Page 48 of Fake

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” I say, still a little breathless and hoping he doesn’t notice. “I mean, it was going to happen eventually, right?”

“Right. I just, wasn’t prepared for it to be…” He rakes a hand across his mouth and my brain rapid fires ways to finish that sentence.

Amazing?

Hot?

Intense?

The start of a torrid affair I’ll tell stories about from my rocking chair when I’m eighty?

“For it to be today,” he finally says.

“At least we got it out of the way.” I laugh and it comes out all high-pitched and awkward.

Dear God. Kill me now. Yours truly, Mina Blake.

“Exactly. Now we know what to expect.” Nathan clears his throat, his eyes darting towards his car, plotting his escape.

“Right. Now we know.” I nod decisively, then let my gaze creep up his handsome face to find him glaring down at me. “You’re pretty good at that, you know. Kissing.”

A smile quirks his lips and he tilts his head my way. “You know what? So are you, HM. So are you.”

After tonight I know one thing for sure:

I really, really like kissing Nathan West.

NINETEEN

Nathan

What the hell was that kiss? Mina’s fingers threading into my hair, her breasts pressing against my chest. Her lips were supple and soft but stoked the fire we lit at the pool table.

I ruminate over it the entire drive home, then some more as the garage door closes behind me and I let myself into the house. My cock throbs and shudders. I pause, leaning against the kitchen counter to give it a moment to remember who we’re talking about here.

This is Mina Blake. My interior designer. Hot Mess Extraordinaire. We have a business relationship. Nothing more.

Except it sure feels like more. Like I can talk to her about anything and she’ll listen. Like she sees through the stupid barbed wire I’ve wrapped around my heart to the man I used to be. Like she wants to help me be that man again. And when I’m with her, I want to be that man again.

Except I’m paying her to date me for shit’s sake.

And I promised I’d cut a check for it tomorrow.

Sure, most of the money is for her design services, but there’s a financial aspect to our relationship that I can’t ignore. It’s a devil on my shoulder, whispering, ridiculing…

I’m struck by the memory of Mina’s shocked face at Red Stiletto the day I proposed this crazy idea.

No, she said, that’s prostitution and trust me. We’re fine. You don’t have to worry about us having sex. Ever.

But, when my hands met Mina’s waist tonight, she pulled me closer and held me tight. Nothing about her said no and everything about her said yes…

Said every rapist ever.

My eyes blink open and I push off the counter.

What the fuck, man?

What’s going on with me?

---