Page 21 of Married to the Frenemy

“Regardless, I still appreciate it.”

She nods, then starts to turn. “Merry Christmas, Beckham.”

“Merry Christmas, Haley.”

I watch as she retreats, her heels clicking on the pavement. She only makes it a few feet before I call out, “Haley, wait!”

I jog toward my truck and open the back door, retrieving an oversized box wrapped in penguin-covered paper.

“What’s that?” she asks, warily eyeing the box as I approach her. “Is that?—”

“I was going to drop it off after I left here,” I interrupt. It’s obvious by the size and shape of the box she knows exactly what it is. The Barbie camper Maggie asked for. “There’s no tag so you can tell her it’s from Santa.”

“Beckham, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“She’s not your responsibility. She?—”

“I know she’s not. But it’s Christmas, and I wanted to do something nice for you and your daughter. Okay?”

My voice seems to echo in the stillness of the air. I glance back at the house. When I do, I notice the curtains immediately shift, confirming that someone’s definitely been watching us.

Most likely my sister, Dylan. Probably my mom, too.

Hell, probably my entire family.

It’s not often they see me talking to another girl, especially Haley McBride.

“I just don’t like to depend on other people for what I should be able to give my daughter on my own.”

“If you’re going to be my wife, I’m going to take care of both you and Maggie.”

“Fake wife,” she reminds me, although I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit or hers. “It won’t be real.”

“True, but we’ll need to make everyone think it’s real. Can you do that?”

“I spent the past several years pretending that I like delivering drinks to drunk men while they try to get in my pants. I’ll be just fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?” I scoff, pushing down the renewed anger bubbling to the surface at the idea of anyone trying to get into Haley’s pants, especially the assholes at the casino.

“Yeah.” She places a hand on her hip. “You’ve got your work cut out for you with that brooding persona you’ve had going on the past few years. You won’t be able to get away with being your normal, charming self. You’ll have to act like you don’t hate me. And it will have to be believable, Beckham.”

In a heartbeat, I advance on her, barely a whisper separating us. She inhales a sharp breath, her gaze locking with mine. Fire heats my veins, my hunger for her just as strong as it once was. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this close to her. Probably since the night I lost control.

As I lean closer, I inhale her scent. She smells like she did all those years ago. Lavender. Powder. And fresh air.

Her chest rises and falls, her breathing increasing with every inch I erase between us until my lips almost skim the spot beneath her earlobe.

The spot that once drove her crazy.

Does it still make her moan? Still send a rush of desire through her veins? Still make her burn for me?

A subtle tremble shakes her body as she whimpers. If I weren’t so close, I probably wouldn’t have heard it.

But I did. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to haul her into my arms and kiss her. Find out if she still tastes the same. If her body still fits mine like it once did.

“I think I can make it look convincing,” I murmur, lingering near her ear for several protracted moments.

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