Page 16 of Accidental Fiancé

“My bakery burned down,” she muttered as her gaze moved to my newly exposed forearms. Apparently, she was ready to talk about it. It was the last thing on my mind after what happened on the dance floor, but I liked that she was willing to tell me what happened. Maybe after tonight, we could rekindle our friendship.

“I know. I’m so sorry that happened. Do you want to?—"

“It was so random…” She sighed and sat back on her bar stool. “The firefighters said it was a one-in-a-million accident. The front door’s kickplate hit the doorstop at the wrong moment during the flour delivery. Metal on metal caused a spark and boom. Small explosion, big fire.”

“Wow, that’s crazy. What are the chances?”

She fiddled with the cap of her bottle. “Yeah, I know. Bad luck, I guess. I keep thinking Dad must have used up all of our family’s good luck by having his mini stroke detected early. He’s on a bunch of medication to keep the big one from happening. But if the cost of my father’s good health is losing my bakery I’m willing to pay it.”

I understood the feeling. She had to tell herself a story that made her loss meaningful somehow. But that also meant she felt responsibility for things that were out of her control, and I couldn’t let that stand. It was an accident.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Maggie.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know but it makes it easier to swallow the idea that I lost everything I worked for… that it was for something good and not all for nothing.” She got choked up andguzzled most of her water. “I’m sorry, Jules. I’m not normally this emotional.”

I reached for her hand. “I’m glad I can be here for you then.”

“Are you gunning for sainthood or something?”

“What?”

“You’re being so nice to me.” The way she looked at me felt like hero worship, and I couldn’t let her do that. I was no one’s hero.

But I wasn’t sure how to respond, either. The truth or something subtle. Maybe shoot down the middle. “Well, to be honest, I’m not being entirely altruistic. I’m getting something out of this too.”

“What do you mean?”

I felt like the parent about to tell their kid the truth about Santa Claus. If I told her the truth about me, would she be angry? “You’re a beautiful woman, Maggie. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy your company. This is more than reminiscing over high school and lost time. There’s a connection here, at least for me.”

Her plump lips parted in the slightest gasp, and I took that for an opportunity knocking. A burning rush came over me as I crushed my mouth to hers, taking charge of the moment. I laced my fingers through her hair to angle her head, deepening the kiss. Her mouth tasted like the orange in her cocktail, and I craved more.

I wanted to be a good friend, but I was just as much of an animal as the next man, entranced and intoxicated by a beautiful woman’s seductive kisses. This was undeniable—two stars colliding, sparks flying. We hadn’t gotten together when we were kids because I never got the courage to ask her out.

I’m thinking she might’ve said yes.

It may not have worked out anyway because we were teenagers but it didn’t matter now. I wanted to enjoy the presentmoment. Her moan shot straight to my cock, making me ache for her, and I stopped asking questions.

I broke the kiss, pressing my forehead to hers. “This is wrong.”

“It is?” Her voice was barely a whisper. I had to strain to hear her over the music.

I leaned back, and she leaned forward, following me. I stole a deeper view of her cleavage before sitting up straight. “It is. You’re vulnerable, Maggie. You went through a huge financial and career loss recently, and then tonight, you had to deal with Chloe and the others… I’m just trying to do a solid for an old friend, so we should probably wait until we see them watching us before we start kissing again. Shouldn’t we?”Say no.

She shook off the haze. “I guess so.”

I took a deep breath of disappointment to clear my head. “Fine. Right. We can do this. We’re adults, not horny teenagers?—"

“But what sells the engagement story better than a happy couple caught up in each other?”

“I can’t fault the logic in that.” I hooked my hand around the back of her head and kissed her again—longer, deeper—until we were full-blown making out.

“Get a room!” someone hollered from a distance.

Another brilliant idea. I backed off, but only a fraction of an inch. Her brows lifted in concern, a silent question of why I stopped kissing her. Hoarsely, I asked, “What sells the story better than the two of us running up to my room right now?”

“We should do that,” she said, gulping. “To sell the story, I mean.”

“Right. For the story.” I led her to the lobby’s elevators where I kissed her again and again. I couldn’t get enough of her mouth, couldn’t stop touching her. The elevator dinged at us and once inside, I hit the button for the penthouse suite. Doubt grew loudin the silence. What if she was only doing this for the story and wasn’t into me at all?

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