Page 33 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

And I make a littlengsound.

“Fuck,” he groans, kissing me with even more wild abandon.

A moment later, his breath changes. He stills. And with one seemingly effortful movement, he removes his lips and his hands from my body.

I’m a bit wobbly. I blink, pressing my hair behind my ears, trying to collect my wits.

Rex looks dazed. Undone.

“Well,” I say, “that’ll teach ’em to do a champagne toast in front of the children.”

His gaze sharpens. Maybe a joke was inappropriate, but if that’s how he first-kisses, I’d hate to know what his second kiss is like. And by hate, I mean, really freaking want to know.

He grabs his phone and taps it a few times. “Can I get to work now?” he asks, as if annoyed. “Or do the sages behindAs the World Turnshave more wise teachings we must follow?”

It seemed like a good kiss—an exciting kiss, even—but the cold, hard way he looks at me makes me think the hotness was maybe all on my side. Nothing is up to Rex’s standards, apparently. Not even me.

“By all means, get back to work,” I say smoothly, channeling Dorian Lord, my favorite soap opera villainess, waving my arm in the direction of the partition.By all meansis a total soap opera thing to say.

Without so much as a word, he slides open the pocket door and disappears through, shutting it behind him.

Whatever, dude,I think, but I’m still shaking from the kiss. I wish it had been at least a little bit hot for Rex. But then, I’m the one who has the mad crush on him, not the other way around. And he kisses women all the time, most of them renowned beauties. Statuesque blondes and all of that. Maybe he’s used to something more.

I sit on the couch, feeling weird about how turned on I am from the kiss. It was more than I’d ever dreamed.

He’s definitely a different species from the men I usually kiss. I haven’t gotten together with James, my go-to friends-with-benefits friend, for a few months, but we’re always downright playful when we kiss. And we talk during sex, too—not just technique requests and position ideas, but non-sex things, like we talk about TV shows and takeout food options for later.

No way could I have coherent thoughts about food or TV shows while kissing Rex.

James has an actual girlfriend now. Either he’ll stay with her or be available for benefits again, and it’s fine either way. I’m not one for drama or angst—there are other friends-with-benefits in the New York sea.

I study my new ring. We shouldn’t have kissed—it made things worse for me.

But it was the right thing to do for the job. Rex picked me because he’s an amazing leader and somehow he knew deep down that I can pull this kind of thing off. And I feel like we have a connection—I really do. Rex might not feel that connection, but it’s there, and it’ll help us to convince people we’re engaged.

And we can definitely pull off a kiss.

I should be happy with just that. I am happy.

I grab my phone and scroll, scroll, scroll.

A few minutes later, Clark comes through and asks whether I want to watch a movie, and I’m stupidly grateful. Yes, I want to watch a movie.

We choose a documentary on conspiracies, and there’s even microwave popcorn. I take a selfie with it when Clark is up front and text it to my friend Lizzie with the wordsmile-high microwave popcornbecause she has a major microwave popcorn thing, but my heart’s not really in it.

Rex stays in the front for the rest of the flight.

An hour later, we’re descending through a layer of fluffy clouds, down, down toward sparkling blue water and coastline dotted with tall buildings. Clark and I return to our seats up front.

“Did you get your work done?” I ask Rex.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Rex says. I don’t know why I should be disappointed. What did I expect? For him to confess to being distracted the entire time?

We go down a set of air stairs onto a sunny landing strip lined with palm trees, and pile into a waiting limo. Does Rex just have a network of limos all over the nation waiting to ferry him places? Or do rich guys lend each other their limos? But I don’t ask. I’m trying to be cool. That’s my new thing.

Rex is all work in the back of the limo, and I catch up on Instagram, making elaborate comments on things I would usually just fly past.

Eventually we pull up to the marina. And the driver opens the door and helps me out. And I look up at the boat—if you can call it that—and my heart is just pounding a million miles a minute.

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