CHAPTER FOUR
WILLOW WAVED GOODBYE to Cheryl and the others as she and Zane headed down the dock in a bubble of awkwardness. Cheryl had made dinner on the boat, but Willow had been too nervous to eat more than a bite. Zane had been looking at her weirdly ever since she’d forgotten how to shut the hell up and had taken over his story.
Oh my God, his story. She’d been so caught up in his fake proposal that when he’d said, “Our moment,” he’d opened some sort of floodgate to the past. It hadn’t helped that when Zane had offered Jay the rest of the money he’d promised for letting them hijack their boat, Jay had pushed his hand away and said, “Keep it. It was nice getting to know you both. My wife always says those gossip magazines are full of lies. Now we know she’s right. We hope you have a long, happy marriage.” The color had drained from Zane’s face, like he’d been caught having real feelings for Willow, and she’d felt the impact like a freight train slamming into the barriers she’d erected out of self-preservation.
She focused on the lights of the resort twinkling against the night sky instead of the frantic beating of her heart and the whathefuckamIdoing playing in her head. Every time she stole a glance at Zane, he shifted his eyes away, and a second later she felt the heat of his gaze burning into her.
This was crazy. They’d been friends forever. Even when they’d slept together, things hadn’t been this awkward. One of them needed to break the ice. She looked up at the same time he looked over, and their eyes locked. Lord, he was looking at her that way again, with his chin tipped low and hunger in his eyes, but there was something else behind the heat. Something she’d seen only once in her life, as he’d lain above her down by the creek. Something she was probably mistaken about, given the totally effed-up state of her mind.
She said, “Hey, why don’t we—” at the same time he said, “Let’s go—”
He raked a hand through his hair, his laughter breaking the tension. She loved the sound of his laugh when he wasn’t trying to be the Zane Walker. He had a wonderfully deep, carefree laugh that reminded her of fun-filled summer afternoons at the lake and family barbecues after he and Ben had played a winning football or baseball game.
“Whiskey?” he suggested.
“Make it a double.”
They headed across the lawn toward a long deck that led to an outdoor bar overlooking the water, weaving through a sea of people who were dancing and laughing, shouting out one toast after another. At the center of a mass of twentysomethings was a dark-haired couple wearing sparkling crowns. A band played at the far end of the deck. They’d obviously stumbled upon some sort of bachelor/bachelorette party. The perfect distraction.
Zane plowed through the crowd, making a beeline toward the bar.
Willow followed him between two guys. “Sorry,” she said. The crowd seemed to swell, and they pressed in on her. Are you shitting me? She felt a hand circle her waist and turned, catching the threatening glare Zane gave the guys before he tugged her out from between them.
“What are you doing?” His eyes darted around them.
“Me? You plowed ahead and left me to trail behind.” She wrenched free. “Not exactly the way a fiancé should act, I might point out.”
An apology rose in his eyes. “Sorry, baby.”
With his arm securely around her, he pushed through the crowd and flagged down the bartender.
A beautiful blonde with breasts that looked like they were ready to tumble out of her low-cut blouse leaned across the bar. “What’ll it be?” she shouted over the noise.
“Two whiskeys, neat.”
“Make them doubles,” Willow added.
Zane chuckled.
“What? I don’t want to fight the crowd again in five minutes.”
A few minutes later the bartender slid their glasses across the bar, and Zane paid. He draped an arm possessively around Willow, holding her tight as they moved through the crowd to a spot near the railing. Women began whispering behind their hands, with hope and flirtation lighting up their eyes as they ogled Zane. They stood up taller, arched their backs to show off their assets, and fluttered their lashes in his direction.
Willow rolled her eyes and turned to face the water. She had wondered how long it would take for people to recognize him. Zane was hard to miss with all that hotness wafting off him. Even when he wasn’t trying to be hot, he sizzled. And despite his smartassery, he was charming in his own way. Or maybe that was years of repression refusing to be held back any longer. She’d always loved his smartassery. Almost as much as his badassery. And his ass in general.
With a viselike grip on her, he put his mouth beside her ear and said, “Is this better?”
