I never thought he would want to willingly spend this much time with me. While it might not bother most people to grow close to their fake husbands, it feels like I’m losing focus. Like I’m forgetting the reasons I thought we would never make a good couple in the first place.
If I were being really honest with myself, my thoughts have slowly started drifting away from friendship and right toward a big red flag known as infatuation. I’m not talking about the physical kind either. More like the soul-deep attraction that tempts the broken part of me to open up fully to him, regardless of the consequences.
It is terrifying to think I might willingly let him come closer.
Not like you have a choice with this evening’s plan.
Even if I wanted to avoid him, tonight’s fake date would make it nearly impossible to do so.
I knock my fist against his door.
“Come in.”
No one man should have the power to make my heart beat harder within my chest from a few words. I take a deep breath before walking into his domain. After days of limited contact, I feel starved for his attention.
Starved for his attention? Maybe you do have workplace Stockholm syndrome after all.
Our gazes collide, and neither one of us breaks away. His eyes drag from my face down my body before lingering on my lime green stilettos. The straps wrap up my legs, making me feel every bit like a Roman gladiator despite the dainty little bow at the end. His stare stirs something deep within me, making heat pool in my belly.
“What do you need?” His rough voice snaps me out of my daze.
I lift my chin, preparing for a fight. “We have another fake date planned for tonight.”
“A fake date.” The way his lips curl at the statement fills me with trepidation.
“You know. Because we need to look like a happy couple?”
“Right. God forbid we actually feel like one, right?”
Oh. My. God. You need to get out of here.
I let out an awkward laugh. “Anyway…your tux is dry-cleaned and ready for tonight. Be ready at 7 p.m. sharp.”
I turn toward the door but halt when he calls out after me.
“Not so fast.”
My throat closes up as I rotate on my heels and look back at him. “Yes?”
“Where are we going?”
I regain my composure. “The charity gala at The Walton Hotel.”
“A charity gala?” His nose scrunches with disgust for the briefest second, and it makes me smile.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How so?” He leans back in his chair, his cold mask slipped back into place. Except his eyes can’t hide what burns beneath the surface.
Poor man thinks I’m trying to seduce him. The thought makes me laugh to myself, which only makes his gaze darken as it drops to my lips.
“Your grandfather’s lawyer will be attending.”
“That isn’t the answer I was searching for.”
My eyes roll. “Of course not.”
“If you wanted to make it worth my time, you should have gone with something a bit more…tempting.” He strokes his stubbled chin, and my heart picks up its pace.
“I’m confused. Is there supposed to be something more enticing than earning your inheritance?” I choose to play coy because the alternative seems risky based on the look on Declan’s face.
“You and I both know what I want.”
“I don’t want to hook up with you,” I blurt out.
Oh God. Why did you say that?!
“Who said anything about hooking up?” He stands and buttons his suit.
Deep down, I know if he gets near me, I won’t be able to control myself. His penetrating gaze incapacitates me, and I’m unable to take a single step toward the door as he rounds the corner of his desk. I stand like an innocent lamb awaiting slaughter as he eats up the distance between us.
“I want to strike a new deal.” He reaches out and cups the back of my neck.
Goosebumps spread across my skin. “I’m not open to negotiating.”
He shrugs as he says, “Strikhedonia1.”
He robs me of my reply as his lips slam against mine. My eyes remain open, shock making me unable to process everything happening all at once. Declan must sense my inability to connect because his teeth drag across my bottom lip in a silent command to pay attention. One of his hands wraps around the back of my neck, trapping me against him as he kisses me. My body shudders from a simple scrape of his teeth.
I shut my eyes and relish in the sensation of his lips against mine. His fingers gripping onto my neck tighten ever so slightly as my lips part with a sigh. His access to my mouth isn’t taken for granted. He explores like a man on a mission, using his tongue as a brand onto my very soul.
Everything about his kiss is selfish. The way his fingers embed themselves into my skin. The feel of his tongue against mine, stroking, testing, owning. The way he destroys any semblance of normalcy with a single thrust of his stiff cock against my stomach.
I think I’m dying.
I think I’m soaring.
I’m hit with wave after wave of emotions, with each pounding against me without any sort of reprieve. I don’t understand what’s happening.
Maybe you don’t want to.
I grow frustrated with my mixed emotions. My skin tingles and burns all at once, driven by some primal need to gain control. I thrust my hands into his hair and tug at the roots. He soaks it up like a man starved, and my lips stifle his moan.
He likes you touching him. His hands run down my curves before gripping onto my hips. He breaks our kiss, and I nearly groan with protest before his lips follow a path toward my throat. His tongue traces my fluttering pulse point before sucking on the skin. I buck under him, only to push myself further into his firm length.
Oh God. I realize that I must have said the words aloud because he laughs against my skin. The sound that got me into this mess makes something snap inside of me, and I all but shove him away. Both of us are breathing hard, staring into one another’s eyes.
The way he looks at me…it makes me feel alive. Powerful. Desired.
I can’t handle the weight of his gaze, so I scan the rest of him. Bad idea. The outline of his aroused cock pressing against his pants makes my mouth water. I’m hit with a sense of want that is so strong, it has my breath catching in the back of my throat.
Half of me wants to run while the other half wants to drop to my knees and get a better look. It’s the sane half that wins.
Go. Go. Go.
“I need to answer the phone,” I rasp.
“I don’t hear one ringing.”
The temptation to kiss that stupid smirk off his face rides me hard enough to wake me up. I power walk my way toward his door without sparing him another glance.
“Iris—”
“Be ready by seven.” I slam the door behind me, but not quick enough to miss him saying fuck under his breath.
Music blasts from my mini speaker as I sing my way through my makeup routine. While Declan hates galas, I love them because I don’t mind getting lost in the glitz and glam for a night. In the past, whenever he invited me as his guest so women wouldn’t approach him, I would spend the whole week finding the perfect outfit.
Tonight is no different. I take extra time applying my makeup and painting my nails. I somehow shimmy into my floor-length gown, being mindful of not catching my braids on the open zipper. Despite my efforts, I can’t seem to reach the zipper. I’m shoved back into the memory of my wedding night. Except unlike before, I don’t mind asking Declan for a little help, so long as he is fully clothed.