I’m walking around my bedroom in my bra and panties, fanning my armpits after about my twenty-sixth application of Dry Idea, Powder Fresh. Damon’s going to be here in about fifteen minutes to pick me up and take me to some wine pairing, which already feels out of my league. I tried to get him to meet me there to keep our alone time to a minimum, but he thought it would look weird to his mother if we showed up in separate cars. So I’ll have to suck it up and be a big girl—mostly because there’s big money involved.

Speaking of the big money...Damon agreed to act as an anonymous benefactor for my purchase of the building and will make the funds available at closing in about a month. The seller agreed to a purchase price of two hundred thirty thousand, so I’ll have twenty grand left for renovations and start-up costs, minus what I have to pay at closing. Buying the equipment for the café may wipe out my savings, but it’s an investment that will hopefully be worth it. The deed will remain in Damon’s name until the conditions of the contract have been met. So it’s all up to me.

Honestly, right now I feel like the understudy who’s been shoved under the bright stage lights and realizes she’s forgotten her lines.

I have to keep my eye on the prize, though—my café. Thinking about it makes me feel like I’ve got wind chimes inside me, all shimmery and tingling. But there’s a darker side—I’ve lost sleep over how I’d explain to my BFF that I was suddenly able to afford buying the corner of Main and School, because it’s not like anyone in my family has money (with the exception of my younger brother Wilder, but Maddie would know I’d never ask him). I finally decided to keep it simple, and relatively honest: I need you to not ask me where I got the money. It’s not illegal, and I’ll tell you later, but I can’t tell you right now. She had blinked at me, surprised, but said okay and smiled, saying if I was doing sexual favors for people, she’d be all right with it because that would mean I was getting some.

Not quite, Mads.

It was spelled out in Damon’s contract that I was his girlfriend for appearance’s sake only and would go to bars, restaurants, parties and other events at the discretion of the Payor, with no required physical or sexual contact out of the public eye. Damon had also added karaoke bars are strictly off limits, which I had to smile at, and how we are both required to maintain an absolute level of secrecy with this arrangement for the duration of the four months. Once we have our “break-up,” I’m planning to tell only Maddie the truth and hope she understands.

I’m also going to feel uncomfortable about lying to my parents, especially where my mother is dying for me to date. I know they’ll be very curious about how I came up with the money to buy the building, but I can tell them a friend is loaning it to me, and that friend wants to remain incognito. A partial truth.

The lie is that Damon Cavanaugh is my friend.

There was also a mention in the contract of a clothing allowance, which I hadn’t even thought of but was glad he did. And this is the reason I am about to put on a very expensive, very gorgeous Oscar de la Renta cocktail dress I found online and that he had shipped overnight. It’s hot pink with a lace bodice, bubble skirt and a pretty daring neckline—sexy, though, not slutty. I have hot pink pumps that I’ve only worn a few times that match perfectly, and I decided to keep my hair down and use my curling wand to style some beachy-looking waves.

So even though I look the part, I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I sincerely hope that feeling is gone by the time Damon gets here, or at least before we get to Kensington Winery. Little did he know he probably should have added a stipulation in the contract about my not embarrassing him in public. I’ll probably be okay once I get there and start drinking, but the anticipation is killing me.

Ice cubes. I need ice cubes. For some reason, whenever I get queasy, sucking on those usually helps. Still in my underwear, I head to the fridge when my phone rings. I almost hope it’s Damon cancelling, but it’s my father. I haven’t heard from him a while—he works a lot of overtime as a machinist at G.E. in Bangor.

“Hey, Dad.” I open the freezer door, take out a couple of small pieces of ice and pop them into my mouth.

“Hey, sweet pea. Had a few minutes while I’m headed over to try and fix your mother’s dishwasher and thought I’d check in.”

I mentioned Dad’s and Mom’s divorce was amicable, but what I didn’t mention is that they seem to spend even more time together now that they’re no longer married. I’m still not exactly sure why they split up—something about Mom finding herself and Dad wanting her to have the opportunity. She supported me all through my life, Laney, he told me. Now it’s my turn to support her, and if it means letting her go, I’ve got to be unselfish and do that.

There aren’t many men in this world like my father.

“That’s nice of you, Dad. How are things in the big city of Bangor?” The ice in my mouth is quickly melting, but the cold seems to be working its magic on my stomach.

“Just hopping, as I’m sure you remember.”

“Oh yes. Not that Ellsworth’s much more exciting, but tourist season is right around the corner.”

“Your brother will be glad of that.”

