The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)

I bite back a laugh as electricity thrills through me. “You don’t look like you mind.”


“Of course I don’t.” He gives me that lazy, flirty smile that makes my pulse stutter before his grin drops. “Okay, but it’s really cold in here.” He glances through the window up at the sky. “It’s supposed to go below freezing today.”

I point at the closet again but he cuts me off.

“We are not using a space heater.” His expression says he means business, and I bite back another smile.

“I like it when you’re bossy.”

At my bedside table, he picks up my phone and hands it to me. “Call your landlord.”

“He’s in Greece for the month.”

“So call whoever does these things when he’s away.”

My smile pulls into a reluctant wince, and Rory knows immediately that there is no guy who does the maintenance when the landlord is away.

“Hazel.”

“This is why my place is so cheap.”

His head falls back and he groans loudly, like I’m the most frustrating person alive.

I just smile at him. “Your eyes are so pretty in the morning light.”

He gives me a side-long look, sighing, but he’s starting to smile. “Don’t distract me.”

“Is it working?” He rolls his eyes, and I think I like this flipped dynamic between us. “That means yes.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing around my place. “Where’s your overnight bag?”

“Why?”

He finds it in the closet, pulling it out and setting it on the bed. “We’re going to my place.”





CHAPTER 56





HAZEL





“Wow.”

In the foyer of Rory’s apartment, my jaw drops. I take a few steps forward on the crutches, looking around.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Miller.”

Behind me, holding my bag, he watches me, his gaze unsure and assessing. “Yeah?”

I nod, eyes bouncing from the warm wood flooring to the giant green L-shaped couch to the midday sun streaming through the impossibly tall windows. Snow is starting to fall outside. A massive TV hangs between two built-in bookshelves that reach to the ceiling. There’s nothing on the shelves, though.

I frown, scanning the sparse living room with two lamps, the big sofa, and a coffee table, and then the large, open-concept kitchen with a massive island and gleaming appliances.

I tilt my chin at the bookshelves. “You’re supposed to put things on those shelves.”

“Like what?” The corner of his mouth kicks up.

“Photos and trinkets and books.” There’s nothing on the walls—no art or framed pictures. No blankets thrown over the couch. I crutch farther into the apartment, down the long hallway. A door at the end leads to what looks like the master bedroom, and Rory’s soft footsteps follow behind.

At the doorway, I take in the king-size bed with a forest-green duvet. Warmth twinges in my stomach because I’m going to sleep in that bed tonight and it’s going to be the best sleep of my life. The windows overlook the city, same as the rest of the apartment, and on the balcony sits a hot tub.

Still no framed photos. No plants. No patio furniture. A lamp and a nightstand and his hockey bag from a few days ago, but that’s it.

He has a fireplace across from the bed, which I’m totally going to turn on later, but his place feels so blank. Silent. Empty. Rory Miller is brimming with personality, overflowing with it, and yet his apartment is nothing like him.

Something sparkly on his bedside table catches my eye, and my lips part in surprise.

“What are you—” he starts before he sees what I’m crutching over to, and a guilty expression passes over his features.

I pick up the tiny crystal dragon, almost an identical twin to mine except this one is green, not blue. My heart does a funny flop, and a smile spreads over my face before I lift my eyebrows at him.

“What’s this?”

He shifts, mouth curving into a reluctant, playful grin. “That’s a dragon,” he says simply.

“I can see that it’s a dragon, Rory.” I’m still smiling like a fool, but I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you have a shopping addiction?”

He chuckles, taking a seat on the bed. “No.”

I turn the trinket, watching it scatter light on the wall. “So why do you have it?”

I think I know the answer, but I want to hear it in Rory’s deep voice.

Sitting on the bed, he keeps his eyes steady on me. He lifts one big shoulder, giving me the sweetest, most innocent expression. “I bring it on the road because I miss you.”

My heart sighs and flops over. I can’t. He’s too much, and I don’t know what to do with this fluttery delight in my chest.

I tamp down the smile pulling on my mouth. “So you’re saying that this dragon has seen some horrible, depraved things?”

He chokes out a laugh, light spilling out of his eyes as he shoots me a flirty grin. “Oh, yeah. That dragon knows all my kinks.”

A sizzle of heat sears down my spine. I’d like to know all Rory’s kinks, too. I remember how he licked me between the legs like I was the best thing he ever tasted, and another shiver rolls through me.

I set the dragon back down and dig into my own bag on the floor before I pull out what I carefully tucked into my balled-up socks when Rory wasn’t looking and set it beside his.

His eyebrows go up in delight. “You brought yours?”

I shrug like it’s nothing. The truth is, I love that stupid little overpriced dragon. The red eyes make me laugh, and seeing it before I go to sleep makes me think of Rory.

“Whatever,” I say.

His gaze sharpens, and a predatory smile spreads across his mouth. “Does it know your kinks?”

Even as my face goes warm thinking of all the times I used my toys or touched myself to the thought of Rory, I’m laughing. “Oh, yeah.”

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, watching me with interest. “Maybe our dragons can talk.”

“Maybe.” I give him a cool smile, and the interest in his eyes intensifies.

Oh. Something thunks hard in my head like a book dropping onto the ground. We’re flirting. When I give him that cool little smile, I’m flirting with him.

I’ve been doing this for years, all the way back to when we were teenagers studying in the library.

“You okay there, Hartley?” His voice is almost a purr as he wears a knowing smile.

God, I want him. My heart beats like a hummingbird.

“You want to take a nap?” I ask softly, running my hands up into his hair. It’s so soft and thick and the strands feel like heaven between my fingers. Under my touch, he shudders, and he can tell from the tone of my voice that if we got into this bed, the last thing we’d be doing would be napping.

His eyelids droop and he leans into my touch, and I think it’s going to happen, but then he groans.

“I want to.” His gaze drops to my ankle and he sighs through his nose, a frustrated noise that makes me want to play with him more. Push him closer to his breaking point. “But you need to—”

“Yes, I know.” I sigh, feeling flushed. “I need to rest.”

Stephanie Archer's books