Page 36 of Make-Believe Match

“Thanks.” I looked down at it. “Will Sara mind that you gave it to me?”

“I think she’d be fine with it. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll check with her.”

“Okay.” I met his eyes, and it struck me that in less than twenty-four hours, this man would be myhusband. “I cannot believe I just agreed to marry you. How did you talk me into it so fast?”

That grin appeared, along with a lift of his shoulders. “It’s a gift.”

* * *

While Devlin went out to the car to get his bag, I grabbed an extra pillow and a blanket and placed them on the couch. He came in a minute later, locking the door behind him.

“I’ll just be a minute in the bathroom, and then you can use it,” I told him. “There are extra towels in the hall closet.”

“Thank you.” He set his bag down next to the couch and whipped off his T-shirt, revealing his bare chest and ripped abs.

My eyes bugged out. “Hey!”

“Hey, what?” He tossed the shirt aside.

“No undressing out in the open!”

“You want me to sleep in my clothes?” He unbuckled his belt.

“Okay, we’re gonna need to lay some ground rules,” I said, unable to stop staring at his naked skin. “All removal of clothing must be done behind a closed door.”

His fingers hovered around his zipper. “So I shouldn’t take off my pants right now?”

I stuck my hands on my hips. “This is the problem with you.”

“What, that I’m funny?”

“No. That you cannot be trusted.” I spun around and marched down the hall to the bathroom.

“Goodnight, wife!” he called.

“I am not your wife!” I shouted back, slamming the door behind me. Then I braced myself against the sink and stared at my red face in the mirror. Fanned it. Splashed cold water on it.

Fuck, he was hot.

But if we were going to go into business together—and that’s what this marriage would be, a business deal—we had to keep things professional.

There could be no sex.

I brushed my teeth, darted across the hall, and slipped beneath the covers.

Sex would only cloud the judgment, I told myself. Sex would muddy the waters. Sex would just make it difficult to stay focused on the goal at hand.

Hand. Fingers. Wrist, arm, biceps in a tight T-shirt. Shoulders in the dark above me, right here in this room.

My nipples tingled beneath my cotton tank, and I brushed my thumbs over them. Closing my eyes, I remembered his lips on my skin.

I yanked my hands from beneath the covers and pressed my arms to my sides above the comforter, stiff as a soldier. I would not touch myself and fantasize about him. I would not.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about him out in my living room. We hadn’t even talked about where we’d live. Would he move in here? This place was so small. There was only one bedroom.

There was only one bed.

I gulped. This could get tricky.