“Absolutely.” Wilder has become quite the entrepreneur, with his new company that caters to Maine tourists. A fair share of his clientele seem to be attractive women, but it’s very understandable—he’s young, single, and even if he’s my baby brother, I can’t deny he’s a total stud.

“Any big plans tonight, Lane?”

Oh, Dad...if you only knew. “Nothing major. I might go out later.”

“Well, I hope you do. My girl is too beautiful and too special to be alone in her apartment on a Saturday night.”

“Aw, thanks.” It suddenly occurs to me that I’ll be moving soon—there’s an apartment above where my café will be.

It also suddenly occurs to me that Damon will be here in just a few minutes, and I’m not dressed. I don’t think he’d appreciate that. Then again...

“I’ve got to go, Dad. Talk soon, okay?”

“Absolutely. Love you, Laney-girl.”

“I love you, too.” I end the call and hurry down the hall to my bedroom, feeling my throat thicken. The adult-me wishes that all men could be like my father. The little girl-me wishes that he and Mom hadn’t split up.

I’m playing contortionist trying to zip up my dress when the zipper gets stuck. And at the exact same moment, the doorbell rings, which in my world makes total sense. Shit, shit, shiiiiit...I don’t want Damon to see me like this, but I need him to help me fix it. Ughh, I have no choice. I go to the door, pull it open and…

Oh, God. I wasn’t ready for this. I should have been, but I was so wrapped up in what I was going to wear that I neglected to mentally prep myself for how Damon Cavanaugh would look in a tux: which is amazing enough to forget that I don’t like him.

He rakes his gaze over me, shaking his head slowly. “Wow. Damn, Delaney...”

Even though this is not a date, I have to acknowledge it feels good to have him appreciate how I look. A smile works its way up from deep inside me, threatening to claim my lips, and I fight it because this. Is. Not. A. Date.

My tongue trips over my words. “The zipper...it’s stuck. I can’t—can you—” I stiffen as I turn around, not wanting him to see my bare back and part of my bra, and especially not wanting him to touch me, but there are his hands on my back now, lightly grazing my skin, and I can’t help but shudder. His fingers dip into the top of the dress to hold it still, and I know it’s only his knuckles against my back, but I feel his touch in places he’s not even touching me. With a few gentle tugs, I feel the zipper slide up.

I turn around, and my eyes flick up to his face.

He’s smiling like he’s got a secret. “You’re a little jumpy. I wonder why that is?”

Shit that he noticed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You didn’t feel yourself shiver when I touched you?”

“No. I’m sure it was because I’m a little cold.”

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t why.”

“Sometimes people cringe when someone they don’t like touches them.”

“And sometimes people shudder when someone they do like touches them. This was definitely more of a shudder than a cringe. You know,” Damon says, taking a step closer, “I could test out my theory and prove it.”

I take a step back. My mouth is dry, my stomach is churning, and I need another goddamned ice cube. “The contract. No physical contact in a private setting. And this is a private setting.”

“I believe it was written, no unwanted physical contact in a private setting. And from the way your chest is moving up and down and the intensity in those pretty blue eyes, I’d say your body wants to override your words.”

I cross my arms over my breasts and take another step back. “You shouldn’t be looking at my chest.”

“It’s pretty hard not to. You look fucking amazing in that dress, Delaney.”

His brown eyes are veiled with something that looks like hunger as they rove over me again. I shiver and pray that it looks more like a cringe, but his grin tells me it doesn’t.

“I need to get my purse and my wrap,” I tell him, turning quickly and going back into my bedroom. When I return, my breath catches in my throat, seeing him again. It’s like he’s been plucked from a red carpet in Hollywood and someone dropped him in my modest little living room.

He’s looking around, nodding in approval. “I like your place. Your fashion sense extends to interior decorating.”

“Thank you. I’m excited to renovate the building.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing the progress. Who’s going to do the work for you? Or do your talents also include carpentry?”

“I’m going to help as much as I can, but my best friend’s boyfriend is doing most of the work.”

“Nice. I don’t do much in the way of home repair, but I’m extremely skilled with my hands.” He’s looking at me with exaggerated innocence, and God damn him, because I was just starting to feel like I didn’t need an ice cube.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, going into the kitchen. I scoop up a few broken pieces of ice from the ice cube tray, flip them around in my mouth with my tongue and take a few deep breaths, because in just a couple of minutes, I am going to be alone in a car with my fake boyfriend on the way to meet his very real mother.

Okay. I can do this. I have to do this. Café, Delaney. Eyes on the prize. I spit out the remaining ice in the sink and arrange my white wrap around my shoulders before Damon can help me, and then I’m out the door and in his dark blue Range Rover.

