Page 86 of Fake it for Keeps

26

HALLIE

Iwoke up disoriented, reaching for Colt before my brain caught up with my body. The space beside me was empty. Cold.

For a moment, I just lay there, staring up, watching the early morning light paint patterns across the ceiling. My body ached in places I hadn’t known could ache, a delicious soreness that reminded me of exactly what we’d done.

What I’d let happen.

What I’d wanted to happen, a traitorous voice in my head corrected.

A couple of times, if memory served me correctly. I remembered waking up from what I thought was an erotic dream, but as soon as I was fully awake, I realized the truth.

I sat up, pulling the sheet around myself, and took stock. My dress from last night was pooled on the floor by the door. One of my shoes was by the bed, the other halfway across the room. Evidence of how desperately we’d torn each other’s clothes off.

Heat flooded my face at the memory.

I needed to leave. Needed to get out of here before I did something stupid like analyze what last night meant or, worse, before we had to have an awkward morning-after conversation.

But curiosity got the better of me.

I slipped out of bed, found one of Colt’s shirts in his closet—soft cotton that smelled like him—and pulled it on. It hit me mid-thigh. I felt suddenly vulnerable in a way I hadn’t last night when I’d been completely naked in his arms.

Last night, he had made me feel like an absolute queen. I had felt beautiful. There was no shame. No self-confidence issues. The man worked my body and gave me orgasms so powerful I could still feel them rocking through me.

I stepped out of the room. It was quiet. Maybe Colt had left. That seemed like something he would do.

Did I want him gone? Maybe.

I would have to see him eventually, but it might be better if the morning after thing was a few days later. Give me some time to process and build up some immunity to those damn good looks.

The penthouse was quiet as I padded through it, taking in details I’d missed in our frantic rush to the bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows with million-dollar views. And that was a very literal observation. Modern art on the walls that I couldn’t tell if I liked or if I was supposed to like. Lots of colors splattered all over canvases. I decided it wasn’t my jam.

My gaze surveyed the rest of the room. The furniture looked expensive and uncomfortable in equal measure. There were a few pictures of him and Frankie, but it wasn’t exactly homey. It didn’t invite you to sit down, curl up with a blanket, and enjoy a rom-com.

But I supposed that would not be his thing. It was cold outside, and technically it was warm inside, but it felt cold.

This was Colt’s world. Cold, sleek, untouchable.

Except he hadn’t been any of those things last night.

I found him in the kitchen, which was way too bright for my eyes that were still adjusting. My breath caught when I looked at him.

He was shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was mussed, sticking up in ways that made me remember how I’d run my fingers through it while he⁠—

Stop.

He was making coffee, his back to me. I took a moment to just look at him. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The muscles of his back moving as he worked. The way the morning light caught on his skin. I grimaced when I noticed the scratch marks on his shoulders and lower on his sides.

That was me. I knew that. And weirdly, that was exciting. It made me want to ask him to have sex with me again.

His broad shoulders sagged and his hips leaned against the edge of the counter. It made him look like he was exhausted.

Did he have another one of those dreams?

I shoved away the thought. That wasn’t my concern. That wasn’t part of this arrangement.

Except it felt like my concern. After last night, after the way he’d touched me, looked at me, held me, everything felt different.