Page 59 of If the Ring Fits

When the time comes to say goodbye to my friends, I discreetly walk them out onto the landing, closing the front door behind me so we can talk without being overheard by Adrian.

“What do you think?” I whisper.

There’s a general murmur of praise for Adrian, but then Nina walks toward me with an expression I can’t read. “He’s a great guy,” she says, then she hugs me tight. “Just notyourgreat guy. Don’t get confused, honey.” She pulls back, staring at me. “Promise?”

I nod, feeling strangled. I walk them to the elevator and once they’re gone, weariness takes me over. I’m suddenly bone tired.

I get back into the house where Adrian is clearing the table. When he sees me, he drops the plates he’s moving into the kitchen sink and folds his arms over his chest. “Did I pass the test?”

Despite myself, I smile. For some inexplicable reason, I can’t keep sad around him. “With flying colors and you know it.”

“We’re pleased you were satisfied with our service.” Adrian detaches from the counter and follows me into the dining room, brushing past me. He picks up the last of the dessert plates. His voice is playful yet earnest as he glances my way. “Tell me where I should leave the tip jar.”

The moment he mentions tipping, I get a mental image of him dancing shirtless in low-hanging leather pants and me sticking one-dollar bills down the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Good thing he’s already heading the opposite way and doesn’t catch the ferocious blush on my cheeks.

He comes back from the kitchen five seconds later, flipping off the lights. “Ready to call it a night, Sunshine? It’s been a long day.”

I nod. Even if, when he looks at me like that—his gaze lingering on me, thick with unvoiced thoughts—and calls me Sunshine with his sexy, raspy voice, I don’t feel tired anymore. In fact, adrenaline pumps through me as we walk down the hall to our separate rooms.

And as we say goodnight, shutting our doors on another day, I wonder what he’d do if I knocked back on his door. Would he laugh in my face or take me into his arms until I dissolved into a world made only of us?

25

ADRIAN

I’m scanning through the quarterly earnings report on my tablet, sipping a strong cup of heavily sugared coffee, when Rowena pads into the kitchen. The sight knocks me off balance as I take in her attire—if you can call it that. She’s wearing a flimsy cotton slip, the thin fabric clinging to her curves and the hem barely reaching below her butt. My grip tightens on the tablet until my knuckles turn white.

“Morning,” she mumbles, stifling a yawn as she gathers her tangled waves into a messy bun atop her head. The motion makes the hem of her slip ride even higher up her smooth thighs.

“Morning,” I croak out, quickly averting my gaze back to the mind-numbing spreadsheets and charts on the screen. I need to focus on finishing this report. And it’s safer not to let my eyes linger on my dangerously sexy fake fiancée.

But as Rowena putters around the kitchen, crooning to herself while she spoons yogurt and granola into a bowl, my traitorous senses stay acutely attuned to her every move. The clink of the spoon against ceramic. The gurgle of coffeepouring into a mug. And the padding of her bare feet on the tiles.

“Thanks for making coffee.”

Rowena flashes me a sleepy smile. My heart thuds in response.

I grunt an acknowledgment, unable to muster actual words, still pretending to be engrossed in the financial data even as I track her in my peripheral vision. She settles into the chair next to me, her fruity scent and warmth permeating my space, scrambling my thoughts. I’m debating making an excuse to escape to my home office when my eyes flick over just as Rowena cups her breasts and starts massaging them through the thin fabric.

Holy fucking hell. All the blood rushes from my head in the opposite direction. And I’m pretty sure my bloodless brain short-circuits.

I can’t pretend anymore. My eyes are glued to the mesmerizing motion of her hands as they knead and caress her breasts. She makes these little sounds in her throat, somewhere between sighs and whimpers, that shoot straight to my groin. I’m simultaneously horrified and aroused, knowing I shouldn’t be watching but unable to look away.

“What are you doing?” I blurt out, my voice strangled.

Rowena turns to me, blinking innocently, as if she’s not currently groping herself mere inches from me. “Pregnancy makes my boobs hurt,” she says matter-of-factly. “My nipples have been hard and achy since I woke up. Touching them is the only thing that helps.”

“Please stop talking,” I beg, feeling heat crawl up my neck. I don’t need the audio description as well as the visuals.

She frowns at me, perplexed. “You’re the one who asked.”

I nod jerkily, swallowing hard past the desert that hasbecome my throat. “Can you please stop… handling yourself like that?” I meant to keep my tone even, but it comes out slightly desperate.

Her brow furrows. “Why?” She seems genuinely clueless as to how her actions are affecting me.

Frustration mingles with the pounding desire in my veins. “Rowena, I’m a man with functioning eyes,” I grit out. “You can’t just parade around in next to nothing and start fondling yourself and making those little moans in front of me.”

---