The car fits him: a blend of rugged and sleek, tough and polished. Before we pull out of my driveway, he adjusts the temperature, points out the control for the heated seats, asks me if I’m comfortable (twice) and turns on the radio to a classic rock station. The audio is unbelievable. I raise my eyebrows and look at him.

“Sirius Satellite. Thirteen speakers.”

“Seriously? And did you see what I just did there?”

“Nicely done. Great sound, isn’t it? I usually blast it after I leave work. Especially on days when my mother is particularly challenging.”

“Speaking of your mother...do you have any tips about winning her over?”

“You’re not going to win her over.”

“But I thought—”

“It’s not about getting her to like you, because she won’t. She doesn’t like many people, and she definitely won’t like you, because she’ll view you as standing in the way of her ultimate goal. This is about getting her to see that I’m in a serious commitment.” He takes his eyes off the road to look over at me. “Which means you need to pretend to like me.”

“I’ll try.”

“You sound like it’s going to be difficult.”

“It’s not going to be the easiest thing I’ve done, no.” I steal a glance at the side of his face. He’s grinning again, like a really delighted-looking grin, which both perplexes me and creates a stirring where I don’t want it to. “What’s so funny?”

“You. Because what you’re telling me and what you’re feeling about me are two different things.”

We’re crossing into Surry where Jack and Maddie live, and for some inexplicable reason, my mind makes a leap to what they’re doing right now...probably at home, making dinner and listening to music. I can picture Maddie at the stove adding spices to a pot of delicious stew, and Jack coming up to stand behind her, sliding the hair away from her neck to kiss her softly…

A little ache begins to take root inside me. I give it a good mental yank and turn my attention to my faux boyfriend. “I don’t know how you can possibly be confident enough to make a statement about my feelings.”

“Probably because it’s blatantly obvious you’re attracted to me. Sometimes, if I listen real closely, I can hear your ovaries moaning my name.”

“My God, you’re so vain. And the line in that song about walking onto a yacht totally fits here.”

He’s laughing now, and the thing I’ve noticed is, no matter how arrogant he sounds, it’s completely negated by how hot he looks. I loathe him even more for this.

“Come on, Delaney...you have to admit I get you hot and bothered.”

“I’m not going to deny I found you attractive at the bar. But that was before I knew you.”

“You think you know me now?”

“Enough to know you’re one of the cockiest men I’ve ever met. If not the cockiest.”

“You just said cock. Twice. I like that.”

I open my mouth to retort, then snap it shut and fold my arms across my chest, fighting like hell to keep from bursting out in a scream. Or worse, a laugh. What is it about this man that makes him so infuriatingly obnoxious but so irresistibly hot?

Speaking of hot, I’m getting there myself, and it’s not just the heated leather seats. But seeing as I seem to be unable to stop Damon from creating an inferno in my southern hemisphere, I lean forward to tap the control that lowers the seat temperature.

As expected, he doesn’t let that slide. “Little warm below the Equator?”

“It’s the seats.”

“Of course it is. Hey, I’ve got a good nickname for you. Want to hear it?”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

“No, you do. It’s cute. Sprite.” 

“Sprite?”

“Yeah. You remind me of it. You’re bubbly and fizzy but basically sweet and harmless.”

Okay, so that was totally unexpected.

“You need to come up with one for me.”

“You mean we’re not going to just call each other Payor and Payee?”

“I’d rather not.”

“I already have a nickname for you—I told you, Malibu Ken.”

He wrinkles up his nose. While he’s navigating the curve in the road, I take a second to look at his hands. They are large and strong-looking, with perfectly-manicured nails. His right is gripping the top of steering wheel, his left relaxed on his thigh. I take a second to look at that, too.

“Come up with another one.”

“All right then...Demon.”

“Don’t think you’re the first woman to have called me that.”

“It totally fits.”

“I do have a devilish side.”

At least we can agree on that. We continue on Route 172 to Blue Hill. Kensington Winery is only minutes away, and I realize I’m just the slightest bit disappointed that this ride is almost over.

But only because things will be a lot more stressful soon, when I meet his mother. No other reason.

“So, Sprite...we have our story on how we met, right?”

“Yes. At New Moon. That’s easy, because it’s the truth. And your mother knows where I work, right?”

“She does.”

“I can only imagine her reaction about my being lower-class.” My words slice into the air.

“There is nothing lower-class about you, Delaney. And that’s how my mother thinks—not me.” He slides his gaze over to me, looking genuinely concerned.

