Page 12 of Bride Bargain

He tilted his head to give me a better angle, all while his pulse raced beneath his jaw.

And over the last week, I’ve been wondering… how much of that was Elliot being swept up in the moment? Overloaded by new sensations? How much of it was real?

Tradition, he said. He was bowing to tradition.

But tradition can’t make a man’s heartbeat race beneath your palm. Can it?

“Not good?” Elliot says now, his deep voice rasping. He nods at my chopsticks, but it still takes a long pause for me to realizewhat he’s asking. My thoughts are caught in the quicksand ofhim—how handsome he looks in the light from the TV screen, how good he smells beneath the garlic and soy permeating the room, how his weight on the sofa cushion next to mine is the world’s most maddening tease. So solid. So close.

“Oh! No, this is great. Delicious. Thank you.” My chopsticks dig into the pile of slippery noodles, and I shove a huge bite into my mouth until my cheeks bulge like a hamster’s. “Mmm.”

Elliot stares like I’ve lost my mind. I chew pointedly until he turns back to the movie, and when he looks away, my shoulders sag.

For years, I’ve dreamed of Elliot looking at me like that—like he wanted to swallow me whole. Then the freaking door buzzer goes. What if that was my only chance? What if I’m doomed to experience three almost-kisses with the man of my dreams, then slide back into eternal spinsterhood?

I could date other guys, I guess. Even though I’m technically married to Elliot, I doubt he’d care.

But I don’twantother guys. I never have. And that’s how you wind up a nearly thirty year old virgin, ladies and gentlemen.

By the time the credits roll, I’m a wreck. My empty bowl is on the coffee table alongside my mug, and I’ve drawn my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my shins. Generic action movie music blares from the TV speakers, and I’m rocking myself gently, my teeth gritted.

Elliot picks up the remote and turns the TV off. The sudden silence is more deafening than all those car chases combined.

Elliot stares at me for a long moment, then sighs.

His knees hit the rug, and I jump once again. What is he—what?

My new sort-of-fake husband wedges himself between me and the coffee table, still managing to loom even on his knees.Elliot places two steadying hands on my shoulders and gives a gentle squeeze.

His frown deepens. “You’re tense.”

No kidding. I’m so tense, my teeth are practically chattering, and god, IknewI shouldn’t come to this movie night. Knew I couldn’t trust myself to spend time with Elliot in his apartment without doing something weird, not since The Dreaded Kitchen Encounter.

For years and years, we’ve hung out as just friends. Best friends, yes, with me harboring a tragic crush, but still—platonic. In all that time, we watched countless movies together and I acted so, so normal.

Now I can’t spend five minutes in this apartment without wanting to pounce on Elliot and tear his shirt clean off. Can’t sit beside my new husband without picturing how it would feel to lick his bare abs, or rake my nails down his back, or hear the smack of his palm against my ass cheek. Without shuddering with desire every time his rumbly voice cuts through the quiet.

Elliot can really fixate on things. When he finds a new interest, it gets his whole, unwavering attention. What would that be like in bed?

Gah!Stop it, brain.

“Claire.” Elliot’s thumbs trace along my collarbone, and I practically melt into the sofa cushions beneath his touch. Since when did he go in for all this casual contact? My best friend-slash-boss could do anything to me right now, touch me anywhere, and I’d be putty in his hands. “Are you alright?”

Hm. Am I alright?

Debatable.

“This is weird,” I squeak. “Right? Tell me this is weird.”

Elliot frowns at his own hands on me; the way I’m quivering under his touch; the blush staining my throat. Everything.

Then he nods. “Yes. This is a little weird.”

But he doesn’t take his hands away, and I don’t push him off either. Our breaths come faster in the quiet living room, and oh god, oh god, oh god.

Outside, the city lights twinkle, brighter than the stars far above. Traffic rumbles in the street, drivers leaning on their horns or blasting music, but we can barely hear it through the thick penthouse windows.

It’s like we’re the only two people in the whole world right now. The last living souls in the universe.

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