His hot breath sent shudders of lust rippling through her. She gulped a mouthful of whiskey, reveling in the burn as it slid down her throat like lava. She’d rather have frosting, but since she wasn’t in the kitchen, liquid courage would have to do. When Zane tightened his grip, mashing her body to his, she downed another gulp.
“Slow down there, sweet cheeks. You’re liable to get drunk.”
“Sweet cheeks?” She rolled her eyes.
“I thought we were done with those eye rolls. Meet me halfway, Wills.”
She was painfully aware of the women watching him, even if he was acting like he hadn’t a clue. She wasn’t used to the jealousy whipping through her, or the twisting in her gut from being on the receiving end of stink-eyes from a pack of women just a few feet away. Willow didn’t play games, and she didn’t do drama. It was one of the reasons she loved her hometown so much. She had a nice life where she could wear her jeans or shorts and not worry about measuring up to anyone. She glanced down at her belted lavender dress, feeling even more out of place among an ocean of little black dresses. Sure, she had double Ds she could flaunt with the best of them, but she hated them. She’d hated them ever since she was thirteen, when they hadn’t sprouted like cute little nubs and then blossomed into perfectly perky boobs that fit her body. They’d bloomed overnight, making her feel like a young, awkward Dolly Parton. To make matters worse, she also had rounded hips and a smallish waist that made her boobs look even bigger. She’d grown up dealing with boys talking to the girls instead of her, and while she’d thought that might change as the guys matured, she spent her life dodging men who did the same.
Zane moved in front of her, bringing her eyes up to his. He had never made her feel like other guys did. Even when she had been his for the taking, he’d focused on her—her eyes, her emotions, her hands. God, she remembered the way he’d kissed each of her fingers before intertwining them with his as she lay beneath him. It was like he hadn’t seen her boobs at all. He’d seen only her. Now he was looking at her again. Heat sizzled and popped between them.
She shifted her gaze out over the inky water. She was romanticizing their friendship again, just like she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do all those years ago. She’d failed miserably then, too.
“Hey, Wills. Look at me.”
She reluctantly met his gaze. He was smiling in a playful way that reminded her of his younger self. She liked that younger, playful guy a whole lot. He tapped his glass to hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek, leaving her skin warm and her body tingling with anticipation. Or maybe that was from the whiskey. It was hard to differentiate when Zane’s incredible body was pressed against her.
“To us.” He lifted his glass to his lips.
His Adam’s apple moved like he did, smooth as sin and alluringly tempting. She had the urge to seal her mouth over that sexy moving target. Lord have mercy. What was wrong with her? She downed the rest of her drink, wincing at the burn, feeling it pool in her belly like liquid fire and giving herself over to the blissful deadening of her nerves.
He raised his brows and finished his drink, watching her intently as he took her empty glass and set it with his on the railing.
His hands snaked around her waist, holding her impossibly closer. “Talk to me, Wills.”
“Isn’t this weird for you? Holding me like this and pretending to be engaged, when you’re surrounded by gawking, available women? I mean, your photographer doesn’t seem to be stalking us, so . . .”
His eyes narrowed and drifted around them, lingering on the women who had been giving her the stink-eye. He touched his cheek to hers again, instantly making her insides go soft. “I promised I’d make a concerted effort to ensure this works, and I never break my prom—”
When he drew back and gazed into her eyes with a serious and thoughtful expression, her pulse went a little crazy. She reminded herself this was his most important role yet.
“I try never to break my promises anymore,” he corrected himself. “And no, Wills. This isn’t weird for me. It would be weird to try to act like this with anyone other than you.”
“Zane, I’m being serious. Don’t feed me lines, okay?” She glanced down at the gaudy—and stunning—ring he’d rented. When she was a kid, she’d gone through a phase where she loved princess everything, from dresses to gems. Didn’t all young girls? But as an adult, as a baker—as Willow Dalton—she wanted nothing like this when and if she ever got engaged. The diamond would only get in the way, and it was too flashy. It wasn’t her at all. Patch picked it out. Another good reminder of why she shouldn’t romanticize their relationship.
“It wasn’t a line.” He began swaying to the music with her in his arms. “Dance with me. I need the distraction.”
