Page 17 of It's Not All Fake

“I want you to be comfortable,” he says softly, leaning one hand on the railing and positioning himself to face me, as if he were more interested in watching me than the night sky.

I chuckle, turning toward him and narrowing my eyes. “I don’t think you do.”

He tilts his head, intrigued. “How so?”

“I think you like to make me sweat.” Immediately, I regret the suggestive choice of words, but he gets my meaning.

He laughs, confirming my suspicions. Then he bites the side of his bottom lip as he looks at me, mulling over my words. I can practically see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, but I can’t decipher them. Those damn butterflies in my gut are churning.

When he speaks, his voice is low and challenging. “I think you’re tired of being comfortable, Chloe."

His gaze is intense, hinting at something deeper. As if he’s suggesting that I want him to make my heart race like this.

My breath catches. The tension between us is charged, and I can’t stand it any longer.

I look away, back out at the view, and release the breath I’ve bottled up. “So…” I try to change the subject. “The movie was good,” I say flatly, mindlessly. I know that he knows I’m just talking to talk at this point.

“Yeah, I think I have bruises on my arm from how much it moved you.” He chuckles.

I laugh, too, my nervous energy dissipating as I remember how I clung to his bicep—purely because it was there, of course—during most of the movie, trying to avoid watching the bloodbath on the screen.

“So, why the distaste for horror movies?” he asks curiously. “Your job is to fight people’s real-life monsters, right?”

“I’m not a shrink, but it can get dark with clients.” I shrug. “I’ve heard some really messed up things. It’s hard for me to tolerate seeing more suffering when I’m off the clock, and horror movies are all pain and suffering.”

I search his eyes, wondering if he understands.

He looks at me earnestly. “You know you’re a superhero, Chloe.”

I let out a soft laugh. I wasn’t expecting that at all.

“I’m serious. For what you do for people like my mom. It’s amazing.” The way he’s looking at me, I can see that he is serious.

“Well, too bad my superpowers don’t work on you.”

He studies me for a long moment. “I think they do.”

Air locks in my throat.

What the hell does he mean by that?

Once more, I’m caught in his gravitational pull. I can’t look away. His gaze is mesmerizing, drawing me in. There is something more here; there must be. The way he’s looking at me—this can’t all be fantasy, can it?

I finally tear myself away from his captivating eyes. I need to breathe. I need a moment to catch my breath, to clear my head. Why does he have this effect on me?

“Actually,” I say, turning back to face him, “I think I’m a deterrent to other women for you.”

He looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that our arrangement might hinder your chances of finding real love. Some women are clearly interested, but you’re unavailable now.” He knows I’m referring to the flirtatious women during his social rounds.

He smiles confidently. “I disagree. Don’t women want what they can’t have?” He gives me a knowing smirk, teasing me.

He’s got me there. He’s not wrong. There’s a reckless, pleasure-hungry part of me that wants him, but I can’t have him—not in any real way. I’m in the same boat as all those other women.

Liam’s smile widens, as if he can read my mind. “I think our public displays of affection make me more desirable,” he reasons.

“How so?” I play dumb.

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