Page 62 of Strictly Pretend

Our eyes connect but there’s no emotion behind them. Just a blankness I don’t like at all. “You want me to kiss you,” I say.

“Yes!” She rolls her eyes.

Before she can say anything else, my mouth collides with hers. My palms splay across her soft ass, steadying her, as I plunder her lips, my kisses hot and demanding. She lets out a little mew against me, sounding like a fucking cat, then presses her breasts against my chest as she tangles her fingers in my damp hair.

I feel her nails scraping against my scalp as our tongues twist and tangle. She’s rocking in my arms now, the neediest part of her moving against the hardest part of me. Water laps against our bodies as we slide our hands all over each other, her breaths sharp and rapid against my lips.

When we finally pull apart her eyes are so heated it takes what little breath I had away. And I come to a realization.

This is all pretend. That’s fine. We both want what we want.

But hell, pretending is much easier when we’re being physical. Maybe it’s because neither of us can speak when we’re too busy kissing.

“What did you want to say to me?” she asks.

“Huh?” I frown, looking at her pink, swollen lips.

“You were going to say something before we kissed,” she says, looking amused.

“Was I?” I frown. Yeah, I think I was. But I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.

“You want me to help you?” she asks.

I swallow hard, because she’s still pressing her body against mine and it’s completely distracting. She should join the CIA. Her mind control abilities are second to none.

“Okay…”

“You wanted to know what Will said to me,” she says slowly, as though I’m five years old.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “That’s right.”

“He says you’re using me. That you’re going to hurt me.” She cups my jaw again, then presses her lips against mine. “That you’re an asshole.” She kisses me again. Just softly.

I let out a breath. “We’re using each other, aren’t we?” I ask.

“That’s right.”

“And he’s probably right. I am an asshole.”

But the thought of hurting her? That makes me want to punch something. No not something. Someone. Will.

“I would never hurt you,” I tell her. And now I’m thinking about that second damn lease and wishing it had never been found. “Not like him.”

Our eyes connect again. For the longest time neither of us says a word. I’m so aware of the way her body feels against mine. Soft and slight. Cool and damp. I feel protective and needy and I don’t want to let her go.

“Hey guys,” Mia calls out. “We’re heading back to the camp to get some drinks and get this party started! You coming?”

Emma gives me the smallest, sweetest smile. “Yeah,” she shouts out. “We’ll be right there.”

EMMA

Later that night we’re sitting by the lake while a line of grills are being tended to by Cassie’s dad’s chefs. Cassie isn’t here but I’m sitting with some of her friends and Brooks is over with the guys. He and Mia’s husband know each other – from college I think – and they’re talking about the old days. I watch as they laugh and drink beer, looking like nothing in the world could touch them.

That’s what money can do for you I guess. I had that feeling once, but I was too young to appreciate it. Truth be told, I’d have given it all up to save my parents.

My stomach tightens, and Brooks chooses that moment to turn and look at me, where I’m sitting in a camp chair, an undrunk glass of wine in my hand.

“You okay?” he mouths.

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