“From those girls?” She ached at the idea that he wished he could be with someone else. This would be easier if being with him didn’t make her remember what it was like to be touched like she was more than a piece of ass. To be touched like she was precious and sexy and looked at like she was the only woman he ever wanted.
The muscles around his mouth twitched. “No, Willow. Jesus. I know I’ve been with a lot of women, but whose insanely sexy body is crushed against mine right now?”
The anger in his tone was underscored by hurt, and it took her by surprise. She might not approve of his current lifestyle, or the reasons behind this grand scheme they were taking part in, but she’d agreed to do this for him, and he was making an effort. She needed to get past the ghosts of their past that were sucking up half the oxygen, to kick that elephant from the room so she could make the effort he deserved—the effort that, without the ghosts, and without that damn elephant, wasn’t an effort at all.
“Do you really think anonymous women mean a damn thing to me? They’re a way to pass the time. You’re my friend. You know me better than anyone else in the world ever could. Everything’s different with you, Wills. It always has been, and I’m really trying not to screw this up.”
The way he said friend, like it was the most important thing he’d said all night, pushed all that other stuff out of the way. The person he’d been was still in there, drawing her closer. She wound her arms around his neck, wanting to dig deeper, to bring out more of the guy she’d loved so deeply.
“That’s better. It’s just us, babe. No one else matters.”
His hands slid to the base of her spine, and she felt herself melting against him, believing him, feeling safe with him. Wanting him. She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she could be herself with a man, and if Zane was nothing else, he had always been that guy. He accepted her for all her quirks. It felt incredible to be in his arms again. Her mind tiptoed down a dangerous path.
Maybe just one night . . . ?
ZANE CAME OUT of the men’s room and heard Willow’s feathery laughter tickling his ears. He scanned the crowd in the bar, which had thinned out over the last few hours as they’d drank and danced. He wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the wanting looks Willow had been casting his way all night or if he’d conjured them up with wishful thinking, but the longer he had her in his arms, the harder it was to remember they weren’t a real couple.
They’d met Liz and Mark, the happy couple celebrating their upcoming wedding, which was taking place tomorrow morning by the lake. After a few awkward moments of them and their friends gushing over Zane’s celebrity status, Willow had held up her hand and announced that they were engaged, shocking the hell out of him. She’d finally embraced their ruse, and good-time Willow had come out to play. He was sure the alcohol helped, but damn, he loved the way she draped herself all over him, playing up their relationship for their audience.
She laughed again, and he followed the sound to a tall table at the other end of the bar, where she stood with a handful of people. She wore Liz’s crown, and everyone else was watching her.
What are you up to now, baby doll?
Endearments came so easily when he was with her and when he thought of her. He never called women anything other than their names, but he’d called Willow just about every affectionate name under the sun for as long as he’d known her. He grinned, recalling her annoyance at his use of sweet cheeks. She’d always hated that one, which made it even more fun to say.
As he approached the table, two good-looking guys stepped up beside her, one unabashedly leering at her cleavage. Zane curled his hands into fists.
Willow tossed something up in the air, and it landed on the table. A coin, he realized as everyone leaned in to see it and cheered. Her eyes widened, and a gorgeous smile spread across her face as she reached down and untied her belt.
What the . . . ? Zane quickened his pace and narrowed his eyes as she whipped the belt around over her head like a lasso and tossed it in the air with a loud whoop!
The leerer snatched it out of the air and leaned down, whispering something to Willow. Zane grabbed his shoulder, dragging him backward.
“Dude!” the guy hollered.
“Hands off my fiancée, buddy.” He grabbed Willow’s belt from his hand and pushed past him.
Willow, oblivious to him, tossed the coin in the air again.
He put his arm around her and said, “Time to go, Wills,” as the coin landed on the table and cheers rang out again.
Eyes wide and glassy, Willow grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer. “Z! You’ve got to play this!”
The others began chanting, “Drink, drink, drink!”
Willow downed a shot, grabbed Zane’s face with two hands, and smashed her mouth to his. It happened so fast he didn’t have time to think past the heat blazing a path straight to his groin. She pulled back, blinking those unbearably long lashes up at him with a shocked look on her face.
