Page 61 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

Chapter 21

In the two seconds it took for Flint to cross the kitchen, Daphne wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake. Another terrible mistake. There’d been a few in recent history.

Then he was there in front of her, his hands sliding over her waist, and thinking became difficult. His thumbs traced the bottom of her rib cage in one hot sweep of skin against skin, and then he moved one hand to cup her neck and jaw.

She’d never seen his eyes so dark. They stared into hers, the length of his body pressed against the length of hers.

“You sure about this?” he rasped.

Daphne’s hands had climbed up to curl into his shirt. His hair was wet from his shower, and he smelled like clean skin and soap. “Yes,” she said, because what else was she supposed to do? She was the one running topless through the streets just to get his attention. She was the one who’d ripped a few buttons off her favorite shirt to distract him from her snooping.

Besides, it would be a lie to say she didn’t want his hands on her body. She didn’tlikehim. God, no. But he had this raw male energy that went straight to her head. And whenever they were in a room together, all that energy was directed at her.

She knew that most of what had bloomed between them was lust borne of convenience. He’d invited her to the vow renewal to save his reputation. He’d insisted she stay at his house because he didn’t want thehassle of hiring someone new—or finding another date. And now he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her because she’d whipped her shirt off in his kitchen.

It wasn’t anything real. How could it be? They were both unsure about their place on the island, and they had history. He was a bad boy who’d turned straight, and she was a good girl who was ... confused.

Flint slid his fingers to her nape, then tightened them in her hair. He tilted her head back while his other hand swept up her side and over her breast. A tremor went through Daphne’s body, and Flint let out a sharp breath in response.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wondered about your underwear since last week,” he said, voice low. His thumb stroked the edge of the lace on the cup of her bra, and her nipple pebbled in response. “Wondered what color it is. If it had a little bow and a dangly charm in the middle. If I’d ever get the chance to see it again.”

Daphne’s breath staggered. She blinked at him, her own fingers finding their way to his neck. His stubble was rough against her fingertips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“You sound a little bit like a deviant, Flint,” she said, and it came out breathier than she’d anticipated.

He pressed his hips to hers, pinning her to the cabinets. His cock was a hard bulge as it pressed into the crook of her hip. “I’m not the one taking my shirt off at every opportunity.”

Outrage sparked in Daphne’s chest. He made it sound like she was desperate for his attention! “‘Every oppor—’”

Flint silenced her with a hard kiss. His hand tightened in her hair as he bent her head back, lips devouring hers. It took less than a second for Daphne to melt like butter on a hot pan. She clung to him, her injured foot lifting up as she curled her leg over his hip.

Flint groaned, dropping his hand from her breast to hook it around her thigh. His hand skimmed the back of it, pinning her between his body and the cabinets. He ground himself against her as his kiss deepened, lips and tongue and teeth shredding every hope Daphne hadof using rational thought and responsibility to get herself out of this situation.

She didn’t want out of this situation. She wanted more.

“Flint—”

“You’re not the good girl you pretend to be, are you?” His lips dropped to her neck, her clavicle, her chest.

Daphne leaned back, head against the upper cabinets, while Flint bent over to suck her nipple through the fabric of her bra. His hair was wet and cold when she gripped it to hold him there, his shirt damp around the collar.

It felt too good. Her mind was splintering. She’d never—

How long had it been since a man hadkissedher? Really kissed her? Like nothing in the world existed but her lips and her body and her need?

Years. A decade. Longer?

Had anyone ever made her feel like this? Like she was one spark away from detonation?

He moved to the other breast, and Daphne let out a cry of complaint. With one hand still holding her thigh, Flint huffed a laugh against her skin and used his free hand to trace the lace edge of her bra. She watched him, chest heaving with every breath, as he slipped the lace down to expose her breast. Her nipple was hard, and Flint brushed his lips against it gently, gently.

“Flint—”

“Calvin,” he corrected.

Tightening her fist in his hair, Daphne arched her back. She needed his mouth on her skin. “Calvin,” she begged.

Warm breath gusted out of him, and he gave her what she wanted. He plumped her breast with his hand before taking it in his mouth, tongue teasing, teeth scraping, hand gripping hard.

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