Page 38 of Lessons in Faking
I wasn’t successful when I cleared my throat to banish the thoughts of his pretty face and prettier lips. Instead, I was reminded that they’d been on mine just a few days ago.
Enough.
I shot up so quickly, my body needed a second to catch up. My chair scraping against the wooden floor filled the room.
And there he was again. Turning toward me, unintentionally all up in my face. Every effort to keep my mind from goingtherewent out the window.
“Hey, listen—” he said, right as I started to say, “Look—”
A nervous laugh cut through the resulting silence. Mine, apparently. I wondered what the fuck was going on with me and since when Igiggled—because of a man, of all things.
“That...thingon Friday,” he started again, a little hesitant. I wanted to laugh because he called it athingand I called it anincident, and I was just about to bring up the same topic.
His brow furrowed, trying to gauge a reaction, but I stayed quiet, just nodded.
“Big mistake, right?” His tone took on a casual note. He even tried to force a laugh I could see right through. Which was when it hit me like lightning. Dylan McCarthy Williams, the picture of irritating nonchalance, was nervous. I never thought I’d see the day.
That alone was enough to keep my spirits lifted despite the nature of this conversation.
“A huge one,” I assured him. Because apparently it made me nervously laugh and care when he canceled. I couldn’t have that.
“And it can’t happen again,” he continued, brown eyes finally on me again. They traveled up and down my body once, making him swallow thickly. “Right?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
My chest rose and fell heavily underneath my top, andthere was a twitch in his stoic expression. He didn’t say a thing. Just looked at me.
And then, it happened again.
One hand curled around my waist while the other cupped my cheek so lightly, hesitantly, you wouldn’t think his lips were exploring mine the way they were. A rough groan slipped past his lips as mine parted, and that sound alone was enough to make it worth it.
In one swift motion, McCarthy turned our intertwined bodies, my legs pressing into the desk he’d been leaning against. When I scrambled on top of the table, our lips barely disconnected. A second later, he was standing between my thighs, pulling me closer.
Things were happening fast.
My hands found his hair, and he stifled a groan when I pulled it.
Really fast.
His touch was scorching. Every trace of his finger, every sound he groaned into my mouth, made me burn. For him. With him.
And every time he pressed his lips against mine when I was about to pull away showed me how much he wanted this and how little truth there’d been to his earlier suggestion.It can’t happen again.What a liar.
“I signed a contract,” he panted, like he was trying to remind himself of the fact. Of every reason why we’d putNO SEXon the damn thing. “So have you.” His hands cupped the back of my head, thumbs still on my cheeks. He swallowed hard, like it took everything in him not to kiss me again.
He should.Ishould.
But McCarthy held me in place so I couldn’t move toward him either. “Do you tend not to honor what you sign, Pressley?”
I can’t find it in me to care when you’re standing between my legs like this.
If he wanted to play it this way, though, we could. If hereallyintended to honor that part of our agreement, the least I could do was make it as hard as possible. “Are you sure this is a game you want to start, McCarthy?”
Somehow, he knew exactly what I meant. “Playing it with you would be an honor.”
Chapter 19
[Unknown number], Wednesday, 8:55 PM
