Page 73 of Merry Fake Bride

My heart stops momentarily, and nothing else matters but the press of his mouth against mine.

My eyes close, and I drift in these bold seconds where every point of contact with Kairo, from my hand on his arm to my lips against his, burns with excitement.

It’s a moment I want to bottle up and keep, a moment that the desire igniting in my core aches to pursue.

But as soon as I register that desire, the chilling alarm at being touched rises like a tidal wave inside me, drowning out all other emotions.

This is too much. Too bold. You’re ruining things. He’s just waiting for you to drop your guard and then he’s going to hurt you.

The noise in my mind kickstarts time around me and the alarm from the washer bursts back into my ears as my daze passes.

Holy shit, what the fuck am I doing?

I jerk away from Kairo, leaving him visibly dazed with a light pink flush across his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry!” I gasp, then I flee the kitchen and don’t stop running until I reach my bedroom and close the door.

Sagging against it, my fingertips skim over my lips and chase the ghost of pressure that still lingers there as if part of me stayed behind to kiss Kairo until we’re both breathless.

My heart hammers and my hands shake.

Oh my God.

That was so stupid.

But so worth it.

18

KAIRO

Morning in the Miller household is hectic, made all the worse by a frantic phone call from Devon’s dad, who rushed to the bakery painfully early in the morning due to the snow, only to find out that the power is completely dead.

With the fridges and freezers out of commission, even the cold outside isn’t enough to stop the ice cream cakes from starting to melt and all other fragile desserts from rapidly approaching the end of their edible cycle.

With a microwave-warmed croissant in one hand and a stunningly hot cup of coffee in the other, Martin races Devon and me to the bakery just in time.

I’m brushing crumbs from my fingers as we walk inside and Hank shoves a white box into my hand.

“Take that across the street!” he barks at me. “The cafe is letting us use their freezer.”

“On it.” I turn one-eighty and head across the thickly snow-covered street to the small cafe where an older woman wrappedunder ten layers of sweaters and scarves stamps her feet and slaps her hands together.

“Wow,” she chuckles throatily as I pass. “I knew they hired more staff but I’ve never seen someone like you before!”

“It’s the hair, right?” I smirk at her over the top of the box.

“It’s a shame to hide a butt like that behind pants like those.” She chuckles. “If I were thirty years younger.”

“If only.” I snort with laughter. “Where can I put this?”

“The freezers are in the back just past the coffee machines.” She guides me with a brief wave of her hands then stuffs them both back into her pockets, resting her back against the door to keep it open. “What a beautiful storm.”

After depositing the cake in the freezer, I’m joined by Martin, who’s following the same instructions, and together, we spend an hour carting all perishables from the bakery to the cafe, much to the delight of the owner, Margaret.

She’s a sly thing for her old age, but given how much help she’s being to Devon, I let it slide.

Especially since every time I return to the bakery, Devon flashes me a grateful smile that reminds me of that sweet, brief kiss last night.