Page 27 of Playing Pretend

“Rome…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how to think.

He straightens, his arm falling from my waist. “I think my work here is done.”

“Your work?” I whisper.

He tilts his head to the right where Julian storms toward the elevators, clearly enraged if the military-style march is anything to go by.

“He was watching you two the entire time,” Cassidy adds. “He left with a parting death stare.”

I swallow, my mouth dry, my pulse racing. I fight against placing my hand to my scorching lips as I say, “I don’t think upsetting him further is an appropriate way to handle this.”

I need air. I can’t breathe.

My lungs are like a vise. My throat is worse.

I’ve fantasized about kissing Rome more times than I can count. A proper kiss. Just like the one we shared. But nothing compared to the reality.

His lips were so much softer. His hold unwaveringly strong.

I can still feel his arm around my waist, the intense heat, the intoxicating chemistry.

“I disagree,” Cassidy pipes up. “After what he said to you earlier, he deserves to suffer.”

“What did he say?” Rome’s eyes narrow.

I ignore him and frown at Cassidy. “How do you know what he said?”

She flashes her teeth with chagrin. “I have supersonic hearing when it comes to gossip. I overheard someone say he accused you of being indecent.”

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the brain fog from that kiss. “That’s not what he said.”

“Then what did he say?” The slightest growl enters Rome’s voice.

“That he expected me to have the human decency to tell him you were coming. That I owed him that much.”

“You don’t owe him a damn thing.” Rome raises his brows, as if waiting for me to agree, while Cassidy stands there like an eager voyeur.

“Do you mind giving us a minute?” I ask her, chancing a glance around to find only two remaining stragglers getting a coffee refill.

“Yeah. No problem. We can catch up in a bit.” She walks backward toward the elevators. “Coffee or cocktails?”

“Cocktails.” So many cocktails. Enough to numb this madness.

She grins, then spins on her heel and saunters away.

“What the hell happened?” Rome lowers his voice. “What did he really say?”

“What the hell happened?” I mimic, grabbing his wrist to drag him back toward the conference room and away from listening ears. “What the hell was that kiss?” A resurgence of heat floods my chest at the mere mention. “You can’t do shit like that, Rome. What the fuck were you—”

“Watch your tongue, little Pip. Don’t make me kiss you again to stop that filthy mouth.”

I gape. Like a goddamn fish.

He grins in return. No words. No apology.

“You can stop the theatrics,” I hiss, planting my feet before the open doors to the conference room. “We’re practically alone.”

“We’re also outside our suite, which means you’re fair game.”

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