Page 66 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
His fingers creep up my bare thigh. I slap at his bruised knuckles.
"Who did you fight with? The bar staff?"
A guilty look steals up his face. He looks young, vulnerable. Reaching out, I brush the hair off his forehead.
"Eric?" I ask.
He goes still, his eyes slide away.
Lucky guess.
"Seriously?" I blow out a breath, "You've been brawling with your business partner?"
"Ex-business partner," he mumbles.
"You guys fought and broke up? What, are you five?" I ask in an impatient voice. "Now you're going to ask Mommy to kiss the wounds better. That's why you're here, right?"
As soon as the words are out, I want to take them back. But it's too late.
His eyebrows shoot up. It's the excuse he was waiting for.
"Will you?" His hands once more creep up the flesh of my thigh exposed by my shorts.
I gasp, try to back away.
But he grips my leg, squeezing the soft flesh.
A sliver of pleasure crawls toward my center. I shiver. My heartbeat goes up a notch.
When I try to edge away, his other arm winds around my waist.
"Kiss me." He pulls my head down.
His fingers brush the edge of my shorts. Sneak under it.
My lips are so close I can smell his breath. His alcohol-laced breath. I cough, pull back.
"Brush your teeth first," I gasp.
He looks stunned. The expression on his face is so comical, I chuckle.
"I'll help you up." Gripping his hand—the one still on my thigh—I get to my feet, heaving him up.
He doesn't protest.
Using my shoulder as leverage, he tries to get to his feet. Stumbles. I fling my arm around his waist and together we teeter to a standing position.
Jace leans his weight on me. Panting a little, I walk toward the bathroom, half-dragging him along.
Leaving him to rinse out his mouth, I go out to get a glass of water. By the time I come back to the bedroom, he's stretched out on the sheets, fast asleep.
I place the glass of water on the side table next to him.
In sleep, his face is peaceful, the moonlight flowing over those high cheekbones. He looks beautiful, his face all planes and angles.
Bending down, I brush my lips over his. He doesn't stir.
A wave of fatigue washes over me, and I crawl under the covers, on the far side of the bed. Won’t harm to sleep next to him, on our last night together.
