Page 18

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to lose spectacularly. When I sink the final ball, I sing “We Are the Champions” under my breath, and her face wrinkles. I grab her shoulders and turn her toward the bar. “Go on now, Cinderella. Ask her out.”

Emory shakes my hands off and is halfway to the bar before I realize that the blond bartender has been replaced by a flannel-wearing, beanie-clad man with big arms and a nice jaw.

My own jaw grinds in response as she sails over to him. He sees her coming too, his eyes tracking her, just like mine are, as that strip of pale skin above her waistband moves with every swing of her hips.

Hell no. Something claws at me. Something uncomfortable and hot. A sensation I refuse to put a name to. Before I realize it, I’m striding after her, shoving people out of the way and grabbing her arm before she gets there.

“Get off—what?” She rounds on me.

“Come with me.”

I pull her into the hallway next to the bar and into an alcove.

“Your ring.”

We both look at her hand, dumbfounded. She’s wearing the tarnished family ring I grabbed from the desk that night. For a moment, it seems like a shame, that this bright, laughing woman should have a small, dull piece of jewelry I pulled out of a junk drawer.

“I forgot it was there,” she says, voice awed.

“Must be getting comfortable.”

She spears with me a look. “Gross, Aiden.”

My mouth hitches up at the side. “Wonder what he would have thought.”

“Nothing like a good cheating rumor to spice things up,” Emory says.

“Or rumors that we’re looking for a third.”

She lets out a surprised laugh and covers her mouth.

“Think he would have said yes to joining in?” I ask.

She shakes her head and keeps laughing, little gasps and giggles escaping her hand. My whole chest feels warm.

“Don’t know why you’re laughing, Emory. I’m offended.”

She presses her forehead to my chest, and I freeze. No one has ever done that before. I’ve never made anyone laugh so hard they needed to hide their face. And now, joy is spilling out of her like she’s a champagne bottle overflowing.

She finally leans weakly against the wall. “God, we’re dumb.” She wipes at her eyes. “All those bets were very dumb.”

“And yet, you still owe me one,” I drawl.

“Something not dumb, I hope.” She’s still smiling when she looks at me, and that warmth turns into a stab of heat. One that travels from my chest through my center, to the parts of me that want to know what her smiling lips taste like.

Her eyes flare as she watches my face.

“I want to know if you liked the kiss,” I say. The words are unplanned, drawn up from the basest parts of me.

“Already told you. I hated it.” She straightens against the wall.

“The way you responded to me tells me you liked it.”

She shrugs. “Kiss me again and find out.”

Nice. That’s her game. I can see the challenge in her gaze. She thinks I’ll kiss her and I’ll be the one to melt. No chance of that.

“All right,” I say softly. I move into her space, feeling the air change between us.

It’s heavy, and I feel her eyes on every part of my face.

I cradle her cheek briefly in my hand and watch her eyes go half lidded.

Triumph sings through me. As soon as I can get her to admit she wants me, I’ll be over this madness.

That’s what this is. Insanity. I got hard for her, and now the animal part of me needs to even the score.

I cage her against the wall, noting the way she shivers as my thigh lodges between her legs. I let my breath ghost over her face. Her lids flutter shut, her thick lashes fanning over her cheeks. I don’t kiss her, even though I can practically feel how much she wants it.

“Stop stalling, golden boy,” she mutters.

In response, I press my lips to her neck.

She goes boneless.

I win.

I win, and yet I don’t stop. My lips have a mind of their own as they drag from the column of her neck, where she tastes delicious, to the crease of her shoulder, where she tastes even better.

There’s a tug low in my groin that says I’d like to taste her forever.

No. Not forever. Just long enough to prove my point.

I nibble at her ear and pull the lobe into my mouth, savoring the goose bumps that rise on her skin.

“Is this supposed to be sexy?” she murmurs.

How can she form words right now? I can barely form thoughts. “Tell me how much you hate it,” I say.

“So much.”

I nearly laugh, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction. Anything louder than a breath means she wins. The rules are unspoken, but I think she understands them too.

“Do you hate this?” I graze my teeth over her collarbone.

Her fingers spear through my hair. That nearly breaks me.

“Disgusting.” She tugs on the strands.

“What about this?” I bite at the top of her breast.

Her breath shudders out.

I’m on fire for her. I would rather die than admit it, but my body loves this.

Kissing my fake wife in a darkened bar is better than the best sex I’ve ever had.

I keep my hips carefully separate from hers so she won’t feel my erection, but in my head, I’m grinding it against her stomach and making her gasp.

“I think—” She inhales sharply as my teeth sink in again. “Try it on the other side. Just to see.”

With pleasure , I want to growl, but that would be against the rules. My mouth hovers over the swell of her other breast. They’re small enough to fit into my mouth, and I’d really like to try. “For appearances, right?”

Her lids flutter open. “What?” Her eyes are hazy.

“I’m kissing you for appearances.” I bite at her breast, and she sways.

“Is that why you’re so bad at it?” Her voice is taunting, and it makes me harder.

“I’m not doing this for you.” God, if I could just touch myself, I’d go off in two seconds.

“Thank god,” she mutters. “Because”—her breath sighs out as I soothe the bitten spots with my tongue—“it really doesn’t feel like you’re trying.”

I force down my laughter and swirl my tongue over the love bites on her neck, the red spot where my stubble abraded her skin, then down over her collarbone to the tops of her breasts.

She’s so fucking pretty. Her nails scratch over my scalp, and I groan.

We both still. My mouth is open over her collarbone, my breaths panting out. I’m hard for her. I’m on fire for her.

“I win,” she says. Her voice is breathy.

I stay there, my arms caging hers, heat swirling between us. “You made a sound too,” I say, my voice gravel. My eyes lift to hers, and whatever she sees in them causes a catlike smile to curl her lips. Her lipstick is smeared, and I didn’t even touch her mouth.

“You know what they say, golden boy.” Her smile grows. “Don’t stick your dick in evil.”

If she’s an evil queen, then take me to the dark side right now.

My mouth goes to her ear. “I think I could fuck the good back into you.”

She freezes. I straighten, but she’s not looking at me.

I lift my head and follow her gaze. She’s staring at a man on the other side of the bar, the slice of the room we can see from the hallway.

I recognize him. Harrison Parker. His sister was one of the women Grandfather was considering for a match.

He’s my age, and he’s a cocky prick from what I remember of him.

Played dirty in lacrosse. Willing to hit his own teammates with the stick if it meant scoring the goal himself.

My eyes narrow, and I’m about to ask Emory if everything is okay, but she’s already slipping out from under my arm, adjusting her top, and striding for him.