“Okay.” It doesn’t matter, really—this is a business arrangement, after all. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Have you considered the possibility of this Portia person? I mean, maybe she isn’t as bad as you’re anticipating, and you should just give it a try...who knows, maybe even marry her. You could always get divorced if it didn’t work out. People do that all the time.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re even more cynical about relationships than I am.”

“Just trying to be realistic.”

“Well, first of all, I don’t want to get married. And believe it or not, if I did, I’d want to be in love with my future wife.” His jaw muscle tightens. “I’ve seen how it is when two people are together for reasons other than love—it’s ugly. I don’t want that. It’s probably a major part of the reason why I’m planning to stay single, and safe.”

This admission from him is more surprising than all the other cocky, inappropriate things he’s said to me because it’s raw honesty, and I didn’t think someone like Damon Cavanaugh would ever be one to share his thoughts on love.

“That, and also the fact I have too much fun fucking to settle down.”

Annnd just like that, he’s back.

We’re in Blue Hill. I’m looking out my window as we pass by the Liros Gallery, the Baptist church and then the library when Damon makes a request.

“Give me your hand, please.”

“Why?”

“You can’t flinch every time I touch you, and I’m planning to be a little physically demonstrative at the winery. Think of this right now as me getting you...desensitized. Although that’s the total opposite of what I usually do with women.”

Reluctantly, I put my hand over within reach. He laces his fingers through mine, and the feeling is so surprisingly intimate and awkward but almost nice that I feel like he’s a teenage boy and I’m a teenage girl, and we’re in that totally intoxicating, hopeful/promise-y/fairy-dust dimension of a first date, when of course we are none of those things. After a few seconds, he gently turns my hand over to begin a slow, rhythmic stroking of my palm with his thumb. A slow, rhythmic, circular motion that makes my toes curl in my hot pink pumps, and makes me think of other things he can stroke like this.

Moments later, we pull into the parking lot of Kensington Winery, and Damon flashes me a smile. “So...you survived that. And now we’re here, where you will also survive. Just remember—be yourself. I’ll be right there with you.” He gives my hand a squeeze before getting out of the car, walks over to my side and offers me his hand again to help me out.

Okay, Delaney...put on your best Academy Award winner face, and let’s do this.

I’ve never been to this place before—mainly because it seems to cater to snobs—but I have to admit, it’s impressive. Walking in, there’s an instant vibe of elegance. The foyer is spacious and beautiful: cathedral ceilings, a five-tiered crystal chandelier that looks like an upside down wedding cake, gleaming floors so shiny you can almost see your reflection. The coatroom attendant appears, asking if I’d like to hang up my shawl, but I decide to keep it like it’s some sort of security blanket.

I hear the faint sounds of a piano and violins. Damon places his hand on the middle of my back, and I stiffen.

“Sorry. Just a little jumpy. About you...this place, your mother...everything.”

“No need to be jumpy, Sprite. Especially not about me. We’re on the same team, remember? And it’s not like I can misbehave with you in this place, anyway.” He leans down, his breath tickling my ear as he whispers. “But in private? Different story. It was pretty much killing me not to do more than hold your hand in the car.”

I take a few seconds to collect myself, because fuck. My acting begins now. “Thank you, but also, please stop. We’re in a faux relationship, remember? Which can be spelled F-O-E.”

“Delaney...you’re not the only one who has to act here. I was just practicing before I go on stage. Apparently, I sounded convincing.” He arches an eyebrow, gives me a slow wink, and I’m instantly back to loathing him again. But should I even believe that he was just faking?

The real issue is, I don’t want to.

“Ready to meet the infamous Gloria Cavanaugh?”

No. “Absolutely, I’m ready. Let’s do it.” I pull my wrap around me a little tighter. Damon’s hand is at my back again, guiding me as we walk into the great room. It’s stunning, with an all-glass, wrap-around veranda overlooking the bay and a huge fieldstone fireplace where a few couples are sitting in antique love seats. It’s packed with people—men in crisp black tuxes and most women in spring cocktail dresses, some in long sheath gowns. Jewels sparkle at their earlobes and necks and wrists, and I realize with a jolt of panic that I’m not wearing any accessories. I’d been so stressed about the zipper sticking, I’d totally forgotten to put on even earrings. Damon must not have noticed—guys never notice those kind of things—but girls do.

Suddenly, I feel like every female in the room is going to be staring at my naked earlobes. Especially the female walking briskly toward us right now.

Damon’s mother.

