her sit in her discomfort at my compliments.

I mean them, too. I never give her compliments as a part of this game.

Arden Doll is the kind of pretty that punches you in the gut.

She takes your breath in a violent way. No prisoners.

You have to just accept that her presence impacts your world, and once everything settles, you’ll never be the same again.

“I’ve got to sell this. For the plot, as you say.” I only say that to make her relax. Using her motto with her friends as a reminder that I remember this is not a real thing. Pushing that line is dangerous with her. She needs this to remain what it is on paper.

“You can’t.” She sighs, cracking her eyes open to look at me. “You just…can’t, Carter.”

I study her face. Memorize her freckles. Wish I could trace them with my fingers. “Too bad.”

She smiles gently, brown eyes scanning mine, searching for something. “Well, if you want to play dirty, I’m allowed to as well.”

I cock a brow and a sip of my beer. I’m immediately intrigued. “Go on, then.”

“You’re ridiculously handsome,” she says, eyes burning into mine. “Handsome in a way that defies logic and genetics. So physically good looking that it’s impossible not to want you.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly thick. I have heard that I am handsome many times in my life, but hearing that she might want me hits a bit differently.

She reaches over and slides her index finger against mine. I turn my hand in hers, locking our fingers together.

Her eyes dart to our hands.

“But it’s the rest of it that really intrigues me,” she says quietly, and I watch that tongue dart out and wet her bottom lip, feeling her fingers play with mine.

“The way your mind works, so kind but so deadly. That big, loving heart that beats to its own drum. How much you care about your friends, and how fiercely you protect them. How you protect everyone.”

Dear god. Can I kiss her right now?

Is the situation one of the dire variety?

“You’re the kind of handsome that people dream about,” she says, and those brown eyes slide up to mine again. “But you’re the kind of soul that an artist spends their lifetime trying to depict on paper. There just aren’t enough colours, enough words, or enough melodies to capture who you are.”

Yeah, that’ll do it.

I place my beer on the table without breaking her stare. She watches me carefully as I reach between us, wind my fingers around her wine glass, and put her drink next to mine.

And fuck, like I’ll let a woman say shit like that to me and not kiss the hell out of her.

“Your fake boyfriend has to kiss you after that one. In case Saltzy and Caulfield heard a word of that.”

I don’t wait for her to answer. I slide my hands against her cheeks, letting my fingers slide through her soft hair, and press my mouth to hers.

She’s stiff at first, like she’s trying to fight whatever this is between us, but the second my lips fall from hers and I move to kiss her again, she’s made up her mind.

Her hands slide to my forearms, her kiss finding its spark. It hits the gasoline that I’m made of and ignites. I push her back a bit, just so I can really kiss her, and I smother the soft moan that she whispers into my mouth.

I taste the red wine on her tongue and get drunk on the way that colour will never again mean anything besides her ever again.

All of the blood in my body rushes to my dick.

It’s me and her and this mouth. Those are the only things I can think about when the flavour of her cherry lip gloss seeps past my lips, and when her nails scrape against the skin of my arms. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, fake about what this woman does to me without even trying.

It almost kills me when she pulls away. She moves back just enough to force my lips from hers, but she stays close. Mouth plump and swollen, marked by me. Face suddenly shy. She blinks up at me through her lashes.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

I’m still holding her face, and I make no move to let her go. I drop my forehead to hers, and it’s immediately clear I’m not alone in what I’m feeling when her eyes flutter shut.

“I have no impulse control,” I remind her, my voice raspy now. “It’s kind of how we wound up in this situation.”

“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath.

There is something so hot about that moment.

The way that word slips through her lips like she’s scorning herself, like she’s mad at me for acting on something that we were both desperate to feel.

It’s a harsh word. My favourite word. It’s so tempting slipping out of the softest mouth I’ve ever touched.

“We should go back inside.”

I flinch, falling back onto the couch, tilting my head to the sky.

The moment is over. The wall is back up between us.

We’re faux boyfriend and girlfriend again, and everything else that happens for the rest of this night will be an act.

That was the only real moment we’ll be having, even when the lines are getting kind of hazy for me.

“You cooled off?” I ask, glancing at her.

Her eyes snap open, locking onto me. “Not at all.”

I can’t help it, a smug smile pulls at my lips. “My bad.”

“Yeah, ‘ your bad’ is right.” Saltzy’s voice slides through our moment.

I look over my shoulder to see him and Caulfield strolling back inside the house.

He glowers at me, which is a bit rich, since I am fairly certain that I know what he was out here for.

“We’ve been standing here for ten minutes debating on if going inside would ruin your moment. ”

“ I was debating,” Caulfield corrects, hands buried in his pockets.

“Yeah, I was getting awfully parched and impatient.”

“Understatement,” Wyatt grumbles, glancing at Saltzy. His amused, crooked smile widens when Callum glares at him. “You’ve got the patience of a saint, Cal—but you’re a miserable drunk.”

I lean my head back and bark a laugh, swiping my drink off the table and raising it to Wyatt.

“Amen!”

Saltzy’s cold look cuts to me, and I immediately drop my gaze and stare at my lap like a kid because fuck, he’s still my captain, and his dad is still Gene Saltzman.

“Let’s get you a drink,” Wyatt says, smacking Cal on the back.

They enter the house together, and when I turn back toward Arden, she’s watching them go with a thoughtful expression on her face.

I wonder for a quick moment if she’s the most perceptive person on the planet.

When she looks back at me, I expect her to ask me the question that’s been running through my head for months, but she just smiles a soft smile and nods toward the house.