Page 38 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

He took a breath that felt as refreshing as cool rain and said, “Thank you.”

She didn’t ask what for. She didn’t point out that they’d been talking about something else entirely for the last five minutes—or rather, that she’d been talking, and he’d been grunting occasionally while staring at the tablecloth.

Instead, she smiled and said, “Any time.”

The rest of the night flowed like water.

Was it odd that taking her out, ordering whatever she wanted, showing her places she’d never been before, soothed the hunger in his chest as much as touching her did? Maybe. Nik was starting to think he’d fallen in love with her. Not now; before. Ages ago. He’d always thought that when he fell in love, he’d know—just like his parents had known, just like his sister had known. But he wasn’t the smartest guy in the world.

As she teased him throughout dinner, as he drove them home with his hand on her thigh, Nik considered the possibility that he’d fallen in love without noticing.

It did sound like something he’d do. The idea bore further investigation.

They parked up and headed into the house in uncharacteristic silence, the razor-edged flirtation they’d kept up throughout the night finally fading. He knew why. For the past couple of hours, a glimmering thread of tension had stretched taut between them, crackling like a live wire. Now someone would have to make the first move. Someone would have to risk a shock.

“No-one’s home,” she murmured as they wandered through the house.

“It’s barely ten. They probably just left.”

“We’ll be alone for hours.” She climbed the stairs ahead of him with a slow, lethal smile.

If Nik’s cock could get any harder, it would have. “You want me to fuck you now, agapi mou? Should I push you to your knees on the stairs, pull your underwear aside and shove my dick inside you?”

He heard her sharp intake of breath and wrapped a steadying arm around her as she faltered.

Pressing his lips to her ear, he murmured, “I could. But I won’t. Upstairs.”

Because he had this weird, old-fashioned idea that the first time he fucked her, it would be on a bed. He’d never cared about that kind of thing before, because it didn’t matter—but this woman. This fucking woman.

He reached out and pulled up her skirt. The tight fabric caught around her waist, and he moved down a step to take in the sight of her arse, the dimpled globes bisected by a strip of blue silk. She arched her back and looked over her shoulder at him, challenge sparkling in her eyes. “I dare you.”

He spanked her, not particularly hard. “Nice try. Up.” He wouldn’t be distracted tonight. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was going to get it.

She laughed—the best fucking laugh he’d ever heard, like a waterfall of freedom with a stormy edge of lust—and then she moved again, climbing the stairs faster than he’d ever seen, that luscious backside bouncing with every step. On the second flight of stairs, she stumbled again with a giggle. He steadied her from a few steps below, reaching up to put his hands on her waist. Then he bit her thigh, just hard enough to make her gasp.

“You really are impossible,” she accused, but she didn’t sound unhappy about it.

“And you’re irresistible. Here we are together. I wonder what will happen next.”

“Shut up,” she snorted, climbing the stairs again and skipping across the landing.

“You can shut me up when we’re in bed,” he said mildly. “You can suffocate me with all that, if you want.”

“I just might.”

The idea sounded like heaven, actually, filthy fucking heaven: Aria sitting on his face. He’d breathe in her cunt like it was oxygen and die with her thighs holding him hostage. Yeah. That was his new life goal. But maybe he’d save it for sixty years’ time. There were a lot of things he needed to do before he died, after all.

Like marry Aria Granger.

The thought didn’t even faze him. The exact fucking opposite, in fact. A grin slid over his face as he followed her up the last few steps—until he remembered that marrying Aria would be difficult when she didn’t even want to be with him.

Or anyone, it seemed. A couple of hours ago, she’d said the word ‘commitment’ like it was a slug she’d had to pick up with her bare hands. Nick hesitated as they reached the top of the stairs, suddenly worried. And quite disturbingly sure that his earlier suspicions were correct: he was in love with Aria.

He was in love with Aria.

Perfect.

On the landing, he reached out and caught her wrist. She turned back to look at him, those almond eyes wide and questioning, her glossy lips parted. God, those lips.

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