She looks just as I’d envisioned, except slightly taller, which makes me glad I’m wearing heels. Very attractive, but in a harsh sort of way, with a sleek blonde bun and a sharpness about her face—thin nose, angular cheekbones, ice-blue eyes. She’s wearing a navy blue gown with a halter neckline and sequins scattered along the skirt that glimmer in the light. She looks, quite honestly, like royalty, and if I feel intimidated just by her appearance alone, I can only imagine how I’ll feel talking to her.

“Damon. You’re late.”

He bends down to give her a quick peck on each cheek. Very European. “You know as well as I do that these events have a leisurely start time, Mother.”

She’s staring at him frostily, and I realize she hasn’t even acknowledged that I exist. My palms are clammy, and I’m trying to figure out if I can discreetly wipe them on my dress before I have to shake her hand.

Damon doesn’t wait for her to respond. “I’d like you to meet Delaney Brewster. Delaney, this is my mother, Gloria Cavanaugh.”

I pretend to smooth out my skirt in a subtle attempt to dry off my hand. Gloria turns to me, her eyes meeting mine almost reluctantly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Cavanaugh.” I tell her, plastering on my winningest smile as I reach out my hand.

Her upper lip curls as she closes her fingers around the ends of mine for just a second and then takes her hand back. Her eyes flick from one side of my face to the other, and I’m quite sure she’s looking at my stupid naked earlobes. “I take it you haven’t been here before. What do you think of the place?”

“It’s beautiful. Elegant. I’m glad Damon invited me,” I say, feeling a bit daring as I slip my arm through his.

“I suggested it. I thought you might feel comfortable at this sort of event, where it’s for charity.” She bares her teeth as I clench mine, trying to ignore the fact that she just insulted the crap out of me.  Side note: Smiling Gloria is almost scarier than Sullen Gloria.

Damon’s arm slides around my waist as I square my shoulders. “What was it you always used to say, Mother? Something about how you liked donating to the homeless because it was a good way to get rid of your expired food.”

If looks could kill, Gloria’s son would be six feet under right about now. “Oh, Damon...let’s not give away all my secrets to your new friend.” She stabs her cold eyes at me. “I could use a drink. Why don’t we all go to the bar, and we can continue chatting?”

I glance up at Damon. His perfect mouth is set in a hard line. For the first time, I’m feeling sorry for him, having a mother like this—and I’m also feeling less guilty about being paid two hundred and fifty grand to put up with this Tyrannosaurus Rex in heels.

We follow her over to the antique bar which is equally as elegant and beautiful as the rest of the place, with hand carvings in the dark wood. There’s an assortment of small white plates with different pairings: champagne and oysters, wine and cheese, tiny corndogs and beer, French brandy and truffles. Even though the drinks are in small cups, I’ll need to be very careful, because Drunk Delaney would be no match for Glowering Gloria.

We each take a plate. The fringe on my shawl keeps slipping into my food, so much so that Damon asks if I’d like him to take it to the coat room. I smile, but my eyes are telling him don’t you dare fucking leave me alone with your mother, and apparently my fake boyfriend is a good eye-reader because he stays put.

Gloria, who has ordered a martini to make her own pairing, steps closer to me. “Delaney...tell me, what is it you like about my son?”

I cast my gaze innocently to Damon, who lifts his eyebrows and gives me his own silent optic message. “How much time do you have?” I say sweetly.

“Highly amusing, dear, but I’d like to hear specifics.”

This is going to be difficult, because I mostly can’t stand him and could give her plenty of reasons why. I also don’t want to add to his already lofty view of himself, but I do need to come across as crazy about him and convince his mother that I know him fairly well, even though I don’t.

“Well, obviously, I was first captivated by his good looks, the way he carries himself with…” I clip off the word arrogance just in time. “...confidence.”

His mother is looking at me smugly. “Somehow, I’m not at all surprised that you’re focusing on the superficial.”

“Damon’s appearance was what first drew me to him. But even though I haven’t known him very long, I can already tell there’s more to him than this.” I feel my faux boyfriend’s gaze on me, his surprised anticipation swirling around me like smoke. “He’s funny and witty and charming, and there’s a warmth and sensitivity to him underneath that I could feel right away.”

There is a silence among the three of us. Gloria is undoubtedly plotting ways to kill me. I’m less sure of her son’s reaction—maybe that I’m worth the two fifty grand, or maybe his mega-healthy ego has just expanded to the size of this great room.

Or maybe he’s wondering how much of that I really meant.

And honestly? He’s not the only one. I surprised even myself, because those compliments came out quite easily.

Gloria is the first one to speak. “How very, very nice, Delaney. So it must not bother you, then, that he’s well-known for being a perpetual bachelor and has had many women before you...and undoubtedly will have some during you?”

