Page 50 of Merry Fake Bride

I ache to run my fingers through his hair and see if it’s as soft as it looks.

I could even grab that necklace and use it to pull him closer for a taste of those lips that I only have a fleeting, drunken memory of.

As if he can hear me, Kairo’s teeth suddenly lightly dig into his lower lip and his eyes dart down to my own mouth.

Kissing him sounds irresistible and my fingers ache from the suppressed urge to reach out for him.

But I can’t.

While drunk, I was someone else. But here?

I’m still Devon, and the shadows that claw at my heart keep me rooted to the spot and my arm firmly in my lap.

“No,” I reply weakly. “I have some in my bag.”

“Alright.” He smiles a sweet, dazzling smile that makes my stomach somersault and then returns to his spot on the couch.

The air around me feels cold without him so I cuddle into the blanket.

Our conversation turns to Thanksgiving, which is around the corner, and our favorite things to eat.

One minute, I’m listening to Kairo’s deep, warm voice detail an argument with his chef over his desire for chicken at Thanksgiving because he doesn’t like turkey, and the next, I’m slowly opening my eyes to sunlight pouring through an unfamiliar window.

I blink and squint, trying to place the window in my mind and the gorgeous blue sky that stretches beyond it, but all I know is that this isn’t my window.

My heart jumps and I bolt upright.

I’m in Kairo’s bed.

And it’s morning.

How did I get here?

Rubbing my eyes, I try to remember how I made it here.

My last foggy memory was feeling so tired listening to Kairo talk and then the warmth of his arms around me. Or was that a dream?

What happened?

My phone lights up on the bedside table with a notification from my email, a junk mail that slipped past the security, and I sigh deeply—then it hits me.

Bacon. Waffles. Something sweet.

The scent of food hits me so hard that my stomach aches, and it draws me out of bed as if I’m being led by a gentle, invisible hand.

After cleaning myself up in the bathroom, I pad back downstairs while stifling a yawn.

Oops. I didn’t even check what time it was.

A blanket and several pillows rest on the couch as I pass. Did Kairo sleep down here?

He’s in the kitchen looking much more like himself, wearing black slacks and a light blue shirt that’s open at the top, revealing an enticing glimpse of his bare chest.

A frying pan sizzles on the stove while Kairo busies himself with the coffee pot.

As he turns, he spots me and the smile he gives me makes my heart melt.

I can’t keep crushing on him, but he’s so hard to resist.