Page 96 of Pretend To Be Mine

“Look at this!” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “It’s an actual settee. Not the modern kind, but old.”

I loved that she was so excited. “Come on,” I said. “There’s more.”

I opened another door and found exactly what I was looking for.

It was a study with all dark wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The smell of cigars was powerful. Two massive leather armchairs faced a fireplace, and in the corner, a bar cart with crystal decanters caught the moonlight from the windows.

“Oh,” Elizabeth breathed, stepping inside. “This is beautiful.”

“Thought you might like it.” I moved to the bar cart, examining the decanters. Whiskey in one, brandy in another, something amber I couldn’t identify in the third. I poured two glasses of what I hoped was expensive scotch.

“Adrian,” she gasped. “You can’t just help yourself.”

“The owners won’t mind. Like I said, we’re paying enough.”

She took the glass I offered and took a small sip. “Not bad.”

She wandered the room, touching book spines gently, examining titles. Then she noticed something in the corner and let out a delighted laugh.

“Is that a record player?”

I looked where she was pointing, an old turntable, probably from the sixties, with a record already on it. “Looks like it.”

“Can we?” She was already moving toward it, with that excitement on her face that I’d come to love. The way she approached new things with such genuine wonder.

“Go ahead.”

She set down her glass and carefully lowered the needle. For a moment, there was just the crackle and pop of vinyl, and then music filled the room. Something classical, strings and piano, slow and romantic and perfect for the moment.

Elizabeth turned to me and smiled. “Dance with me?”

I set down my glass and crossed to her, taking her hand, pulling her close. “My pleasure.”

We swayed together in the study, away from the party and the intrusive cameras. We were far from anyone who expected us to perform. It was just us.

No audience. No expectations. No pretending.

“I feel like royalty,” Elizabeth murmured against my chest. “Dancing in a manor house, wearing designer clothes, drinking expensive liquor.”

“You should feel like royalty. You belong in places like this.” I meant it. She’d transformed over the past two weeks from the terrified woman in my office to someone who moved through these spaces with confidence.

She’d always had the potential. She’d just needed someone to give her a chance.

“Adrian.” She pulled back slightly, looking up at me. “About earlier, what I said⁠—”

“Don’t.” I stopped her, one hand coming up to cup her face. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“But I hurt you. I could see it. And I didn’t mean to.”

“Elizabeth.” I pressed my thumb gently against her lips. “Stop talking.”

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating in the dim light. “But⁠—”

I kissed her.

She made a sound of surprise that quickly turned into desire—and kissed me back just as desperately. Her hands moved down my back and pulled me closer. I backed her up until she hit the desk, lifting her to sit on its edge.

“The owners,” she gasped as my mouth moved to her neck.