Damon steps close to me then, draping his arm around my shoulders and making the skin on the back of my neck prickle. There is a distinctly gritty edge to his voice. “Delaney doesn’t need to worry about other women, because I’m not interested in anyone else. If you’ll excuse us, Mother, I think we’re both done being insulted by you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And just like that, he steers me away from seething Gloria, to one of the love seats in front of the fireplace.

“Great job, Ms. Brewster—you handled yourself very well.”

“Do you think she’ll try to talk to us again? She seemed pretty pissed off.”

“She’ll get over it. She knows she’s crossed a line.” He stretches his arms across the back of the love seat as I try not to notice his white shirt tightening over his chest.

“She’s definitely more intense than I was expecting.”

“Sorry about the digs she got in. It’s not you—she’s just hell-bent on me marrying who she wants.” Damon leans closer to me, lowering his head like people do when they want to be more intimate. I can smell his cologne and brace myself. “So...those things you said about me.” His eyes are a warm golden brown.

I swallow. “Impressive, huh?’

“Yeah. You almost had me believing you meant them.”

“Then mission accomplished, because that’s what you’re paying me for.”

He holds my gaze with his, so hard that I’m scared he can see right into me to find out things I don’t even know. I’m aware that this room is filled with color, classical music, conversation and laughter and aromas of warm food, but my senses are on overdrive taking in the man beside me.

Suddenly, it’s too much to be sitting here like we’re a couple. “I’m starving,” I tell him. “Why don’t you take your fake girlfriend over to get some more real food?”

There it is again—that intense look, pinning me down with his eyes till I almost forget how to breathe.

He breaks the tension with a quizzical grin. “Okay, Sprite. I can do that.”

After a few drinks, I find I can relax a bit, especially since Gloria is keeping her distance. I catch her staring at me a few times, followed by a look of pure distaste if she sees Damon holding my hand or putting his arm around my waist. I’m trying to get more used to him being physical, but it’s like a branding iron every time he touches me.

For the rest of the evening, we gorge ourselves on the pairings, bid on a few silent auction items, and Damon introduces me to some people. I meet Bill, the vice-president of Cavanaugh Yacht, and a very attractive, dark-haired woman whom I learn went to high school with Damon. She’s maybe had a bit too much to drink, and you can tell her husband is a little uncomfortable with how she keeps touching Damon’s arm and giggling, and I wonder if she and the Payor ever had a thing in the past. Or if they want to in the future.

I use the restroom, touch up my face with a little bronzer and lip gloss and snag a couple of breath mints. When I come out, Damon’s waiting for me, looking as relaxed as he’s been tonight.

“My mother just left.”

“I take it you’re glad?”

“Ecstatic. Want to get out of here?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I’m a little surprised he doesn’t take my hand as we head out the door. Then again, now that we’re out of view, we’re also out of character, so I guess that make sense.

It’s a beautiful, clear night with a smattering of stars tossed across the sky. Damon opens my passenger door—still playing the part of a gentleman—and I climb in, feeling quite content. Full belly, comfortably buzzed, and I made it through opening night relatively unscathed.

Before Damon gets in, he takes off his tux jacket and hangs it on a hook in the car, then removes his bow tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt, and oh, look...a person can see the bulge of arm muscles and the outline of pecs underneath that shirt, if that person wants to. As we drive off, the heater in the Range Rover is blowing gently, and the car is filled with the undeniably delectable scent of the driver’s cologne. God, I wish he didn’t smell so nice. Look so good. Sound so sexy. Et cetera.

“How did you feel about tonight?”

I’m not exactly sure how to answer, mainly because I’ve been analyzing that same thing myself. “I was glad to get that initial meeting over with. I thought it went all right.”

“Good.” He lowers the volume on the radio. “You were jumpy tonight, whenever I touched you.”

I shift a little in my seat. “Sorry.”

“I’m not looking for an apology—just trying to figure out why, or if it was something I did.”

“It’s not you.” Truthfully, part of it is him. “It’s me.” I hesitate, not intending to open the door here, but something inside me leans on it hard. “I haven’t been touched by a man in a long time.”

“I have to think that’s your choice, because a guy’s got to be fucking blind or crazy or both, not to want to put his hands on you.” Damon says this matter-of-factly, his eyes on the road, thankfully oblivious that he’s got my vagina’s attention. “Have you had many relationships?”

“If by ‘many,” you mean more than two, then no.”

“Seriously? Wow. Again, guessing that’s also your choice. I can relate to the not being in relationships, though—I prefer being single. But being touched—different story. Yeah, I’ve got to have that.” He gives me a dazzling grin that tugs at my pelvis. “So why have you taken yourself off the market? I’m thinking you must have a good reason.”

