Page 29 of Fauxmance in the City

“You okay?” Max asks, his dark eyes hooded with concern.

Suddenly, I have the urge to tell him the truth about everything. My hand physically moves to my mouth to prevent the ridiculous impulse.

“You’re a breath of fresh air.” He chuckles, and it vibrates down the hallway. “Man, that was cheesy. But my life has been so weird filled with empty spaces in my mind. I hate to say it, but I think my aunt was right. This may be just what I need to get back to myself.”

My heart aches for this lost boy. I have to pull this off. Not just for me and the people caught in my net of lies. But for Max.

“It’ll get better,” I say.

Max smiles sardonically. “I doubt it.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugs. “From everything I’ve been told about my life, better isn’t guaranteed.”

I wrap my hand around his forearm, my mouth pulling down at the corners. There’s so much pain locked inside him. He may not be able to remember it, but he vibrates with it.

The door next to us bangs open, I jump. Sam stands silhouetted in the doorway, his eyes locked on my hand on Max’s arm, our shoulders leaning in toward each other. I’m ready for Sam to lunge at the poor guy. Instead, he yanks me inside the room and slams the door on Max.

My jaw tightens. I’m tired of Sam manhandling me like I’m his property.

“Sam, what the—”

He holds his palm in front of my face, cutting me off. His gaze is stormy, but his eyes are rimmed with something else—jealousy, hurt, frustration—I can’t tell. He curtains whatever emotion was there, and without a word, he goes into the bathroom and kicks the door shut, the shower turning on a moment later.

It’s been an exhausting day. My emotions are heightened, and all I want to do is go to bed and forget about Sam and the ruined meal. Unfortunately, all my toiletries are in the bathroom, where Sam is probably cursing me out as he showers.

When the water stops running, I bang on the door, and it flies open. Sam rests his hand on the frame, scowling. My gaze drops to the towel wrapped around his waist, then to the carved muscles of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair below his belly button.

My heartbeat quickens.

“I can wait.” I swallow.

“No, please come in. Make yourself at home, Mrs. Bloom.”

“You’re in a mood.” Bristling, I grab my toothbrush from my pile of toiletries spread chaotically across the bathroom counter.

“Am I? Well, I did catch my wife almost kissing another man,” Sam grunts.

“Exaggerate much?” I snort, but it gets caught in my throat because I’ve tunnel-visioned on Sam’s chest as he roughly towels off his hair, his chest muscles flexing impressively.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Sam without a shirt on—in his office, he often does a quick change, replacing the previous day’s shirt after spending the night somewhere that is not his apartment. See? Total scoundrel. But being this close to his half-naked body is unnerving, and I’m dizzy as lust spins a web through the grooves in my brain.

“We were talking. He’s depressed,” I say, my anger spiking.

“A married woman shouldn’t be comforting a single man in a dark hallway.”

“You’re getting a little too into role-playing.” I scrub vigorously at my teeth.

“This isn’t a game, Catie. You’re putting everything in jeopardy.” Sam whips off his towel and hangs it on the rack.

Do not look down.

But I do. It’s quick. A snap of my eyes, but I see him. All of him. Even flaccid it’s impressive. Earlier, when I touched him, my hands were the only part of me that got to explore him. Now his cock is on full display, inches from me. I shove my toothbrush back in my mouth, stifling a moan. Finally, he puts his boxers on, but they’re short and tight and anything but discrete. I glance up and his eyes are on me, scanning my body, taking in my nipples tightening into peaks under my top.

He steps next to me at the sink.

“I’m not putting anything at risk,” I manage, focusing on the fight.

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