Page 56 of Playing Pretend

No, I’m a mess.

One minute, I’m confident and determined. The next, I’m weak and needy. Right now, I’m hellbent on volleying back at least some of the eroticism he catapults my way. “I’m drunk.” I’m also drowning in how natural this is. How nice and warm and genuine it feels to have him cuddled against me as the sun disappears behind the horizon.

“I know.”

“You don’t know everything, Rome.”

“You sure? I’m pretty confident I can read your thoughts every second of the day.” His rough stubble brushes my cheek as he whispers, “Want me to tell you what you’re thinking right now?”

“No.”

He laughs. “Are you afraid I’ll be right?”

“I’m afraid you’ll take the opportunity to say something dripping in vulgarity.”

“Dripping? I like where your head is at.”

I realize too late that he’s gained the upper hand.Again.I swing around and start for the marquee. “I think they’ve begun serving food. I’m starving.”

He grabs my wrist, halting me not only with his touch, but the seriousness in his expression. “Do you forgive me for this afternoon?”

My heart lurches. My pulse falters. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

He stands taller, his eyes scanning me as if in search of honesty. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

I don’t know if he believes me. I’m not certain I believe myself.

“So that means we can do it all again tomorrow?” A sly grin tilts his lips.

I laugh. I can’t help it. “You’re relentless.”

“Guilty as charged.” He slides his palm down to mine, entwines our fingers, and leads the way toward my colleagues where waitstaff offer hors d’oeuvres from silver trays.

I strive for calmness with every passing hour that his touch causes my pulse to riot. His arm is always around my waist, or shoulder, or hip. It’s gentle—the most tender reminder of his effect on me.

Unlike the last twenty-four hours, his fake boyfriend role loses the horny frat-boy edge. He’s respectful tonight, constantly singing my praises to anyone who’ll listen, marking the end of each conversation with a tender brush of his lips to my temple.

And I’m sure the way he regularly scans the crowd is a protective act in search of Julian, who doesn’t show his face.

“Did you know Piper is the reason the Bellefont development started in the first place?” Rome tells Pete.

“I am?” I ask.

Rome keeps his attention on my boss. “We drove through the suburb years ago—me, Piper, and her brother—and she made a random comment about how the area needed a showcase property to liven things up. Something community driven that would bring people together.” He takes a sip of his scotch, pretending I don’t exist apart from the gentle rub of his thumb along my hip. “She went on with a property wish list—a courtyard with a community garden, a coffee shop on the lower level, and a private space residents could hire for parties or events.”

I remember that day. I even remember the car ride and the conversation.

What I have no recollection of is his interest.

“You never told me that.” I frown.

“I never told you I instigated a multimillion-dollar property development because of a seventeen-year-old’s off-the-cuff vision?” He huffs a laugh, the sweet scent of alcohol on his breath tickling my senses.

“It sounds like Rome has hung off your every word for quite some time.” Pete drawls. “You two are quite the power couple.”

I swallow, my heartthud, thud, thuddingin my ears. “I guess so…”

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