Page 94 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

A lie.

He props his head on his hand and gazes down at me with this baffled affection. He’s looking at me like he never saw me before.

He’s looking at me lovingly, but still in his surly Rex way.

Which just makes my heart swell more.

Mr. Hate list. Mr. Don’t-date-a-woman-twice. This is who I choose to fall for.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say.

“Like what?” he asks. “Like that wasn’t incredible?”

“God! Stop talking.” I push him off. “Stop ruining it.”

“You know I’m right,” he growls.

“You need to stop talking,” I say, grabbing my bra. “That was fun, and now you’re just so ruining it by taking it seriously.” I clasp it with trembling fingers. Frightened. Hating my own cowardice.

“It was more than fun,” he says.

“Whatever you say, Captain Von Heartfelt-Dramapants.” I straighten my dress. “Also?” I say. “I can’t believe you were letting me think you were into the DNA thing.” I hit his arm.

“What?” he demands.

“What? I’ll tell you what. You acting like you’re going along with this whole thing to patronize me. Do you think that just because we had sex that I’m going to forget about that?”

He glares. He doesn’t want to talk about Marvin.

“Magnificent as it is, your peen does not have mind-erasing powers,” I add.

I can see right when he gives up on being serious with me—at least for the time being. He cocks his head. “It is magnificent,” he says. “I hear it’s the best possible dick pic.”

I grin and hit his shoulder again. “Winning me over with hot sex doesn’t work.”

He looks thoughtful. “It was…veryhot.”

I give him a warning look. I’m not having it.

Into my ear, he rumbles, “Squirrel and zookeeper? I should put you over my knee right now.”

I snort. “Sorry.”

He says, “I don’t give a shit what Marvin thinks. I don’t care if he thinks I style myself as a sex-squirrel or a sex-penguin or a giant sex-clown with a big red nose.”

“Did you really have to put that sex-clown image into my head?”

“Do I have to fuck it out of you?”

My pulse races.Yes, please.

He’s right, of course. It was hot. So hot.

A little voice inside me says,Soooo hot, and it will be even hotter next time!

The little voice wants to know:what’s the harm of vacation sex? You’re fake fiancés on a yacht for a few more days and then it’s over. What’s the harm?

I like the little voice. When I eat one piece of English toffee and then stick the container way up high in the cupboard, it’s that little voice that says,why not get another piece? Just one more, and then you’ll put it right back up there.

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