He hauled her to her feet—her bare feet? “Time to go, Wills. Where are your shoes?”
“Aw, come on. We were just getting started,” a guy called out.
Zane ignored him, focusing on Willow. “Shoes, baby. Where are they?”
She looked down and giggled, turning those mischievous green eyes on him again. Then she shrugged and wrapped herself around him like a second skin. “Lost them in Flip, Sip, or Strip.”
Flip, Sip, or Strip? Holy shit. He made a mental note not to let Willow drink without him. Ever. “Come on, sweet stuff.” He slid his arm around her waist and guided her toward the resort.
“But we were playing.” She pointed over her shoulder.
“And now you’re done.”
“You didn’t kiss me back.” Her lips were pouty, and her brows furrowed.
Aw, hell. She was killing him. He wanted to kiss her, and not just to see her smile again. Grinding his teeth against the urge to do just that, he focused on getting her to the resort.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” She stumbled off the edge of the patio and into the grass.
“You’re drunk.” He swept her into his arms, nearly groaning at the feel of her warm, lush curves pressed against him. Heaven and hell collided, and he was the lucky recipient of their torturous impact.
“So?” She wound her arms around his neck. “I bet you make out with drunk girls all the time.”
“Wills.” His warning was clear. He focused on the music fading in the distance, the water lapping at the shore. The sound of the frigging adrenaline rushing through his ears. Anything except the woman in his arms who was too drunk to realize what she was saying. She pressed her hands to his cheeks and turned his face toward hers. Jesus, she was too sexy, all pouty and angry, a flush from too much alcohol pinking her cheeks. He tried to ignore the thrum of heat building inside him, but when she licked her lips, he felt it below his belt.
“Why. Won’t. You. Kiss. Me?” she demanded.
He shifted his eyes away. “Put your head on my shoulder and chill, Wills.” Before I take you up on your offer.
“Am I not hot enough for you?” She pulled his face toward hers again. “Not skinny enough? Not pretty enough?”
“Willow, stop.” He carried her into the resort and directly to the elevator.
“Put me down.” She pushed against his chest.
“Sweetheart, you’re drunk. Just let me put you to bed.” Fuck. Now he was thinking about her in bed. The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. He pushed the button for their floor.
“I’m not drunk.” She struggled until he finally set her on her feet. She swayed, and he gathered her in his arms. Sadness replaced the anger in her eyes. “Am I not slutty enough?”
He was this close to giving in. “Stop.” His demand came out as a whispered plea. He thought he was strong, but she tore at him in ways no other woman ever could, breaking him down one word, one look, one blink at a time.
“That’s it, isn’t it? I’m not slutty enough. You probably like those girls who flaunt their boobs and get down on their knees without asking.”
“Damn it, Willow,” he snapped. “Stop this shit.”
“Then tell me!”
He turned away, running through the possible outcomes of telling her the truth. None of which were good. She’d either call him a liar or he’d ruin their friendship. The elevator stopped at their floor, and she pulled out of his grasp, storming down the hall. She looked sexy as hell stomping her little tanned feet, her incredible ass swaying angrily. He was so screwed.
She reached their room and stood with her arms crossed and an angry scowl on her face.
He swiped the keycard and pushed the door open.
She shoved past him, tugging at the ring on her finger. “Why did you do this, anyway? Why me? Go get someone you can at least kiss, because obviously I’m not the type of woman you like anyway, so no one is going to believe it.” Her face was red with frustration. The ring was stuck on her finger. She pushed his chest. “I can’t take it off!”
He grabbed her wrist. “Because you aren’t supposed to.”
She was breathing so hard, smelled so good, but that desperate, sad look in her eyes did him in.
“Tell me why, Zane.” She seemed to sober up. Her words were clear, her body steady. “Why wouldn’t you kiss me out there? I’m trying to play your game. I guess I found the line between being your adoring arm candy that you can press your lips and body to whenever you see fit and your don’t-touch-me friend. Clearly we’re not that good at crossing lines these days unless it’s done by your rules.”
He stepped forward, still holding her wrist, and her back met the wall with a thud. “Stop. Talking.”
