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“Just trust me for once, Trish.” Peter gave her a look.
Those two sometimes fought more than they agreed. Trish rolled her eyes. “Fine. Betty, can you go back to the beginning, and let’s try it again?”
Betty’s eyes widened, which had me grinning as I picked up the briefcase and crossed to the door.
“Yes, I want to do that again,” I agreed with a laugh.
I’d expected a smart comeback, but she didn’t say a word.
“Okay, ready when you are,” called Peter.
I entered the scene as before. Betty hugged and welcomed her husband home. As before, I hauled her close, this time brushing my lips along the side of her slender throat when I embraced her. Her body stiffened, but she didn’t push away.
I released her quickly enough and stumbled to the sofa as before, doing my exhausted husband routine. Betty came to me and draped herself on my lap, more tentatively than before, those sapphire eyes assessing me. More than assessing. Her gaze roamed my mouth as she settled into the flirty wife position atop my lap.
I repeated my movements as before, basking in the way she arched her spine, pressing closer, and then her neck ever-so-slightly, offering me access.
Fucking hell.
My hand wrapped around her nape again. I coasted my thumb across the pulse-point at the base of her throat, holding her in our fake cheek-to-cheek position.
But there was nothing fake about the fire burning through my veins or the steel grip my arms had around her body, wanting to keep her close, get her closer.
She drew back, those blue eyes dilated with desire. I clenched my jaw against the impulse to haul her against me and show her I wasn’t faking a goddamn thing.
Then something shocking happened. She swayed closer, her gaze on my mouth, our lips inches apart. She stiffened, clenching the hair at my nape, her breath coming faster.
I couldn’t believe it, but Betty was fighting the same desire I was. Without even thinking, I slid my hand into her hair, sculpting the back of her head, and crushed my mouth to hers. She made a little sound in the back of her throat then opened her mouth to me, letting me slide my tongue inside. I groaned, nipping her bottom lip before I kissed her deeper, my entire body going hard with need. My blood racing, I was lost, wanting more —
“Cut!” shouted Peter, breaking the spell but not the trance she’d put me under.
I abruptly stopped and pulled away, realizing too late what I’d done. I was caught in the moment, my brain shutting off while my body reacted.
“I thought y’all were going to wait for dress rehearsals to do the stage kissing,” interrupted Peter, sounding completely confused.
“Uh, sorry,” I said, still looking at Betty, who wasn’t saying a word as she panted lightly through parted lips.
“It’s fine if you want to add it in now,” continued Peter, totally oblivious, “but that’s a little too intense, Bennett. It should be more of a welcome-home-honey kiss, not an I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off kiss. Right, Trish?”
“Yeah, yeah. Right.”
I finally glanced away from Betty and picked her up by the waist so we could both stand. I took a decided step away.
“Got it,” I said, tightening my fists, wanting the sensation of her hair and skin beneath my fingertips again. The softness of her mouth against mine. “Not a rip-your-clothes-off kiss.”
I dared to glance at Betty, but she wasn’t looking at me, purposefully avoiding eye contact.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. When she didn’t respond, I stepped closer and said lower, “Really. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Finally, her bright eyes came back to me. “It’s okay.” She laughed and waved a hand. “It’s just fake kissing. All for the play, right?”
Rubbing a palm over my chest at the sudden tightness, I added, “Yeah. Fake kissing.”
“Just remember what Peter said. Ease up, tiger. Not so intense.” She was all lightness and ease, which somehow formed a weighted lump in my stomach.
I couldn’t even respond because my heart was still hammering like mad, not understanding that this wasfake.
“Let’s finish this scene, then stop there,” called Peter.
