Page 26 of The Hanukkah Hoax
Which was fine. She was too busy acknowledging the true beauty of the man before her. Dark eyes, which had usually been hidden by garish lighting either from a cocktail party, Enzo and Sal’s fluorescent bulbs, or had been tempered with worry and shock following his run-in with Sid and the boys, now charted a map of her features. And damn, it was just ten kinds of not fair for a man to have lashes that luxurious, but even more so when they caused her to wonder what they might feel like brushing against the tops of her cheeks if she moved just a little closer.
A flurry of insistent butterflies had pulled the choke on her long-cold physical attraction motor, and there was no cutting it off now. Her imagination scooped up her thoughts and ran them far away from her sane and civil mindset, leaving only admiration, wonder, and curiosity about the man sitting before her.
On instinct, Marisa pulled on his hand, perhaps for strength or support, she didn’t know, but it brought him the tiniest bit closer, a move he didn’t seem to resist. The top button of his silk shirt was undone, revealing the bare beginnings of smooth hairs that dusted light shadows over his skin before the collar stole them away from her.
God, he was handsome, in that rugged way only found in men who tackled life head-on. Marisa knew he played rugby. Though her knowledge of the sport was minimal, she was at least aware that it came with its own intensity and physicality. It was evident in not only the strength filling out his skin but also the way he treated her.
Like a teammate. Like a woman.
Like someone . . . worth defending.
The weight of Alec’s words made Marisa’s fingers go slack in his hand, but instead of pulling away and leaving her to yet another hyper-emotional moment, he moved closer and turned her palm upward in his.
Then their fingers joined, interlocking together in a neat little cage of security, his hardness bolstering her softness, protecting it, defending it.
Any other time, she would have said it was all too much, that they were no more than business associates and should stick to the plan. However, what the hell kind of plan was there for a fake relationship with a rugby player who was about to light the Hanukkah candles with her family and fend off her aunt’s bizarre boy of a birthday present, all while she tried not getting grease stains on his silk shirt?
It was the Jewish mother of all bad scenarios.
So, why the hell was her heart one hot minute away from saying, eh, fuck it?
She leaned forward, close enough to scent both his cologne and Alec’s earthiness beneath it, and knew that she much preferred the latter. His lips parted slightly as he nuzzled the side of her nose with his, testing the limits of what she’d started.
“Marisa,” he said, and the rolling R in his accented version of her name did interesting things to her insides. Man, she could listen to that all day and twice on one of the umpteenth Jewish holidays she’d long ago forgotten. It was just so exciting, so attractive, so?—
He reared his head back and dropped her hand. “Are you crying?”
The record in her mind ripped a teeth-clenching scratch through her fantasy.
Was she? Well, the moment had been beautiful, and he’d given her those wonderful, perfect cookie cutters, and for the first time, she had a teammate to face down the holiday with.
So maybe . . . yes?
She lifted her hand to swipe at her cheek, but Alec’s fingers were already there.
“Och, don’t be doing that, getting all weepy on me. I wouldn’t want your mother to think I’m the type of lad to make her daughter cry or anything.” He leaned forward and swept a curled finger beneath her eye, catching the one tear that had managed to break free of her emotional dam, rescuing her from having to explain to her nose-in-the-air aunt why she’d worn a cardigan with wet spots all over it to her—not Marisa’s, but her—party.
With a face all fresh and clean, she simply shook her head and smiled away the memory. Then she set the cookie cutters beneath her seat and grabbed her purse. “No tears tonight. I promise. C’mon. It’s time we entered the belly of the beast.”
As they walked toward the front door to meet their fate, Marisa figured it wasn’t entirely inappropriate, given the occasion, to hope for a frickin’ miracle.
Chapter 11
Alec wasn’t sure what to expect, but the twinkling grandeur that dripped over the main staircase’s balustrade as he escorted Marisa into her parents’ house wasn’t it. Granted, he’d been to zero Hanukkah parties in his day, but when Marisa had told him it was technically a combined Hanukkah/birthday party, he’d envisioned more . . . banners, maybe? A few of those paper numbers that spelled out Happy Hanukkah or Happy Birthday or some such thing that were always dipping far too low that he feared one good sneeze would cause him to headbutt the garlands and take everything out clothesline style, making a right arse of himself.
Something more DIY, he figured.
Boy, was he wrong. About so many goddamn things, apparently.
A few moments ago, Alec’s mouth had been separated from Marisa’s by millimeters, with his desires being held together by even less of a distance. Bloody fucking hell. And he’d almost done it, too. In his stupid brother’s borrowed car, parked beneath a stupidly too-dim streetlight, in trousers far too tight to be useful at hiding anything, he’d nearly kissed her. A woman who was more akin to a business partner than a romantic one, despite the odd nature of their arrangement.
Och, sure, he figured there’d be a bit of hand-holding and cordial affection that would eventually be required. A peck on the cheek and a few hugs for photos and whatnot. Social media sweet, he’d heard it called.
But there had been nothing sweet about where his thoughts went when he’d seen the mistiness in her eyes as she took in the gift he gave her. Like she had just learned the difference between being taken care of and being cared for.
It fucking shredded him, especially since, though he couldn’t commit to doing the caring once their time together ended, he also didn’t much like the idea of leaving it to someone else to take over.
Someone who was foisted on her by her family. Someone who didn’t make a private game out of earning her smiles.
