Page 11 of The Love Lie
“What am I?” He grins. “No, wait. I’ve got it. A golden retriever.”
“No.” She frowns and folds her arms across her chest, studying his open expression until it hits her. “Husky.”
He rears back. “A husky?”
“Yeah, they’re cute and they know it and they use that power to be mischievous motherfuckers.”
“So,” he practically purrs and tilts his head to the side. Beneath the rim of that cowboy hat, his expression can be described as pure sin. “You think I’m cute.”
“And a mischievous motherfucker.”
His lip quirks just enough to bring out a dimple in his left cheek. “Guilty.”
“Which brings us back to that kiss,” she says, jamming her finger into the center of his very broad chest. “And the fact that you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“If you say so, Cuj.”
Then he shrugs.
Shrugs!
The gall…
Why is this turning me on?
She hates arrogant men. Hates them. Every one except this one, apparently, because he seems as though he just might have the goods to back it up if that kiss was anything to go by.
I need to stop thinking about it.
Easier said than done. It was a good kiss. The best she’s had in months. Years. The best ever?
You’re still thinking about it.
Yes, she is…thinking about his mouth practically devouring her, and his sturdy arms wrapped around her, and his tongue just barely delving between her parted lips.
Is it hot in here?
Sam gulps.
For once, he doesn’t seem to notice his effect. Instead, he lets out a frustrated breath. Then he lifts his hat and runs his hand through his luscious red hair before settling the hat back in place. A nervous habit, she assumes.
“Instead of focusing on what happened, why don’t we figure out what to do about it?” He sharpens his focus on her. “You have a plan. I know you do.”
“Obviously, I have a plan.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Which is…”
Sam sighs. The plan sounded a lot better back on the beach, when it was sunny out and they were in the open air and he wasn’t so close. Here in the shadows of a rapidly shrinking private bungalow, with her finger still on his chest, she isn’t so sure.
Wait—why is my finger still on his chest?
She tries to order her arm to drop, but instead her rebellious palm flattens against him, feeling the defined curve of his pec. She swallows. He arches a brow. She yanks her arm away as if burned.
Focus, dammit.
“My plan,” she starts, but has to pause to wet her annoyingly dry throat. She crosses her arms and stuffs her treacherous fingers under her armpits to keep them in place, then proudlystraightens her spine to get back a semblance of the upper hand. “My plan is to pretend we’re engaged for the next five days while we’re stuck on this island and in this resort with the crew. I’ll fill Em in on everything when I get home, and the two of you can then announce your breakup at the live finale. The distance was too much. Outside of the show you realized how different your lives are. She didn’t want to move to your ranch and you couldn’t leave. Yada yada. All understandable reasons for a split. She’ll walk away with her business and reputation untainted. And if you inform Nina of the split with some time to prepare, I have no doubt the showrunners will offer you the lead next season. They definitely aren’t going to offer it to that tool I sent home yesterday. It’s a win-win, exactly like you both wanted, just a few weeks later than planned.”
