Page 50 of Wicked Fortune

He chuckles. “Give me the glass and I’ll pour you a full shot.”

I do, then watch as he pours double shots of Pappy for both of us. “Guess the coffee will come in handy later,” I say, pointedly looking at the bottle he’s picked up along with his glass.

“Won’t hurt,” he says, and we share a smile as we head into the living area.

As soon as we’re in the middle of the room, I come to a stop, then turn in a full circle. It looks exactly the same as before. I take a sip of my drink, put the glass down on a table that runs along the back of the sofa, then turn to him. “False pretenses, Mr. Holt?”

“Excuse me?” He takes a seat on the sofa, gesturing for me to do the same.

I comply, then recover my drink from the table before I point at the huge windows and the view of the Valley beyond. “Unless Vivien Lorainne filmed Public Service Announcements about living in the Valley, I’m going out on a limb and saying nothing has changed.”

He makes a show of looking around. “Damn. you’re right. Same old living room. How the hell could I have forgotten to buy a television?”

He slides closer to me, then meets my eyes. I stifle a sigh, enjoying the way my heart starts racing. Then enjoying even more the way my skin heats as he traces a fingertip down my bare arm, so slowly I think I’m going to go a little mad. When he reaches my hand—now holding my drink—he slides his finger in, dampening the tip.

“Matthew …” My voice is low. Needy. “What are you doing?”

“Hush,” he says, then traces his finger over my lips in a caress that ignites a flurry of sparks inside me. Sparks that sizzle and pop and want and need.

He leans closer. “Who needs a television when we have other forms of entertainment?”

“But we—” My words hang there, part of me wanting to lecture him about luring me here under false pretenses. Another part of me wanting to surrender completely, loving the fact that he got me here under false pretenses.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “Close your eyes.” I do, then feel the pressure of his finger beneath my chin. I expect him to turn my head toward him, then melt me with a kiss. All around us, soft music begins to play. Something romantic and familiar. Something I⁠—

Starlight Serenade.

I open my eyes and find myself looking at the opening scene of the movie on a huge screen that’s descended from the ceiling. The musical score seems to surround us, and all the lights in this exotic treehouse have gone dim.

“You rat,” I say, laughing. “You tricked me.”

“Mad?”

I shake my head, absolutely delighted. “Furious.”

He grins, then puts his arm around my shoulder, and I lean against him, sighing happily as I settle in to watch the innocent Darla Parks turn the tables on that bitch Veronica, thus catching the attention of Peter Cain, the roguish mob boss and nightclub owner who confesses his crimes and goes straight—well, mostly—in order to win Darla’s love.

By the time it’s over, I’m praising whoever invented waterproof mascara and trying very hard to hide the tears that are trickling down my cheeks. Matthew passes me a tissue, and I grimace. “I thought I was being subtle.”

“You were,” he assures me. “That’s why I didn’t pass you the entire box.”

“It’s not fair,” I say. “Now you know I’m the type of girl who cries at everything.”

His brows rise, amusement lighting his face. “Everything?”

“You think I’m exaggerating. But I’m not.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Uh-huh.”

“You know that car commercial with the broken down Chevy on graduation day that dad and the daughter fix up together?”

He lifts a dubious brow. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. I bawl like a baby. And that toilet paper commercial with the little kid running half-naked through the formal dinner party. And that dog food one, with the huge bulldog who lets the little terrier eat first.” I press a hand to my heart and try to blink back the tears the last one has conjured.

“Now you’re just messing with me.”

“I wish I were,” I say, wiping away a tear that got away. “I’m a total softy. So don’t hurt me, okay?”