She glared at him. “Fiancés don’t leer at other women. This is not going to work, Zane. You don’t have it in you.” She turned away, surprised when he approached the concierge and requested cleaning supplies.
He stood with his back to her, running a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid. He turned with a serious expression pulling his brows into a deep V. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Right.” Not in this lifetime.
“I’m an actor, Willow. I’ve been doing this shit forever. There’s no role I can’t nail.”
One of the hotel staff brought the cleaning supplies, and Zane took them from her and stepped closer to Willow. His gaze softened, and he gently stroked her arm. “That was rude and tacky, and I’m truly sorry. I respect you, Wills, and the last thing I want to do is to make you feel uncomfortable. Give me another chance, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
She’d expected him to smirk or to make a sexual remark, but the sincerity in his voice and the way he was looking at her, like he felt guilty and hopeful at once, made her feel bad for reacting so sharply. Being in a relationship was new for him, too, even if it was fake.
“It’s okay.” They headed out of the resort. As they crossed the parking lot, his eyes were downcast, and he wore a pained expression. Silently chiding herself for being a bitch, she said, “I’m sorry for overreacting.”
He met her gaze and tilted his head like a puppy waiting for a snack, melting her resolve a little more. And then those utterly kissable lips quirked up, and he said, “Told you I could nail it.”
“Ugh! You really are a jerk, you know that?” She stalked away.
“I think you mean a kick-ass actor,” he called after her.
IT WAS ALMOST as fun to see Willow’s reactions in person as it was to check out her sweet curves as she bent down to retrieve her keys, which she’d dropped as she lectured him about what an ass he was being. She was the only woman who could keep up with his remarks. Her reactions were funny over text, but they had an even more powerful effect in person.
“I still can’t believe you drove Chloe,” he said as she opened the door to her VW Beetle.
She tore a few paper towels from the roll and handed the rest to him. “I thought I had an important meeting to attend. Don’t just stand there. You’re helping me. This is your fault.”
“Helping you do what, exactly?”
She waved toward the backseat, and he peered in through the window.
“Christ, Wills. What’d you do, have a food fight in the backseat?”
She ducked into the car, and he couldn’t help but take another long gawk at her perfect rear end. And it was perfect. Heart shaped and firm yet squeezable, unlike most of the rail-thin women he knew.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I did while I was driving a million miles per hour to get here on time. I thought, ‘Oh, what the hell. Let me ruin my most loved possession in the whole world.’”
Whoosh—another gust of guilt blew through him.
She glanced over her shoulder with an annoyed expression. “Stop looking at my butt and get in here.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and climbed into the back from the passenger’s side. “Jesus, it looks like someone jizzed all over your seat.”
“Do you ever not think of sex?”
He flashed a deadpan look, which she ignored. He reached over the mangled box and grabbed her hand. “Wills, seriously, I’m sorry. I know how much this car means to you.” The sadness in her eyes got to him. “On the plus side . . .” He dipped his finger into what looked like custard and sucked it off. “You’re still a hell of a baker.”
She laughed. “Did you have any doubt?”
“No, but really . . .” He scooped some of the blue frosting that was smeared over the inside of the box onto his finger and held it out toward her. “Taste.”
Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the spray cleaner from behind her and applied it to the carpet. She glanced at the sweet treat on his finger, then went to work scrubbing the offending stain. The buttons on her dress stretched to their limits over her full breasts, revealing a large amount of smooth, tanned cleavage. Her breasts swayed with her effort, and he forced his gaze up to her face, which was equally gorgeous. Even as a teenager she’d hated being so well endowed, and she’d gone to great lengths to hide her assets. Although like today, nothing could hide those beauties. They were as appealing as the rest of her.
“Come on, Wills. You know it’s your favorite.” He wiggled his finger, and when she didn’t take the bait, he climbed across the seat, his broad shoulders knocking against the seats, earning one of her killer smiles. Man, he’d missed seeing her smile. He’d even missed those damn eye rolls she was passing out like candy. He reached around her shoulder, drawing her closer. Her eyes darkened, and his pulse kicked up. She smelled just like she had as a teenager, like her mother’s homemade lilac lotion. The familiar scent brought a rush of memories, rendering him momentarily numb. He could still feel her silky skin beneath him, the frantic beat of her heart against his chest as he pushed inside her, and he remembered the fear and trust he’d seen warring in her eyes. Swallowing hard against the memories, he could do little more than watch as she lowered her mouth over his finger and sucked the icing off.
Fuuuck.
Licking her lips with a seductive glint in her eyes, she said, “Mm. You’re right, Z. You always have been my favorite flavor.”
Z, that’s what she’d called him that night by the creek. She’d whispered it breathlessly so many times he’d heard it in his midnight fantasies for weeks—months? Years?
“Willow.” The heated whisper rushed out before he could stop it, and the lustful look in her eyes brought him closer. He closed his eyes as his mouth came down over hers—and she pulled away. His downward motion continued, and he lost his balance, catching himself with his palm in a glob of custard. “What the hell?”
She lifted a thinly manicured brow. “Just a kick-ass actress playing a role.”
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER WILLOW AND Zane cleaned her car, they took a walk down by the marina to discuss the elaborate backstory Zane had concocted for them. He’d just finished telling her that they’d supposedly been hooking up on the sly for months.
“Hooking up?” Boy, did he need lessons in coupledom. “Zane, couples that are serious about each other don’t hook up. They get together, or sneak away, or . . . I don’t know, but they definitely don’t hook up.”