Page 74 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

Eileen smiled wide, then darted a glance at her eldest. “I’m just trying to do it right this time around.” Her voice was quiet, but Daphne still heard her remorse and her pain. It wasn’t her place to get between Flint and his mother, but she wondered whether there was any hope of forgiveness from him.

“You can change out of it after the dance,” Eileen offered. “I think everyone else is planning to.”

Daphne dipped her head. “Sounds good.”

Flint’s shoulders softened, and tenderness entered his expression when he lifted his gaze to Daphne’s. “It would make Ceecee happy,” he agreed.

“Worth it,” Daphne replied, smoothing her hands down the fabric.

Flint escorted his mother to the exit, watched her walk out of the station, then prowled back into his office. He closed the door, threw the lock, and drew the blinds. When he turned back to Daphne, his eyes were dark as sin.

“Uh-oh,” Daphne said a second before the sheriff hauled her out of her chair and dropped her on his desk.

“‘Uh-oh’ is right,” he said—and crushed his lips to hers.

Chapter 26

Daphne’s knees spread on instinct, but the dress had far too much volume to allow Calvin any kind of access. She laughed as he batted at the fabric, crushing the skirt and its many petticoats between them, a deep line carved between his brows.

“I hate this dress,” he said, giving up on the skirt to wrap his hand around Daphne’s nape. His lips were soft and giving, his tongue delving into Daphne’s mouth with expert flicks.

Daphne pulled back and laughed, fluffing the fabric. “Can’t imagine why.”

“I’ve never wanted to undress you more, and that’s saying a lot.”

Heat sparked between Daphne’s legs at the look on Calvin’s face. She’d never seen such bare need. Not directed at her. So when he leaned over the pile of fabric to kiss her harder, Daphne didn’t push him away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they shouldn’t be doing this. Not at work—not at all. She’d opened the door to it by stripping her blouse off the night before, and that had sent her tumbling off the edge of a tall cliff. She was falling through thin air, hardly able to breathe.

But Calvin’s kiss was demanding, and Daphne’s body responded like it had been made for him. Even with petticoats and iridescent-pink fabric separating them. Even with the hard wood of the desk digging into the back of her thighs and the knowledge that half a dozenemployees were just on the other side of the door. With every touch, he was unmaking her defenses.

Besides, what was she defending against? Couldn’t she enjoy the way his fingers dug into her hair? The way he groaned as his lips kissed along her jaw and nibbled below her ear?

No one had made her feel this good, not even—

Pete’s face popped into Daphne’s head, and she stiffened. How long would it take for Flint to get bored of her? How long until he realized that she was exactly the woman everyone said she was? That there was nothing special or exciting about her?

How much of this attraction was fueled by dredged-up teenage angst?

She’d planned her life with a man who’d tossed her aside like garbage. She couldn’t go through that again. Not when she was starting to develop real feelings for Calvin, when she was seeing him as so much more than the bad boy he’d been before.

Calvin must have felt the shift in her, because he backed away an inch, eyes searching hers. “I lost you,” he said.

“I just ...” She shook her head. “This was just supposed to be the vow renewal. Maybe we’re getting caught up in pretending.”

His gaze flickered, throat bobbing as he gulped. “Is that what you think?”

“Either that or you have a fetish for awful dresses.”

Calvin snorted. She was grateful when he took a step back, the tension of the moment dissolving.

Shoving a hand through his hair, Calvin backed away far enough that Daphne could slither off his desk. She turned to straighten some of the papers that her voluminous dress had knocked aside, grateful to have something to do with her hands.

The truth was, it didn’t feel like she was pretending. It felt like she very much wanted Calvin, and she very much wanted Calvin to want her back.

But what if they fizzled and burned out? What if she opened herself up to a man once more, only to be told she wasn’t good enough for forever?

It was better to focus on what she knew. Numbers. Work. Responsibility. She’d save up some money, keep her head down, and use this opportunity to figure out her next steps. Staying on Fernley Island—staying anywhere near a man as addictive as Calvin Flint—wasn’t part of the plan.

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