Page 41 of Big Dick Energy

“I wasn't thinking loudly,” I tilted my head back to meet those deep blue eyes. “I was thinking privately.”

Dallas's lips curved into that slow smile. “Your privately loud thoughts were making you frown.” He reached out to smooth the space between my eyebrows. “You're going to get wrinkles.”

I batted his hand away, trying to ignore the spark that shot through me at the contact. “I don't frown.”

“You absolutely do. You get this little crease right here.” He gestured to the spot he'd just touched. “It shows up every time you're overthinking.”

“I wasn't overthinking. I was just thinking.” I took another sip of champagne, using the glass as a barrier between us. “About how beautiful Brooke looks. How perfect everything is.”

Dallas's gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips, then lower, taking in the navy blue dress I'd designed specifically for this wedding. The silk clung to my curves before flaring at my hips, the sweetheart neckline showing just enough cleavage to be elegant.

“The bride is beautiful,” he agreed, but his eyes never left me. “But I haven't been able to take my eyes off my wife all night.”

My heart stuttered. He wasn't even attracted to me. This was all performance. Fake husband playing his role.

“Dallas…”

“Dance with me.” It wasn't a question, and before I could protest, he plucked the champagne flute from my hand and set it on a table. His hand found mine.

“I wasn't finished with that,” I protested weakly as he pulled me toward the dance floor.

“You can have more later. Right now, I want to dance with my wife.” He spun me into his arms, one hand settling at the small of my back, the other holding mine. “People are watching. We should look convincing.”

“Fake wife.” I reminded him.

I settled my free hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his tuxedo. “Wouldn't want to disappoint an audience.”

“Liar,” he murmured, pulling me closer until there was barely any space between us. “You forgot all about them.”

“Your ego is showing, Dodger.”

“So is your pulse.” His thumb brushed directly over the spot on my wrist where my heart was beating entirely too fast. “Right there. Racing.”

“That's from the champagne.”

“Mm-hmm.” He guided us into a turn. For a man who made his living throwing punches, Dallas was surprisingly graceful. “Keep telling yourself that, Mrs. Dodger.”

I tried to maintain some dignity, some distance, but it was impossible when his chest was pressed against mine. I could feel every breath he took when his hand was splayed possessively across my lower back.

“You're enjoying this too much,” I said, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

“Can you blame me?” His voice dropped an octave, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. “You look incredible. That dress….” He bit down on his bottom lip.

My chest tightened with a mixture of anger and irritation. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

I pulled back enough to meet his eyes, ignoring the couples dancing around us. “Stop saying things like that. Stop pretending…”

His brows drew together, genuine confusion flickering across his features. “Pretending what?”

“Pretending that you…” I gestured between us helplessly. “That you're attracted to me. That you find women like me attractive.”

He went still. Completely still.

“Women like you?” His voice was carefully controlled, but I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw. His eyes swept the ballroom, then came back to mine. “Let's take a walk.”

I rolled my eyes. “Pass.”