Page 98 of Fake it for Keeps

“I’m nervous,” she whispered.

“About the wedding?”

“About everything.” She bit her lip. “What if something goes wrong? What if someone figures out the truth? What if—” She paused. “What if people are right about me?”

“Right about what?”

“That I’m just plain Hallie. That I don’t belong in your world. That this is all⁠—”

I stopped dancing and cupped her cheek, making her look at me.

“Hallie,” I said firmly. “You’re anything but plain.”

“But the articles⁠—”

“Fuck the articles. Fuck what people think.” I stroked my thumb across her cheekbone. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re funny and kind and you bring me lunch and cook me dinner and you see through all my bullshit like it’s nothing.”

“Colt—”

“You’re not plain, Hallie. You’re extraordinary.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and every brain cell I possessed started yelling at me to step back. To remember the boundaries we’d just established. To keep this professional.

But I couldn’t.

Because Hallie was looking at me like I’d just given her something precious. Like my words meant something. Like I meant something.

And fuck, she meant something to me too.

So I kissed her.

I’m only a man.

A mere mortal.

It started tender. Soft. A gentle press of lips that tasted like the wine we’d had with dinner. But then she made a small sound in the back of her throat and pressed closer. The tenderness shifted into something more.

Her hands slid up my chest, around my neck, into my hair. She sank her fingers into it the way she had the other night. I groaned against her mouth with my cock hardening.

This was a bad idea. The worst idea.

We’d just agreed—literally just agreed—that sex was off the table. That we needed to keep things professional.

But I couldn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

Not when she was kissing me back like she needed this as much as I did. She could say she didn’t want me, but I felt it. I felt it in her kiss and the way her body rubbed against mine. Her pert nipples were poking through her sweater.

“Hallie,” I murmured against her lips. “We said⁠—”

“I know what we said.” Her hands slid under my shirt, her palms warm against my skin. “I don’t care.”

“We’re supposed to be professional⁠—”

“Do you want me to stop?” She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, her pupils blown wide with desire.

Did I want her to stop?