“No. I want to know why you won’t kiss me.”
“You don’t want to kiss me, Willow.” He heard the greed in his voice. “You’re just drunk.”
“Maybe I just needed the liquid courage to act on my feelings. Maybe I’m just like all those other women who want you.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” he snapped. “You’re nothing like them.”
She arched against him, her hand surfing over his ass, her eyes turning sultry and dark. “That’s why you don’t want me?”
“Damn it, Willow.” He grabbed hold of her other wrist, pressing both against the wall beside her head. “Because if I kiss you, I won’t want to stop, and we can’t go there.”
Challenge rose in her eyes.
“Wills,” he warned. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”
She bowed away from the wall, brushing her thighs against his. “One kiss.”
He pressed his body to hers, and her back met the wall again. She had to feel what she was doing to him. Had to know how much he wanted her. He should walk away, take a cold shower, and figure out how to get through the next two weeks, but he was drawn to her like metal to magnet. He wanted to peel her out of that dress and consume every inch of her.
“Why?” He had to know why she was pushing him so hard.
She ran her tongue over her lower lip, leaving it slick and enticing. “For old times’ sake.”
He touched his cheek to hers, and she shuddered against him. As he breathed in her feminine scent, he realized why he’d held her like this so many times over the past few hours. It had been how he’d calmed her down all those years ago. She’d been so nervous, trembling even as she’d tried to act tough, just like she was now. But he’d known the truth. She was terrified. Was she scared now?
“Your body remembers us,” he whispered, and he couldn’t refrain from sweeping his tongue around the shell of her ear, as he’d done that night. “My body remembers us.” He rocked his hips against hers and gazed into her eyes.
“Z,” she said on a long, heated breath, reminding him of the breathless girl of almost eighteen who had captured his heart.
“I can’t sleep with you, Willow. I care about you too much to jeopardize our friendship again.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re an arrogant man. I want your mouth, not your cock.”
Jesus, his Willow was back in charge. Her confidence was an aphrodisiac—always had been. He held on to his control by a fraying thread. “Seeing your pretty mouth say that dirty word, baby . . . You have no idea how many times I have fantasized about that filthy mouth of yours. A kiss will never be enough. For either of us.”
He tightened his hold on her wrists to keep from filling his hands with other enticing parts of her. She slid her knee up his inner thigh, tempting him to the edge of reason. He crushed his chest to hers and touched his lips to her forearm, aching to be buried deep inside her. She watched, breathing harder with each press of his lips as he kissed a trail down her arm. He moved his hand from her wrist to her fingers, holding her palm open, and circled it with his tongue, earning a heady moan from her.
“Zane,” she begged.
He brushed his lips over hers again, torturing them both as she craned forward, trying to catch his mouth. But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop once he got ahold of her luscious lips. He kissed her neck, loving the way she craned back, offering him more. He dragged his tongue down the center and along her breastbone, then kissed his way back up again. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He laced their hands together again, still holding them against the wall, struggling to maintain control of the desires stacking up inside him.
“Promise me you won’t take off that ring.”
“I won’t,” she panted out.
“Promise me you won’t hate me for being weak. You’ve always owned me.”
“I . . .” Her eyes came open, confusion and desire gazing back at him.
He’d stunned them both with his confession, but he didn’t have time to explain. He needed her more than he’d ever needed anything in his life. “One kiss, baby.”
“Yes—”
He cupped her jaw, the fear of what they were risking causing his fingers and thumb to press too hard into her flesh as he angled her mouth beneath his. “Promise you’ll push me away if I get carried away.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, couldn’t wait another second. Their mouths crashed together in a desperate, fervent kiss. She tasted sweet and hot, meeting his efforts with insatiable hunger. His emotions reeled. He’d fantasized about kissing Willow again for so long, he couldn’t hold back, and he took the kiss deeper, kissing her rougher. She was right there with him, opening wider as he plundered and took, and took, and took.
