Caught between his frustration at the lack of skin-to-skin contact and his refusal to stop touching her any way he could, Sawyer stilled above Clover. She was a hot, seductive mess. Her hair was half out of her bun. Her brown eyes had gone hazy, and her kiss-swollen lips were parted, waiting for more—and he wanted to give her everything she wanted.
“Does that mean you’re going to scream out ‘paint stripper’ when I make you come so hard your toes curl?” He rubbed the heel of his palm against her core, making sure to angle it so he hit just the right spot as he circled.
Her teeth came down on her bottom lip and she made a mewling that sounded like a mix of torture and bliss that he was way too familiar with at the moment.
“You’re just going to have to find out for yourself.” She took a long, steadying breath, then pushed a hand against his chest. “But not tonight.”
If his cock could have cried out in protest at that moment, it would have. Instead, Sawyer raised himself up and off of her, too many questions in his head to verbalize a single one of them.
She rolled up into a sitting position, looking disheveled and way more satisfied than a woman who hadn’t had an orgasm should. “We’re going to need to adjust the contract.”
“Napkin doodles aren’t a contract,” he said, reason roaring back to the forefront as blood started pumping north again. “And this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Maybe not, but it was hot,” she said, unabashedly. “Look, I’m attracted to you. Unless there’s a bazooka in your jean’s pocket, I’d say you’re attracted to me. So why not have a little fun and enjoy ourselves until I leave for Australia?”
Yes! His cock answered. No! His brain countered. “Things’ll get messy.”
“Life’s messy.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s part of the fun.”
“Is everything just one big adventure for you?”
“It beats the alternative.”
“And what’s that?”
She screwed up her mouth, looking like she’d just swallowed rotten milk. “Living my life trapped in one place and eating apple pie every Sunday even though I hate it because the man I married loves it.”
Once again, when it came to Clover, he was at a total fucking loss. “I have no idea what to do with that.”
“You’re not supposed to.” She got up off the couch, looming over where he lay. “Think about my proposition. Six weeks of friendly banging. No one gets hurt. Anyway, it’ll be a more authentic lie then, too. A successful fake engagement is all about the details.” She leaned down and brushed her lips across his in a quick kiss. “Be ready to go at eight tomorrow morning.”
His brain was pudding. “Where?”
“The flea market where we’re going to get whatever I pick because you lost the bet.” She patted him on the cheek and winked. “Good night.”
From the couch, Sawyer watched her saunter away to her bedroom, hypnotized by the sway of her hips under that oversize T-shirt. A month and a half of touching and tasting her, taking her up against the wall or anywhere else they wanted. It was nuts. It was bad news. It had him aching and hard enough that a stiff breeze would make him come in his pants. The fact that he was even considering it was a bad sign for his sanity.
Who are you kidding, chump? You were in total agreement the moment she said out loud what you’d been thinking in your fucked-up head.
Who was it who said be careful what you wish for? A fucking genius, that’s who. He’d be damned lucky if he made it the whole night through without knocking on her door. The idea of just giving in was almost too tempting to resist.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Clover was still cursing herself for not shaving during the past three days. She was into not being a slave to the industrial beauty complex as much as the next woman, but getting it on for the first time with Sawyer while her legs resembled a Carolina pine forest was not going to happen. She was all for adventure. What she wasn’t down for was giving Sawyer leg burn. So that meant she spent the night imagining her fake fiancé buck naked instead of actually getting to see the real thing, because nothing but stubbly legs was strong enough to pull her off his lap last night.
She had a good imagination, but she was beyond tired of using it, especially after feeling him pressed against her on the couch last night. Her heart thundered in her chest. Clover wanted the real thing.
Thanks to the insane shower—four, yes four, shower heads positioned above, behind, beside, and in front of her—she was smooth from her toes to her waist and lotioned up to a state of supreme softness. Catching her reflection in the mirror with her hair, wavy from the water, hanging past her bare shoulders, she jolted to a stop. With her eyelashes darkened by mascara and lightly lined in smoke-gray, she looked more than just a little bit like a younger version of her mother. It was enough to make her reach for the makeup remover in the medicine cabinet, but she stopped her hand halfway to its destination. Not for the first time, she wondered what her mother had been like before she’d gotten married, had kids, and settled into a life of small-town hell. There had been hints—throwaway comments about college trips to London, a summer spent road tripping, and the fact that just the word “Miami” made her mom turn six shades of red—that there was more to Laura Lee than hate-eating apple pie and pretending to be interested in the goings-on at the Moose Lodge.
“What happened to you, Mom?” she asked her reflection. “Whatever it was, it’s not going to happen to me.”
She swiped on a shade of red lip gloss her mother would never wear and strode into the bedroom to throw on her favorite pair of worn-in jeans, pink “Stomp the Patriarchy” tank top, light gray cardigan, and slip-on tennis shoes. She whipped her hair up into a ponytail, grabbed her cross-body bag from where she’d hung it on a hook behind the door, took in a reaffirming deep breath, and strode out into the living room where absolutely no one was waiting.
“Sawyer, you have contractural obligations to meet,” she called out.
No response.
She walked to the edge of the hallway leading to his rooms, a flock of butterflies high on meth zooming around her belly. After a quick glance down the still hall, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and checked the time. Ten after eight…so right on time for her but there was nothing about Sawyer that even hinted at him being late by even a minute. She connected the dots in a heartbeat.
He was trying to welch.
Oh, that was so not going to happen.
Before she’d even made up her mind as to what to do about it, she was down the hall and turning the knob on Sawyer’s door. It swung inward without a sound and she stepped inside.
His office was abandoned. Not a note or pen or crumpled piece of paper lay on his desk’s clean surface. The morning sunlight streaming through the window walls and making the metal and glass desk sparkle was the only sign of life in the room.