All of a sudden, I have the crazy, totally fucked-up idea of wanting to tell him the whole story, which makes absolutely zero sense because I don’t discuss this with anyone—not even Maddie. Thankfully, rational thought prevails, and I shrug and give him a partial-truth of how I don’t want to complicate my life right now.

He’s nodding. “That’s exactly how I feel. Simple and single, baby, all the way.”

“So you don’t do relationships.”

“No. I’ve had a few short-term ones, but nothing serious.” He tilts his head to smile at me. “You’ll be my longest commitment. Imagine that.”

“Yes, imagine.”

“Just until Portia goes back to England.” He grimaces. “I have to pick her up at the airport Thursday.”

“Maybe you’ll fall madly in love with her.”

“Highly doubtful. I don’t think I’m built to fall madly in love with anyone.”

“That woman tonight, with the dark hair who was so into you...were you ever in a relationship with her?”

“She was actually the first girl I slept with, in high school.”

“She acted like she wanted to relive it.”

Damon chuckles. “The first time is always memorable.”

And not always in a good way.

“Want a fun fact about your fake boyfriend, Sprite?”

“Probably not.”

“Sure you do. I make every single time memorable for a woman. I figure, someone’s sharing her body with me. I don’t take that lightly. I reward a woman in many ways for allowing me to be intimate with her. And I’m talking many ways.”

Sweet baby Jesus. I lean forward and slide the heat control toward cool as he chuckles.

“I can be cocky as fuck and I’m far from a saint, but there are more layers to me than that. Just like with you—you’re more than just gorgeous and feisty.”

“Are you saying that underneath, I’m a homely wimp?”

“I’m saying you’re gorgeous and feisty, but there’s a part of you that’s about as delicate as wings on a hummingbird, and if anyone wants to truly have you—all of you—then they need to understand and respect that.”

I turn my head to look at him. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, and his face is smooth and calm as though he didn’t just unravel a thread in the fabric of my soul.

“What are you thinking, Sprite?”

“I’m thinking that sometimes, you are absolutely nothing that I expect.”

“Good.”

We cross 176 into Surry, the stretch of road that hugs the ocean before you get to Ellsworth. We’re about ten minutes from my apartment.

I am utterly amazed to have mixed feelings about this.

“So...to get back to my earlier question about you being jumpy when I touched you.”

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll try to be better next time.”

“Stop apologizing. I was thinking I could maybe help you with it.”

My heart flutters and flips. “I don’t know how you’d do that.”

“It’s very simple. Touch you more—off-stage, so to speak—so you’d get used to it. Change your perspective from being jumpy to wanting me to jump you.”

“Hmm...I don’t know, Demon. I’ll need some time to think that over...consider it from all angles...annnd there. Nope. Nice try, though.”

His chuckle is warm, deep and rich. “Something tells me you’ll revisit this later. Maybe tonight, in bed.”

It’s probably best that there are only minutes remaining for me to be in the car with him, because the more he talks...laughs...glances...breathes, for God’s sake, the more I feel my stance weaken. I strengthen my voice and hope the rest of me will follow. “Do you enjoy talking like this to all women?”

“Only the ones I’m attracted to. I had initially decided I didn’t want to get involved physically with you, but that seems to have changed. And this kind of talk is nothing for me, Sprite. I’ve actually been holding back.” He reaches over the center console to take my hand. “There are a lot of things I’d like to say to you, believe me.”

“About…?” FUCK. Why did I let that slip out? I’m supposed to be stamping out the fire, not adding fuel to it!

“What I imagine you’re thinking. What I’d like to do to you.”

His voice has changed—it’s no longer playful, but serious. Low. Husky. There’s an instant throbbing between my legs. I fear for his leather seat. Where the hell is my apartment, and why didn’t someone have the good sense to build it closer? I have to get out of this car before I respond in a way I shouldn’t. Something in me has changed—there are small cracks in the protective walls I’ve so carefully constructed around myself over the past several years—cracks that could turn into openings that a Damon Cavanaugh could fit through, if I don’t watch it.

He isn’t saying anything more—probably waiting for me to—but he’s still holding my hand as we pull into my driveway. He puts the gear shift in park and starts to take off his seat belt.

“No. Don’t walk me in.” I’m practically begging as I slide my hand out of his grip. “Please, just don’t walk me in, okay?”

Damon looks at me in surprise, his lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “Okay, Delaney,” he says gently. “Listen, I didn’t mean to stress you out. I just thought that maybe I could get you to relax and enjoy yourself, and we could have a little fun with this. But it would have to be mutual fun, or it’s a no-go. Maybe you can just think about it. No worries, though, and no pressure, okay? Have a good night.”

