Page 83 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

She rolls her eyes. “Screw off.”

Now I need to know what kind of drunk she is. Is she a happy drunk? A reveal-all drunk? A reckless drunk? Who is she when she’s rid of her inhibitions?

“It won’t work because you don’t deserve to know,” she says.

“Maybe it’s not either of those things. Maybe he wouldn’t investigate the companyortell Gail.”

She’s shaking her head. Refusing to tell me, but I know she wants to.

Eventually, the presentation is over. Or I’m hoping it is. This could just be a break. I’m keenly aware of Marvin’s gaze drifting over to us from his place at Gail’s side. “You see that? Him watching us?” I ask her.

She levels her gaze at me. Meaningyes.

A few of our fellow cruise prisoners drift by, telling her about the whale pod sighting. Everybody is very excited about it.

Tabitha folds her arms over her chest when they leave. “Alas, I was in our suite banging you all day.”

“And you’re so grateful,” I rumble. “It was so much better than a whale pod.”

She shakes her head. “I’m afraid the whale pod would’ve been better,” she sighs. “Frankly, a lone little mackerel would’ve exceeded it.”

“Trust me, it’s far more impressive than a mackerel,” I say. “Even a very large mackerel.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Though the most apt comparison would be python,” I continue, enjoying her smile. “A large adult male python.”

“Pul-ease,” she whispers. “You are so full of yourself. Anyway, I thought you kept your clothes on during our sexy times. For your power play.”

I glance toward the front. “He’s watching us again,” I mumble.

She stares into my eyes—it’s her fake lover’s gaze, but even so, it connects to my groin. “Of course he is. Scammers have a special radar for each other. They have scam-dar.”

“We’re not scamming.”

“Wearea scam,” she says.

Ouch.

Commotion up front. Children are lining up along the rail against the backdrop of the sea and sky. They begin to sing a sad song. Even that doesn’t cut my raging libido.

I lean in, lips hovering over the shell of her ear. “God save us from songs sung by other people’s children.”

She sucks in a breath, trying not to smile.

“Where is a giant, annoyingly loud gong when you need one?” I add.

“Don’t you dare make me laugh,” she breathes. “They’ll think I’m laughing at the song!”

They sing an even sadder verse. A sweet and tender verse that pulls at the heartstrings.

“Gonggggg,” I whisper.

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

The song goes on. I press my hand to the small of her back, guide us to the side and back even further, back behind some people and a large winch-type thing.

She leans back against the rail.

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