Page 30 of So Not My Romantic Getaway

“Jack Morgan,” he grunts.

I pinch my eyebrows together.

As I study him, he studies me.

“No way…” I whisper.

He nods. “Yep.”

“You’re—you mean…?”

“Yes, and… yes. It seems so.”

“We just—and you’re…” I cringe. “Oh my gosh.”

He coughs and then steps back again so his feet are planted on the sandy walk instead of my bungalow’s front stoop. “I think I better get going.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I push my hair back up off my face and suck air into my lungs for a new reason. I have to try to get oxygen to my brain cells if I’m going to figure out how the heck I screwed up this badly.

Not only that, but I have to figure out what I’m going to do about it.

I shuffle back into my bungalow, close the door firmly, then spin and rest my back against it.

It’s the same door I let myself fall against when he kissed me moments ago.

On the other side of this door, I was a woman in the throes of the most romantic and passionate encounter of her life.

But now… on this side of the door… I am an idiot.

A total ditz who is paying her coworker—no, worse: her least-favorite coworker—to play fake boyfriend.

I hired my coworker.

I posed for a photo with him.

And then… we kissed.

Not a peck on the cheek, either. Not a polite goodnight kiss.

That kiss was no-holds-barred, anything goes, me pulling him in like my life depended on it.

I have embarrassed myself, even worse than when I posted that rum-inspired ad on Craigslist.

More than when I passed out in the hot tub earlier today.

I shamelessly invited that kiss with my eyes.

All I had to do was look away, but I didn’t. And then, when he placed his lips on mine, I became some Venus Fly Trap, a wonder of nature. I had a live one in my grip, and I refused to let him go.

I have been dealing with Jack Morgan for nearly a year. His emails never fail to annoy me. He’s more than just my least favorite coworker. That’s putting it too mildly.

That’s typical of me, too. Sugar-coating things to make them less threatening. More palatable.

But right now, I have to try—at least try—to be honest with myself.

He’s my rival.

My nemesis.

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