Page 51 of Match Me if You Can

But I don’t manage to get a single word out.

Because he’s kissing me.

Hard and wet and deep and⁠—

He lifts his head, eyes hot, mouth curved into a sexy smirk. His lips come to my ear. “Knew there was fire beneath all that ice, baby.”

“Go away,” I mutter.

“Gotta let me go first, princess.”

I still…then allow my gaze to drift down.

Damn.

My hands are wrapped around his biceps.

I drop them away like I’ve been burned, not missing that his smirk grows. He tugs a lock of my hair—I wasn’t able to fully contain it again since half of my pins are on his bedroom floor—and I swat him away, barely resisting the urge to knee him in the balls and wipe that smirk right off his pretty face.

“Go do man things,” I mutter, turning back to the dishes.

But he doesn’t leave.

Instead, he drops a hand on either side of me, bracketing me in against the sink.

I’m about to shove him back—fake fiancée or not—when his mouth comes to my ear, his concerned voice halting my movements. “She gets to be too much for you,” he murmurs, “and you text me. I’ll find a way to get you out of there, yeah?”

Something slides through me—an emotion I don’t want to look too closely at.

I shove it down.

“We’ll be fine,” I reassure him.

Fingers on my jaw, turning my head, forcing my eyes to meet his. “You text me, princess,” he orders, tone brokering no compromise.

My lungs inflate and then I slowly exhale. “Okay, hot shot.”

A flicker through his eyes that I can’t decipher.