ZANE DIDN’T JUST kiss Willow; he possessed her with his arms, his hands, his wicked tongue. He delved into the far recesses of her mouth, unleashing a surge of heat that first flooded, then consumed her from the inside out. She had almost forgotten what a real kiss felt like. The way his kisses could draw the energy from every limb, until she felt it creeping beneath her skin, moving toward his talented mouth. His kiss reached into her core, stoking a long-ago forgotten fire, breathing spirals of ecstasy into every iota of her being. She grasped at his arms in an effort to remain erect in her dizzying world. Just when she was sure her heart would explode, his fingers fisted in her hair, and he tugged her head back—hard.
His eyes were volcanic, and seeing him so desperate for her, so lost in them, sent her pulse skyrocketing.
“Stop me, Wills,” he pleaded.
His roughness electrified her. No way was she stopping either of them. She pulled his mouth to hers again, claiming him. Then his hands were on her ass, lifting her higher. Her legs circled his waist, her dress bunched around her middle, and she didn’t care. No, that was wrong. For the first time in forever, she did care. She cared a hell of a lot. She wanted her dress to melt off. Panties, too. She didn’t want anything separating them.
His touch was controlling, his kisses raw and sensuous. She became aware of his hardness pressing against her center, his rampant breathing as he intensified their kisses, the scratch of his whiskers against her cheeks, and the air moving over her skin as he carried her across the room. They tumbled down to the mattress in a tangle of limbs, never breaking their connection. His weight pressing down on her was exquisite, and the intoxicating scents of whiskey and man made her head spin. She wanted to lick him, to drink him, to consume him, from his mouth to his ankles and every deliciously hard inch in between.
Desire pounded through her veins as they rocked against each other, sparking so hot she was surprised the sheets didn’t catch flames. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his shirt off, like he’d done all those years ago, when he didn’t want anything separating them. He was giving her a green light, and she wanted to zoom right past it. Her eyes fell to the dusting of dark hair on his chest. She’d seen his body in magazines and in every movie he’d made. And when he’d come back to Sweetwater for visits, she’d seen him playing basketball with Ben shirtless. But she hadn’t looked closely, and she certainly hadn’t been able to touch. It was one thing to see him from afar, but up close and shirtless, when she knew what his body had looked like as a boy on the cusp of manhood? Nothing could have prepared her for the man gazing down at her like she was a pretty little rabbit and he was a hungry wolf. He lowered his mouth to hers again, and she readied herself for his cruel ravishment. She wanted it. God, how she wanted it. But he kissed her so softly, so tenderly, he took her breath away.
His hand moved over her hip, up her ribs, and then his warm, strong hand left her body, avoiding her breast and stroking her cheek. A rush of emotions swamped her. You remembered.
“One kiss,” he whispered. “It was never enough.”
Her entire body arched off the bed, begging for his touch as he pressed his lips to hers in a series of provocative kisses. She wanted to touch his chest. Needed to feel that coarse hair on her fingers so she could recall the memory for her late-night fantasies. But she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if she touched, she’d want to taste. And if she tasted, she’d want to follow that treasure trail lower. And that was out of the question.
One kiss, she’d told herself.
One kiss to get him out of her system.
One mind-blowing, panty-melting kiss, to ease the mounting tension between them.
He sealed his teeth over her neck and sucked.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus, your mouth.
Her nipples burned with the need to be in his mouth. All that grinding he was doing was creating delicious friction. Oh, wait, she was grinding, too. Stop. Stop grinding. Her hands moved to his ass. And what a fine ass he had. It was firm and round, and every time she squeezed it, he thrust harder. Yes, yes, yes!
His mouth was on a mission to drive her out of her mind. Out of my clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wade through her tangled emotions. Wanton desires battled with reality. This could never go anywhere. They were playing roles. Or at least they had been. But this passion was as real as the man nipping at her lower lip.
His dark, lustful gaze brought reality rushing in. The years had only kept her feelings at bay. He was her pièce de résistance. She wasn’t anywhere near over him. He was her cherry on top, the summit of a five-tier wedding cake. He was her strength and her weakness.
He must have seen her conflicting emotions, because he drew back and said, “I know,” so tenderly, she wanted to yell, No. You don’t know. Ignore my waffling emotions and take me. Just take me. But she didn’t, and he kissed her again, slow and sweet and painfully delicious. He rolled onto his back and draped his arm over his eyes. “Alcohol wore off?”