I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk quickly to my steps and unlock my door. I’m trembling, and I’m glad Damon can’t see. I’m not scared of him, specifically...more like scared of the feelings he’s bringing out in me. How he’s affected me since the first time I saw him.

I pull the drapes across the picture window, feeling a little pang watching the taillights of the Range Rover get smaller and smaller as Damon pulls away. I want to change out of my dress, get comfortable so I can relax and try to process all of this. I’ll have to text Maddie tomorrow—tell her I had a date with Malibu Ken. I didn’t want to tell her before because I was already keyed up enough, but now I have to, since Damon and I are going to be a couple. She’ll freak, and I’ll have to deal with feeling like total crap because it’s a lie.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave…Walter Scott definitely knew what he was talking about.

Curling up in my bed with a wine cooler and my favorite fleece throw, I flick on the TV and find season six of Friends on Netflix. I’m feeling calmer, but there is a distinctive ache pulsing inside me. The question is, what am I going to do about it? I’m locked in to the deal now—there’s no turning back, especially since I’m going to be the proud owner of the corner of Main and School Street.

I just never imagined that this faking act would also include faking it with him...pretending he’s not getting to me, pretending I don’t imagine his kiss, his touch, and more. The goal is for me to be believable as his girlfriend, but I was never supposed to see myself in those terms. Ironic.

There’s a lot of things I’d like to say to you, believe me.

I want to know what he would say.

Like really, really want to know.

I drink the rest of my wine cooler and glance over at the iPhone on my nightstand. There is a way I could find out what he would say.

Do I really want to go there?

I’m picking up my phone, finding him in my contacts and starting a text message, so I guess that would mean yes, I do. Who knew my thumbs would be so reckless and bold?

Hi. Sorry it’s late. And sorry I got out of your car so fast. I was a little freaked out. And if I’m being totally honest, I’m also a little curious.

I wait, my heart climbing up into my throat. And then I see three dots below my text. He’s writing back.

Stop saying you’re sorry—I told you, no worries. What are you curious about?

My reckless and bold thumbs hesitate. But only for a second.

I was wondering what things you’d like to say to me. *passes out*

LOL. Are you asking me to talk dirty to you, Sprite?

I’m asking you to *text* dirty to me, Demon. But just say one thing, OK? That’s probably all I can handle.

OK.

My hands are shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone.

When I picked you up at your apartment tonight and saw you in that dress, I didn’t want to go to the winery. I wanted to back you up against the wall, put my tongue in your mouth, lift up your dress and stroke your pussy till you begged me to fuck you. And then I would have. Hard.

OMG.

I. Can’t. Breathe.

My entire body is buzzing, glowing—electrified from his words. Between my legs, I’m wet and aching and engorged, my arousal so intense, I feel like I could come.

Are you okay?

Am I? I don’t know. This has rattled the shit out of me, but it’s the most exhilarated and turned-on I’ve been in maybe...ever.

Yes. But OMFG.

I can practically hear him chuckling, can see his slow grin spreading across his face, and just imagining him at his house—sitting on his couch, or even lying in bed, maybe shirtless—maybe with a hard-on (God, I hope so)—fills me with a delicious sense of excitement and intimacy that I thought was lost forever.

One more thing, Sprite...not dirty, I promise.

OK…?

You make me smile.

A jolt to my heart, followed by a warm, spreading feeling in my chest. I think of texting back same, but it feels like it’s too much. So I reply with a thank you and good night.

Good night. Sweet dreams.

Sweet dreams? That’s assuming I’ll be able to freaking sleep.

Lying back in bed against my pillows, I close my eyes and clutch my phone to my chest, imagining what it would be like to have Damon Cavanaugh right here, right now, on top of me. I realize I’ve drifted into dangerous territory. Dangerous, because sometimes where the mind goes, the body will follow.

I turn out the light, set my phone on the nightstand and lay in the darkness. I’m one hundred percent sure I’ll have to give myself the big O so I can sleep, and I’m going to envision the wall scene he sexted me about.

The naked truth, so to speak, is that my new faux boyfriend has made me want more than just to envision. I want to feel sexual again. I want to experience. How much, I’m not sure, but the desire is strong enough to make me sit up in bed, pick up my phone and text him one last time tonight. 

So I’m thinking about the mutual fun thing.

Damon’s reply comes so quickly, it’s almost like he’s been waiting for my message.

You just made me smile.

This time, it doesn’t feel like it’s too much to say.

Same.