Page 69 of Playing Pretend

He glances toward me, his attention catching on mine.

“Hey,” he calls out, diverting his path in my direction.

I push to my feet, shoving my cell into my pocket before swiping at the sand on my ass. “Hey, yourself.” I pin my attention on his face, refusing to succumb to the temptation of his naked chest.

“I assume you’re taking advantage of your time without me.” He jogs in place, his muscles glistening in my periphery.

I should tell him about Rett. About how I’m annoyed at the information Rome shared with my brother. But we’ve argued enough over the past few days. “I’m living the dream.”

He grins. “For now. Make the most of it before tonight.”

“You’re trying to scare me now?” I raise a brow.

The curve of his lips increases. “Maybe a little.”

Well, it’s working. My stomach twists in knots.

I shrug. “As long as you remain professional and stick to your promises, I’m sure I have nothing to worry about.”

He stops jogging and pulls his shirt from his shorts to wipe the sweat from his face. “You don’t believe that.”

“I believe you’re an honorable man who won’t go back on his word.”

“That’s not the part I was talking about. You know you’ve got a lot to worry about even though I won’t break my promise.” He holds my gaze as he attempts to mop the sweat from his chest. “I bet you’re starting to panic.”

“Nope.” I shake my head, feigning confidence. “There’s nothing to panic about if you keep your grubby hands to yourself.”

“Wait and see.” He winks. “Before the night is through, you’ll be begging me to break my promise.”

I laugh. Short, sharp, and one hundred percent fake. “There’s no way in hell.”

He chuckles, that panty-melting grin working its magic over me.

“Enjoy your run, Rome.”

“Enjoy the panic, little Pip.” He takes off, continuing his jog along the beach, his tanned body drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Including me.

I won’t beg, though.

His words may make me blush, but it’s his hands and those lips that pull me under his spell. If I remain sober, there’s nothing he could do to make me crazy enough to beg for anything. Right?

I bite my lip and turn for the resort, pondering the possibilities.

I stew on what his plan might be over a panini lunch in the restaurant. I fixate while I rest in the spa’s mud bath, and through the entirety of my hour-long massage. By the time I walk back into our suite at dusk, anticipation over his plan has a stomach ulcer forming.

I dump my cell on the table and turn to Rome as he walks into the suite from the bathroom. He fixes the collar of the button-down beneath his suit jacket, his hair styled, his face freshly shaven.

He’s already prepared for dinner.

Dressed.

Suave.

And smelling like a treat.

He smirks. No words. A mere taunt of lips. Then jerks his chin toward the bed.

I raise a brow and turn in the direction he’s suggested. My eyes catch on a wrapped package in pink tissue paper at the end of the freshly made mattress, the size slightly bigger than a tissue box.

---