“Didn’t matter. After one look at you, nothing would have cooled me down.”
The rough gravel in his voice took the cheesy line and turned it into something more. One look at his reflection in the mirrored elevator doors as they descended, and that something became a promise of the hot, dirty, and multi-orgasmic kind.
“Cavolo,” she muttered. Holy crap, indeed.
Sawyer raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glasses.
Merida, she’d done it again. She really needed to staple her mouth shut. Talking in another language to herself was weird enough when she was alone. In front of someone else, it was boarding the Weirdo Express. Desperate to cover up her non-English exclamation, she rushed on. “That’s a good line. Be sure to use that one.”
His forearm tensed underneath her palm. “Told you I was a quick study,” he said with a chuckle that held a touch of bitterness.
Determined to get on steadier ground, she pushed ahead. “So we had a whirlwind romance. Of course, I had no idea who you were because I am most definitely not a gold digger.”
“I kept my identity a secret because I wanted to make sure you were only after me for my hot bod, not my bank account.”
“Exactly.” She nodded, working her bottom lip over with her teeth as the elevator sped down to the lobby.
“And when I finally told you, you tried to break it off with me with some asinine plan that we’d split up when we came home to the states.”
“So of course when you saw me at Carlyle Tower the other day, you begged and pleaded for me to give you a second chance.”
He snorted. “No one will believe that.”
“Why not?”
His gaze ate her up as he gave her the kind of slow and assessing look that usually ended up with two people getting naked. “I don’t beg.”
God, was it hot in here? Yes. It was definitely hot in here.
“Too much pride?” There, that almost sounded like her panties weren’t on fire.
The bastard gave her a smug grin. “Too much good sense. If something isn’t working, making a fool out of yourself sure isn’t going to change anything.”
The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, letting in some of the lobby’s air-conditioned air. It brushed against her like a cool breeze of sanity. Was she going to get naked with Sawyer? Oh yeah. Come on. He was sexy as sin, unattached, and her fake fiancée. Why not indulge in a little limited-time-offer sex? Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to make him work for it.
She sashayed out of the elevator on Sawyer’s arm, her heels clicking on the lobby’s marble floor. “Well, in our case begging and pleading is exactly what you did.”
“Why?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the lobby.
She looked up at him and caught her breath. It wasn’t fair. No man should look so good in—and out—of a suit. “Because it was the only way to win me over.” Unable to stop herself from touching him, she reached up and straightened his already straight tie. His muscles tensed under her touch as she smoothed her palm down the silk. “And for that you’d do just about anything.”
“Would I?” he half asked, half growled.
Judging by the dark and dangerous look in his eyes at the moment? “Absolutely.”
His lust-hazy gaze dropped to her mouth; he leaned down and the world stopped. The people walking in and out of the high-rise’s plate glass door letting in the horn blares from Harbor City’s never-ending traffic disappeared. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears as she tilted her face up. Later, she’d worry about how easily he did this to her—made her forget about the rest of the world—but for now all she wanted was for him to follow through on what his body language promised. A long, hard kiss, the kind that steals your breath and fills you with possibility. She parted her lips and raised herself on her toes so that her heels didn’t even touch the floor. He dipped his head toward hers but swerved at the last moment and brushed a soft kiss right under her earlobe.
“You really do look amazing,” he murmured and straightened, sliding his hand to the small of her back, and led her through the door Irving held open and into the waiting Town Car.
Clover’s brain was like one of those old-fashioned cars where the driver had to crank the engine to get it to start. She was turning it over, but nothing was happening. That happened too often around Sawyer and that way lay danger. Having a little fun was one thing, but anything more was totally unacceptable because forgetting the “fake” in fake fiancée for even a minute meant nothing but trouble.
…
Sawyer’s mom pounced as soon as they walked through her door. Okay, pounced wasn’t the right word. More like glided over on her own ice float, sharpening daggers in her socially-acceptable almost-smile. Instinctively, Clover gulped and tightened her grip on Sawyer’s arm. Before she could threaten to short sheet his bed if he abandoned her even for a second, Helene Carlyle was smack dab in front of them.
“I’m so glad you two were able to make it with all of the wedding planning you’ve been doing,” Helene said, her voice just loud enough to carry across the room to the two dozen or so relatives and family friends scattered amongst the Tiffany lamps and plush wingback chairs. “I can’t wait to hear all about what those plans entail. Sawyer, why don’t you go get your lovely bride-to-be a drink.”
Clover sank her nails into Sawyer’s thick forearm. She had to get through his suit sleeve, crisp shirt, and sinewy muscle, but she just might have hit bone. Thank God, Sawyer got the hint.
He placed his palm over her hand. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Helene gave Clover a quick, assessing up and down before lowering her voice, fake concern thick in her whisper, “She’s not pregnant, is she?”
It took a second for Helene’s words to slither through the thick fog of freak-out surrounding Clover and bite her on the ass. Once their meaning pierced her, though, her intimidated hesitation evaporated. It made sense in a weird twisted little way. From Helene’s perspective, there couldn’t be any other reason why her son would be with someone like Clover unless she’d trapped him with a baby. Ha. More like she would be trapped then, her free-spirited wings clipped to fit the Harbor City high-society mold. That was never going to happen.
“No,” Clover said, straightening her spine and putting as much fuck-you in her tone as possible. “I’m not.”
Helene’s smile didn’t flicker. “Then I’d say champagne is called for so we can celebrate this pleasant surprise.”
The fact that she wasn’t pregnant or that Sawyer was supposedly getting married? Honestly, it could go either way.