“The minute you picked me up after we left the bar,” she said honestly, trying to catch her breath.
He rolled onto his side, taking her hand in his, and smiled down at her. “You weren’t out-of-your-mind drunk when you kissed me in the bar?”
She shook her head. “I had only one shot after our drinks. I was tipsy. Maybe very tipsy. But not drunk.”
He flopped onto his back again, exhaling loudly. “So you were fucking with me?”
She pushed up on her elbow and ran her fingers through his chest hair. It was just as magnificent as she’d dreamed it would be. “Not really. I needed the liquid courage to get past not wanting to kiss you.”
“Not wanting to kiss me? Christ, Wills. Way to stroke my ego.”
She laughed and pressed her lips to the center of his chest. “I’m sure your ego will remain intact despite anything I say or do.”
He hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her down, half beside him, half on top of him. “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, and rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him. “I need a cold shower.” He brushed his lips over hers again. “Want to make it a hot one and join me?”
She laughed, her mind still foggy from making out. “We had our fun. Now get that fine ass of yours off me and go introduce yourself to your right hand.”
He gave her one last loud kiss and moved to the edge of the bed. His broad shoulders rounded forward, and he lowered his face to his hands, breathing deeply. She lay in the middle of the bed, watching him and wondering how they’d gotten there. She was supposed to be catering an event, not helping him fix his bad-boy reputation, and definitely not making out with him and opening all the doors to the past.
He pushed to his feet and stretched. The muscles on his back flexed, making her mouth water. He moved slowly, pulling his wallet, keycard, and phone from his pocket and tossing them on the nightstand. He glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes locked, stirring the emotions she was trying to pretend didn’t own her.
“Last chance, sweet girl.”
She closed her eyes to avoid falling into his. “I’m good, thanks.”
She heard him walk into the bathroom and listened for the door to click shut, but it never did. The sounds of the shower brought her eyes open, imagining Zane stripping out of his jeans and boots. Knowing the only thing separating them was a few inches of drywall made her anxious. And hot. She pushed to the edge of the bed, digging deep for the courage to follow him, and rose to her feet too fast. All her blood rushed south. She reached for the wall to steady herself.
Am I really going in there?
She stood frozen, listening. For what, she wasn’t sure. She imagined his naked body as he fisted his cock to relieve the pressure they’d built. Her knees weakened, and she dropped back down to the bed.
She wasn’t ready for this. For him. For what would inevitably be a painful end to their two-week sham. She’d had her fun. Now she just needed to find a way to satisfy the throbbing ache between her legs without Zane.
AFTER A LONG, hot bath, Willow was clearheaded and strong in her resolve not to let their impromptu make-out session allow her to digress. She tiptoed out of the bathroom, hoping Zane had really gone to sleep as he’d claimed he was going to when he’d come out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, looking like sex on legs. Mark Wahlberg had nothing on him. Zane could have modeled for a Boogie Nights commercial with that viper in his drawers.
The bedroom was dark, but there was no missing the form of a large, nearly naked man sprawled across the bed. Ugh. He was supposed to sleep on the couch. She eyed the narrow couch, then the bed. What woman in her right mind would turn away Zane Walker? The one who knows firsthand what sleeping with Zane means. A night of unforgettable pleasure, even her first time. A night of caring whispers and tender touches, and later, with the first two times under her belt, combustible, explosive, passionate sex. To be followed up by certain heartbreak when our fake engagement comes to an end and I’m still hung up on you.
Was it sad that the best sex of her life had been when she was just shy of eighteen and knew nothing about it? She’d tried to get lost in passion with the men she’d been with since, but no one had ever come close, which was a great reminder of why she couldn’t do it again. Because no one has the best sex of their life at that age. She’d obviously romanticized them and fictionalized their sexual encounter to heights no one could ever live up to.
She gently moved his arm and leg to the other side of the bed and crawled in, huddling close to the edge. The sheets smelled like him. She buried her nose in them, closed her eyes, and at some point the sexy fantasies drifting through her mind lulled her to sleep.