Page 15 of Playing Pretend

“Are you sure?” he purrs.

I won’t react. I refuse.

“Then what would it take to scandalize you, little Pip?”

God, I hate that nickname in this setting. When he’s all confident and commanding while I feel like a daunted schoolgirl.

“Nothing.” I swallow. Lick my painfully dry lips.

He raises a brow. “Really?” He leans in, his mouth approaching mine.

He won’t kiss me. He can’t. That would cross a line. Fake relationship or not. This is a game of chicken.

“We’ve got an audience,” he whispers. “We need to give them a show.”

“No, thank you.”

“But we’re a couple.” His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of my ass.

I fight not to whimper. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. I shouldn’t like the way it feels.

“Rome.” His name catches in my throat. “Behave.”

“Of course, my love.” He punctuates the response with a kiss.

Fast.

Chaste.

A brief whisper of contact that steals my breath and leaves me sober.

But he pulls back before I can protest, his grin wicked as my lips burn. My cheeks, too.

“I’m starving.” There’s innuendo in his tone, despite his gaze shifting to the resort behind me. “Let’s eat.”

I have no words. Only thoughts. Millions of them.

My brain screams through my lack of preparation. I wasnotexpecting this level of mastery. Who would’ve?

The touching—yes.

The temple peck—yeah, okay.

But a kiss on the lips?

Jesus Christ, Rome.

He entwines our hands and leads me, shocked and stumbling, toward the restaurant.

What the hell just happened?

I walk mindlessly, being seated at a large rectangular table with my colleagues in a complete brain fog. Rome takes the chair to my left and Sue sits to my right, while my face decides it wants to be the newest grill at a Japanese barbecue.

Someone puts a menu in my hand while nonsensical chatter echoes around me. Another cocktail is placed before me. Some sort of music plays in the distance. Yet I can’t get rid of the shock.

My best friend—the guy who taught me how to drive—kissed me.

And not only did our lips touch, but he did it without a care. Without emotion. While my body continues to react as if the contact was the starting sequence to a karma sutra marathon.

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