Page 38 of Fake Dating Adrian Hunter
Adrian. I’m not alert enough to respond with words, and answer with amm-hmm?
His hand snakes around my bare midsection, pulling me close to his chest like I’m his. My half-conscious mind enjoys this too much and lets me believe that Iamhis. I slink my leg between his, intertwining our bodies. My chills disappear as I relax into his warm embrace. He feels like home, so blissfully perfect that it’s only moments before I drift back to sleep.
I’m alone when I wake, still outside on the daybed with the morning breeze rolling in from the ocean. A frown finds my face as I question whether the memory of Adrian and me cuddling up to each other was real. I want it to have been real, but why would he have left me then? What did the hug even mean? We were half-asleep, not thinking straight. But that’s what makes this situation more painful. Adrian and I were acting from our subconscious, hugging each other because we felt close. At least, that’s how it felt for me. Adrian… I don’t know. I can never tell with him. I feel like I’m waking up after a one-night stand and the guy has snuck out of my home, leaving me high and dry.
I wrap a towel around myself, calling out Adrian’s name as I enter our bungalow via the bedroom’s French doors. There’s no answer, just the sound of the shower faucet as steam escapes through a crack in the adjoining bathroom’s door. It dawns on me that my fake boyfriend is naked in there, lathering himself up in soap. I don’t know why that’s the first thought to enter my mind. The water stops, and suddenly I’m frozen in my spot, afraid of whatever is about to happen between us next.
The bathroom door swings open and out steps Adrian in all his half-naked glory. Damp hair, a bare torso that looks so flipping fantastic this close up, there’s a towel around his waist, and a surprised look on his face when he sees me.
I spin away from him and shield my eyes, flustered and acting like a teenage girl who doesn’t know how to interact with her crush. “Ah… I didn’t see anything.”
“Good morning, Vee.” I can hear the smile in his voice, which I guess means we’re still on good terms.
“I’m just… I’ll go wait outside until you’re decent.”
I bolt into the walk-in closet to organize my outfit for the day, which is a stupid idea because Adrian follows me, searching through his own belongings. The tiny closet is filled with his scent. It smells of masculine cologne and sexiness and everything that is Adrian Hunter. I’m considering hiring a scientist to capture this scent and bottle it into my own personal fragrance that I can take back to America with me. I love it that much.
He leans back against the wall, watching me.
“What?” I pretend to be busy organizing my clothes.
From the corner of my eyes, I catch him grinning. “How did you sleep?”
There’s a hidden meaning within those words. I can hear it in his voice. Unable to stop myself, I look up at Adrian, feeling myself grow hot beneath his gaze. So, the cuddling was real? I didn’t make it all up? I want to tell Adrian the truth, that it was the best sleep of my life until I woke alone, but the words won’t leave my mouth out of fear of him hurting me again.
He bites his bottom lip and smiles at my silence. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“You don’t make me nervous, Adrian.”
His smile widens. The look in his eyes is so… happy. And not in the arrogant, jerk-like way that I know him for. “Well,Ienjoyed keeping you warm. That is, until Phoebe woke me up with a phone call and I had to sneak inside not to disturb you.”
Phoebe called him? A weight suddenly lifts off my shoulders knowing Adrian didn’t wake in a panic and bolt to escape me. And he liked keeping me warm? As a friend, or is the intimacy from our pretend relationship messing with his sense of reality? Whatever is going on inside Adrian’s mind, I smile back at him, liking this new closeness we’ve formed.
“Phoebe told me the yacht leaves in an hour. Think you can doll yourself up in that time?” he asks, grabbing an outfit for the day.
“I’m always a doll, thank you very much.”
“True. By the way, I ordered us room service. Didn’t think we’d have time to stop by the buffet before boarding the yacht. It’s on the dining table.”
Adrian orderedusbreakfast because he didn’t thinkwe’dhave time to eat. I’m starting to like everything that leaves this guy’s mouth.
“That was nice of you to think of me,” I say.
“I hope you’ll be happy with the selection. When I mentioned my girlfriend is Verena Valentine and she trashes kitchens and gets chefs fired if the food isn’t up to par, the staff seemed very intent on keeping you satisfied.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“You’ll never know.”
Eager to escape Adrian’s naked proximity so I can think straight again, I rush out to the dining room, finding the table filled with an array of fruits, cereals, and a continental breakfast. My eyes freeze on one plate in particular, my mouth watering at the neatly rolled crepes bathed in what has to be caramelized orange juice.
“No way!” I call out when the familiar childhood scent of Cece Hunter’s famous crepes wafts up to my nose. I waste no time grabbing cutlery and let the gooey crepes melt over my tastebuds.
Adrian hurries into the dining room. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m in heaven! These taste exactly how I remember. How did you get them?”
He folds his arms, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. I try to convince myself that it’s a good thing he’s now wearing clothes, but don’t believe the lie for one-second. “Already told you, I had strict words with the kitchen staff. Gave them Mom’s recipe and hounded them not to stuff it up.”
