Page 48 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

“‘Story’?”

“We covered the traffic stop. But we should add some details for color. Our first date. What we like about each other. That kind of thing.”

“We ...” Daphne drifted off, frowning. “I can’t think of anything I like about you.”

Flint laughed, deep and sincere. He shook his head. “You never let up, do you?”

A little flame burst to life in Daphne’s chest. She discovered she liked making him laugh. Licking her lips, she shrugged and said, “The closer we stick to the truth, the better.”

His eyes were oddly intense. “Yeah,” he said. “All right. I pulled you over for a traffic stop, and we reconnected after nineteen long, lonely years apart. There was a spark, and now we’re here. We’ll make up the rest as we go.”

His words made Daphne strangely uncomfortable. They were a little too close to the truth. He was rewriting history in a way that made it sound like there was something real between them. But wasn’t it better that way? They needed to convince people they were seeing each other for at least the next three weeks, since that’s when the vow renewal would happen. And it wasn’t like they could pretend nothing was going on after she’d flashed her bra at Rhonda Roberts the other day. They either had to commit to this, or Daphne had to forget about ever getting her grandmother’s heirloom back.

“Right,” she finally said, and reached for the door again. “Let’s get this over with. Your sister better have been serious about helping me with the choreography. I’m an accountant, not a dancer.”

“I’m banking on her helping both of us,” he replied as they walked toward the gate, his shoulder brushing hers. There was a human-size gate beside the driveway, so they stepped through. Daphne followed Flint up the steps on the steeply graded front lawn to the entrance.

It was a gorgeous home, nestled in mature gardens that would soon begin to bud. Moss grew between the paving stone steps. The A-frame house had cedar shingles and huge windows, and Daphne could spy chunky timber furniture and tasteful artwork inside.

Then she banged into Flint’s shoulder as he abruptly turned around to speak to her. The contact startled her, and she discovered she had catlike reflexes, not because they were quick, but because the slight nudge of his shoulder against her chest had made her spring and stumble away from him like she’d been zapped by a high-voltage electrical cable.

Her heel sank into one of those mossy gaps in the pavers before catching on the edge of the stone. Daphne’s arms windmilled as she yelped, the steep incline doing nothing to prevent her fall. And wasn’t this just typical? She was going out on a limb to come here and beuncomfortable while she learned some ridiculous choreography for some woman she didn’t even know, accompanied by a man she couldn’t stand, all because she’d promised her grandmother to recover some heirloom that had probably been destroyed years ago.

Now she’d crack her head on stepping stones and roll down the hill like the uncoordinated clown she was.

Except that’s not what happened.

A strong arm banded across her back and tugged her forward until she crashed against a broad, warm chest. Flint wrapped his other arm around her upper back while her own hands came to curl in his shirt, her breasts pressed against his pecs, her breaths sawing in and out of her lungs.

He held her close, his cheek at her temple. Warm breath coasted over the shell of her ear as he exhaled. “You okay?”

His scent was everywhere, and Daphne realized she was trembling. It wasn’t right that someone so annoying should feel this good with his arms wrapped around her. His shirt was soft against her cheek, and the tip of her nose nudged against his neck.

Flint’s hands spread out over her back so she could feel the heat of his palms through her jacket.

Her heart rattled. Some kind of temporary madness overtook her, because Daphne made no move to extricate herself from his hold. And it was ahold. He kept her pressed against the length of him, both arms keeping her right where she was. The whole world narrowed to just him. The scent of his skin. The stubble already roughening his jaw as his head dipped slightly. The heat of him. The strength of his arms around her.

It felt so good that Daphne lost herself for a moment, clinging to his shirt, little micro movements bringing them impossibly closer together. Her fingers unclenched and spread out over his shoulders. His head dipped so his lips were near her cheek. Tight bands encased Daphne’s chest, making it hard to breathe as she shifted, her own lips brushing his jaw.

Kissing him would be ridiculous. They worked together. They were pretending. She hated him, mostly. She wasn’t even attracted to him, other than those weird moments when she was. Like right now, for example.

The arm he held tight to her lower back shifted, and the tips of his fingers dipped beneath the hemline of her jacket and shirt at her side. The contact of his skin against hers made an exhale rush out of her, and she shifted her head to meet his gaze. Their lips were an inch apart.

“Daphne,” he rasped, and his hand slipped fully under her top so his whole palm was pressed to her side. Heat blazed through her core, which was ridiculous. She shouldn’t have been this turned on by the feel of his hand against her waist, but she was.

“I tripped,” she said, which was the only thing she could come up with when her brain was struggling to process all the stimuli it was experiencing.

“I know,” he replied, and nudged her nose with his before dipping his head—

“Calvin! You’re here!” a woman’s voice called out.

They sprang apart, but one of Flint’s arms remained wrapped around Daphne’s waist. His hand was still against her bare skin as he swung them both around to greet the woman beaming at them from the front door. When his thumb stroked her waist, Daphne stopped trying to resist him and just stood there, reeling.

Did she ... Did she want to sleep with Calvin Flint? And didhewant to sleep withher? What was happening?

“Hey, Mom,” he said, his thumb making another stroke over the skin of her waist. “You know Daphne Davis, right?”

Eileen Yarrow folded her hands in front of her stomach and seemed to force herself to stop smiling. “So glad to have you, Daphne. Come in! We have a lot of work to do.”

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