Dane looks at me with a bland expression. "I don't have time for---"
I seal two fingers over his mouth to shut him up. "I get that we just had a very intimate encounter and you're feeling off kilter because of that. But I am not letting you get away with dismissing it as nothing."
"Have I called it nothing?"
"No, but you're acting like that."
"You said you were going to relax me, you did it, and I can't see what else there is to say. It was a casual thing."
Casual? Is he out of his ever-loving mind? The way he brought me to climax had been the single most intense sexual experience of my life.
His face has gone stoic, though, and he pats my arm like I'm a puppy he just gave a tummy rub. "This was nice. Thank you."
Then he waltzes toward the door.
"Hey!" I shout.
Dane freezes with his hand on the doorknob, turning only his eyes to look at me. His wide, stunned eyes.
I stomp up to him, stabbing my finger into his chest. "You do not get to walk away like getting a blow job in your office is an everyday thing."
He flinches the tiniest bit.
"We shared an intense experience," I say. "It wasn't casual. I get that you're terrified of that, though I have no idea why, but being your fake girlfriend does not make me your on-call plaything."
"You're not---I never said---That's---" He screws up his entire face, drops his head onto the door with a thump, and groans.
Oh jeez, now he looks so pitiful that I want to hug him. This man has more tension and angst inside him than I ever realized until this moment. And I feel for him. More than I should, probably. But I can't help it.
"You need a break," I say. "Celeste came to see me last night, and she's worried you're putting too much pressure on yourself. I'm worried about you too. Let's go back to your hotel, cuddle up on one of those big sofas, and order a bunch of decadent desserts from room service."
"I can't," he moans with his head still resting on the door. "There's too much to do."
"Come on, Dane. You need more than oral sex, and I want to help you, so let me." I bite my lip, studying him and his defeated posture. "Okay, I'm just going to do it."
He lifts his head, his brows cinched up tight. "Do what?"
"This." I throw my arms around him, resting my chin on his shoulder. "I've never met anyone who needs a hug more than you do."
"I..." He trails off like he has no idea what to say.
So I keep myself mashed to his body, my arms around his neck, and breathe in the scent of him. He's not wearing cologne, but he smells good naturally. He feels good too. I can't remember the last time I hugged anyone, and I think I'm getting as much comfort from it as I hope he will.
Little by little, his body softens. His head lowers, and his cheek brushes against mine. A breath gusts out of him as he links his hands at the small of my back.
We stand there like that for a minute or two, maybe longer. I lose track of the time because this is the nicest thing I've done in ages. Why do I love cuddling with Dane? I'm not sure, but I'm also not sure it matters. This feels so good and so right that I don't want to examine the reasons why.
"All right," he says on another, gustier sigh that flutters my hair. "Let's go to my suite and...do whatever."
I suppose "or whatever" is the closest he'll ever come to admitting he wants to snuggle with me on a big sofa. I'll take it.
Without letting go of me, Dane opens the door and announces, "Noah, I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off. You should too. I'll make sure you're paid for the full day."
"Thank you, Mr. Dixon, sir," Noah says. "Sorry. I meant Dane."
"Enjoy your afternoon."
Dane keeps an arm around my waist as he leads me to the elevator. The car is empty, and once the doors glide shut, Dane pulls me snug against his gorgeous body and kisses me. The second our mouths collide I hum with pleasure and excitement. I love kissing him, though we've only done this a few times before. I love the sensation of his mouth on mine, of his tongue diving between my lips to tease me and arouse me, and of his hands splayed over my upper back. He takes it slow like he's in no hurry, like we can do this all afternoon.
And I guess we can. He's taken the rest of the day off.
When we exit the elevator into the lobby, I feel so deliciously warm and relaxed and turned on at the same time. This desire is softer than a little while ago in his office. I want him, but mostly, I want to spend time with him. Get to know him. Find out what he wants and needs and feels deep inside.
Which sounds an awful lot like legitimate dating.
And yeah, that's exactly what I want.
But does he want that?
Chapter Twelve
Dane
What am I doing? Taking an afternoon off during the most critical time in my career? The re-launch of my brand of sexual wellness devices is coming up sooner than I'd like, sooner than I can handle. Celeste has hammered it into me that these next weeks will make or break the re-launch, but then she tells Rika I'm stressed out and she's worried about me.
I can't blame Celeste for all my stress. I've done this to myself, haven't I? She warned me what it would be like if I signed a contract with Bonsoir. She never glossed over the downsides or what I would be expected to do. But now... I have no bloody idea how to deal with all of this.
Maybe that explains why I talked a clever, sweet, beautiful, sexy woman into pretending to date me.
When we get to my suite, Rika takes my hand and guides me into the library where we do exactly what she suggested. We snuggle on the sofa. I take off my jacket, tie, and loafers while she kicks off her shoes. She tucks her legs under her and leans against me, so I put my feet on the table and drape my arm over her shoulders. She's warm and smells like powder or...something. It's a pleasant scent. She always smells good, a fact that makes me want to shag her all the time.
I haven't done that yet. Why not?
Because it would be wrong, that's way. I want to smack my forehead with my palm, but I don't. Rika will think I've gone completely insane if I do that. But I am an idiot, to say the least, for thinking for even one second that I deserve to sleep with this woman. She should have a real boyfriend, not an arse like me who tells her it's only for show.
"What are you so afraid of?" she asks, not sounding at all irritated, despite the fact I hurt her feelings earlier.
I open my mouth to tell her I have no idea what she's talking about, but I stop short of saying it. Am I afraid? If I am, why is that?
Why can't you be as exciting as your toys?
My head falls back against the sofa like it's transformed into a granite ball and I can't hold it upright anymore. I should tell her the truth, shouldn't I? But I can't make the words come out, so instead I say, "I'd rather not talk about myself."
"That seriously limits the conversation." She wriggles until she's turned partway toward me, though she stays under my arm and nestles against me. "Tell me about your family, then. Please."