Page 25 of The Kiss of Deception

I think I gape—or I gasp.

Miles burrows me further into him. “What time will you be home?”

The man sweats for a living and never once has he smelled anything but fresh and warm, all at once.

Like ocean air in the summery sunshine.

The unthinkable happens, and, embarrassingly, I stutter, “I— Wha—”

It’s like my thoughts trip over themselves, tackled by the fury and frustration he pours directly into my bloodstream.

I clear my throat and try again—one single syllable. “Why?”

“I’m cooking you dinner. Come home soon?”

I scramble for answers.

Why does he look different from this angle?

Which sea does he smell like?

It’s dizzying and disconcerting, his cologne, and it should be studied because it must be laced with some modified version of chloroform—the only explanation as to why I’m numbed into silence.

“If you’re worried you won’t be able to micromanage me from home, I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Liam deadpans. “Or is your internet connection not good enough?”

Something glints like the metal of a knife in Miles’s silver irises every time he glances at Liam. “I happen to have excellent Wi-Fi. You can finish work while I cook. I’ll wait for you.”

Wait.

Alone time with him won’t help us in our common goal.

I rack my brain for a plausible excuse that I don’t need. I can simply say no.

Why don’t I simply say no?

Why do I nod instead?

Miles bends to brush a soft kiss on my cheekbone. “Good girl.”

My eyes close as a reflex when his breath whispers against my skin. It tingles as my body reacts accordingly, rejecting his touch.

Cold air replaces his warmth, and when my eyes open, he’s almost out of sight.

“Aw. So that”—Liam shoots a pointed look in the vicinity of my fake-boyfriend’s ass—“is why you were lingering. Understandable. And delectable.”

“I did not linger.” I compose my hair. “And that doesn’t make sense.”

“It rhymes and it’s true!”

“You’re prettier with your mouth shut,” I say over my shoulder, pondering leaving him stranded.

A walk would provide the perfect opportunity to reflect upon his words or simply learn to enjoy the absence of his voice.

Without Miles, I’m unshielded, and the pointed stares sear my skin. If they’re any indication, I’d say they believe our tale. Many wish they were in my place.

Little do they know…

We are nothing. A shimmering illusion, carefully curated to portray the ideal image of love.

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