Page 25 of Fauxmance in the City

“My aunt never cooks.” Max laughs.

I give Max a questioning look, and he adds, “At least, that’s what Uncle Charlie said.” Max takes the bottle, twirling it in his hand.

“Should you drink so much?” I say.

“Uncle Charles has always been generous with his liquor cabinet,” Max answers, misunderstanding my concern.

“You remember that?”

“I just assume, because he said I’m welcome to anything in the house.” He yawns.

“You’re tired. Why don’t you go to bed?” I urge.

“In a bit.” Max leans toward the cakes. “Can I have a taste?”

“Sorry,” I say, pulling them away, his company grating on my nerves. “They need to be intact for tomorrow.”

After I check off the last item, I pull up the recipes for tomorrow and do a mental walk-through. An assistant will get everything ready for me before we shoot tomorrow, but I want everything fresh in my memory bank.

“Are you stressed about the filming?” Max asks.

“A little,” I answer honestly.

“Have a sip. It’ll relax you.” His woodsy-brown eyes draw me in. For a moment, I’m transported to a field of green with lovely trees and singing birds.

Oh my God, I’m delirious. I take a long pull from his glass, washing the illusion away.

“Are you sure you’re married?” Max leans forward, his finger tracing the back of my hand, which still holds his drink.

The back door bangs open, and light spills over us from the floodlights. Annoyance quickly turns to anger on Sam’s face when he takes in Max and me—my hand on his whiskey glass, his finger on my hand, our heads tilted toward each other.

Swiftly, I move to Sam, guilt washing over me even though there was nothing torrid going on.

“Hi, honey. I was just—”

Sam wraps his hand around my bicep, cutting me off.

“We need to talk,” he growls. “In here.”

He tugs me into the laundry room and shuts the door. It’s a small room and barely fits the washer and dryer, much less two bodies hot with anger.

“What the hell?” I ask, pulling out of his grip.

We’re crowded in, and my breasts brush his chest. My nipples tighten, and heat pings my sex. What the hell just happened? One second I’m out there chatting with Max, and now I’m in here, aroused by a man who’s furious at me.

Sam sweeps his gaze over me, taking it all in. “Are you turned on because of him or me?”

I attempt to cross my arms over my chest, but there isn’t enough room, and my arms fall to my sides. He snatches my wrist and presses the tender flesh with the pad of his thumb.

“Is that why we’re in here?” I aim for defiance, but my voice is small and breathy. “What’s Max gonna think with you barging in and pulling me in here like some lumberjack?”

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.” He lifts my arm and slides his teeth across the telltale vein in my wrist. “Your pulse is racing.”

“It’s not my fault,” I say hotly. “My body just reacts when I’m manhandled into a room against my will.”

“I don’t think you mind.”

He tugs my hand back to his mouth and bites my wrist, then licks it, his hot tongue leaving a wet streak. I stare at the glistening spot, heat rising quickly in me.

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