Page 17 of I Almost Do

He turns away and paces in front of the fireplace, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can do damage control. There’ll always be gossip, but we can manage it.”

“What happened to ignoring rumors and letting them blow over?”

He glares back at me. “I meant I didn’t care if the world decidedIwas a mercenary prick. I don’t like them talking aboutyou.”

I nod. “Do you think we should make a statement? A press release?”

“The only way to make people believe we’re in love is to act like we’re in love.”

At my dumbfounded expression, he puts a finger under my chin and closes my mouth for me. “Just in public,” he says. “Behind closed doors, we’re friends. But Bronwyn is right. In front of others, we should be… affectionate.”

I wonder if this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me or the worst. Because seeing how James would act if he loved me, but knowing he doesn’t… it will be a special kind of torture.

At my prolonged silence, James clears his throat and tugs at his bow tie. He turns away. “Never mind. You don’t have to do it.”

Something in me snaps. He can’t offer something like that, then snatch it back. “Oh, I’ll do it. I’m going to be so affectionate you won’t know what hit you.”

In my peripheral vision, I catch the flex of James’s hand. He’s turned away, but I’m almost sure I hear him breathe, “Thankfuck.”

Then he moves back into my space, his eyes on my mouth. For the briefest moment, I think he might actually kiss me.

Instead, he reaches into his tuxedo and pulls out a clean, monogrammed handkerchief. I stop his hand as he reaches toward my face with the cloth. “What are you doing?”

“I’m mussing you up. So we look like newlyweds who snuck away for some fun.”

“Ummm.”

He swipes at my lips with the fabric, then shows me the lipstick on it before he shoves it back in his pocket. “That works.”

I look at him speculatively. “What about you?”

His mouth twitches the tiniest, tiniest bit. “I don’t wear lipstick.”

I purse my lips. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

With a lift of his eyebrows, he says, “Do your worst.”

I yank at his tie, fussing with it until it sits askew. Then I lift my chin in challenge.

He twists his lips to the side and looks me up and down slowly. Then he pulls one small strand of hair out of my updo to dangle by my shoulder before he spreads his hands in a motion that says “Your move.”

I rake my eyes over him, thinking. Then I reach for his pocket square and mess it up.

There goes that lip twitch again.

I wait. There’s not much else he can screw up on me, really. The dress is pretty much—

He runs a finger across my neckline until he stops at the ridiculous bow that rests low on my shoulder. Then he rips it right off and shoves it in his pocket.

I gape. He smirks.

Narrowing my eyes, I shove both hands into his hair and give it a good swish. God, he smells good. And that hair is so soft. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about making him look like he just got some at his wedding reception.

Snickering, I pull back to admire his brand-spanking-new case of bedhead. James looking disheveled is my new favorite thing. Ever.

My pulse picks up when I see the amused calculation in his eyes. There’s retaliation coming for me, and he's about to deliver it. For a split second, I consider bolting just to see if I can get him to chase me.

Then James puts both of his hands in my hair, exactly the same way I did to him, and gently but firmly makes a freakingmessout of my updo.

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