Page 44 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

“Remember what I told you earlier?”

I melted a little more. What he'd whispered to me when we were at the park in Seward was his own version of word porn. Decadent, dominant and just a tiny bit dirty.

“I plan on doing every one of them with you.”

“But I'm a good girl.”

Mike arched a brow and smiled wickedly. “Not for long.”

I looked out the windows—surprised they hadn't fogged up—nervous we were being watched. It's not as if anyone could hear us in the confines of Jubal's truck, even if they were standing right outside the doors, but this was something between Mike and myself. Intimate.

“Here?”

“Someplace where it's just you and me. And that's definitelynothere. When I get you in bed and beneath me, I don't plan on letting you out. That might conflict with the sightseeing schedule my mother has planned.”

At the mention of Mrs. O, my ardor cooled substantially. Mike too, it seemed, because we went into the house with all our clothes on, buttoned and without hickeys.

Knowingthere were eight other people sleeping in the house, albeit on another floor, was enough to keep our hands to ourselves. Barely. By tacit agreement, we stuck to our own sides of the bed. That didn't prevent me from upgrading my sleeping wardrobe from the pajama pants and T-shirt from the past two nights to silk shorts and matching tank top. In red. The second suitcase was starting to come in handy.

I wasn't intentionally trying to mess with him...okay, I was. I wasn't going to be an idiot and wear my ugly pajamas when I was in bed with Mike, even if we were just sleeping. I wanted him to think of me as attractive. Hot, not some girl who was having a sleepover. I'd brought numerous options, several levels of raciness, and the silk shorts and tank were only at step two in my arsenal. They were a step up from my drab cotton pants and MSU T-shirt, a step down from the black negligee, and two steps down from the best thing to wear when trying to seduce a man in your bed—nothing.

So I chose the silky pajamas to keep his engine revved, even when he couldn't do more than stay in neutral.

It didn't matter what I wore though. It was Mike's turn to fall asleep while I took my turn in the bathroom and he had no clue what I was wearing. The sheet was low on his hips, hischest bare, and the waistband of his boxers peeking out from the covers. One arm was thrown over his head, one leg bent beneath the sheet.

Wow. I wanted to jump him. Bad. Yes, he might be moving across the country, but as I looked at him, I was weakening. Quickly. I was almost to the point where I didn't care about the consequences. The hurt that would follow. Almost.

Regardless, I wanted him conscious and without chaperones. I had no interest in fooling around like we were eighteen again. I wanted the adult, XXX version.

Eight hours later I woke warm and very comfortable, snuggled up against?—

“Morning,” Mike said, his voice gruff from sleep.

My eyes popped open and I realized I was lying on top of him, my head cradled by his shoulder, our bodies entwined as if we were playing a game of Twister. My silky top had ridden up sometime during the night and my warm belly—oh, my God, and one breast—was being tickled by the springy hair on Mike's chest. Hot skin over solid muscle. Beneath my ear, his heartbeat, strong and steady, was comforting. His breath feathered my hair. It felt like...heaven.

How had I ended up on top of him? I'd practically held on to the edge of the mattress all night long to keep distance. But no, my body had ideas of its own. I was a shameless hussy sprawled as I was, so I took my mortification and started to move back to my side of the bed. Mycoldside. But Mike's hands tightened on my hips, keeping me in place.

“This isn't a good idea,” I said, turning my head to look at him, all the while knowing he couldn't miss the twin hard points of my nipples pressing into him.

His red scruff had come in, darker now. Softer. His eyes were bright after a good night sleep but I could see more there. Definitely something along the lines of lust.

“A terrible idea.”

Through the wall, I could hear the dryer door close, then someone walking down the hallway and back toward the main part of the house.

Mike's grip loosened and I climbed from the bed.

“We're not alone. And I've got morning breath.”

His eyes were laser focused on my chest. “I don't have to kiss your mouth.”

Holy hot, Batman.

I dashed toward the bathroom before I changed my mind, but Mike was faster. For a big guy, he could sure move with the right kind of incentive. He pulled me so my legs were against the bed, one of his arms cinched around my waist, the other pushing my silky tank up to expose my breasts to his mouth. Before I could even consider the sanity of his actions, he bit gently on one nipple followed by a lave of his tongue, then a deep suck. I moaned—yes, moaned—at the almost rough contact. The sensations zinged lower. Much lower.

“Hold your top up,” Mike demanded, his warm breath tickling my heated skin.

I did what he asked, wantonly and with complete abandon, my fingers gripping the lacy hem and holding it high. Exposing myself to him. I was in his thrall when he used that decisive tone, like I had no choice but to obey. Iwantedto.

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