Page 94 of The Roommate Lie

Charlie rests his hands on my hips. Pressing me back until my body bumps softly against the counter. “Like this?”

My skin hums from the weight of his touch.If I say yes, will he let go?Raising my chin, I shake my head. “Nope. Closer.”

Charlie tugs me gently to the right, sliding me toward the window with my lower back still pressed against the counter behind me. “How about that, Carrots?”

“Closer.”

He does what he’s told, guiding me to the right until my shoulder bumps the wall. Until I’m pinned in place, the side of my body resting against the moonlit window, all that soft white light dusting my skin.

Except it doesn’t feel how I wanted, being pinned in place. My brow furrows, and Charlie can tell something’s wrong. He shifts my body toward his, tilting me just right as he nestles me back into the corner where the counter meets the wall. That perfect little nook where I don’t feel crowded or trapped.

His eyes find mine, but he doesn’t ask the question. We already know the answer.

“There,” I murmur softly. “Perfect.”

He keeps his hands on my hips, and the air grows heavy between us. His hazel eyes look darker up close, even with the moon shining bright in the window. I’m already in my pajamas—striped shorts with a cropped t-shirt—and his thumb finds that bare slice of skin in between. He traces the slope of my waist, his touch ticking back and forth like a metronome, the light drag of his thumb rough against my skin.

It’s the most tantalizing rhythm.Back and forth, back and forth.My body heats under his touch, and I glance away, suddenly nervous.

“What’s he like?” Charlie asks, and he sounds more curious than anything. “The guy in your book. Is he another grump?”

“No,” I answer quietly. “He’s more of a bad boy. Except he’s not really that bad. Not once you get to know him.”

I shouldn’t be saying this—any of it. But Charlie is still tracing the curve of my waist, and when I get up the nerve tomeet his gaze again, I like what I see. If he keeps looking at me like that, holding on to me this way, I’d say so much more.

The moment feels fragile, fleeting, and I try to hold on to it as long as I can, to remember any details I can. From the moonlight to his faintly wicked smirk, the way his tattoos shift as he reaches to tuck my hair behind my ear, his touch blazing a trail down the side of my neck. How he smells just as good as he did when we were hiding in that mining exhibit, all spices and sandalwood with the barest hint of oranges.

Silence stretches between us like a gossamer thread, as delicate as moonlight. The only sound is the gentle hum of the refrigerator behind us, and it rumbles under my skin. Then he asks another question.

“Now what? What should your characters do next?”

I have no idea what to say, how to respond. I can barely breathe.

I wish I knew what I wanted. Or maybe I do know, and I just wish I was brave enough to ask. Either way, the paper in my hand feels like a life raft, and I glance down ready to be saved—but there’s nothing there. Just those four simple words that thrill me the most.

And then they kissed.

This wasn’t part of our plan. There’s no one around, no audience to rat us out to the Victorian. If we kiss again, here in his kitchen, it would only be for us. Because we wanted to. And that thought thrills me too.

Our first kiss was supposed to be a fluke, a beautiful anomaly, but then Charlie slips the paper out of my hand again. He sets it on the counter beside us, and the look in his eyes doesn’t feel like a fluke.

“Let’s keep this simple,” he says. “Where should he kiss her first?”

That’s a very good question—the best question—and a deep blush stains my cheeks. I can tell Charlie notices, even in that dark kitchen full of moonlight. His smirk deepens, and his dimples make my knees wobble, that dangerous look in his eyes.Heaven help me.

Even here, even now, he seems like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. As if he helps fledgling romance authors live out their kiss-scene fantasies all the time. That thought makes me blush even harder, and I glance away, but he’s ready for that too. Hooking his finger under my chin, he tilts my face back toward his.

“What’s next, Carrots?” he asks. And I say the only thing I can, the only words I’d ever want to say at a moment like this.

“Surprise me.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

CHARLIE

This is a mistake.

Alice will be gone in two days, and she still has feelings for her ex. But she says those magic words—surprise me—and I give in.

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