Page 48 of The Pretender

That sounded like a pretty great idea, but Harris didn’t understand why Damon was suggesting it. “I thought you were the one who warned me about getting too involved with her.”

“I figure you’ll fuck it up on your own.”

“Thanks for the support.”

Damon shrugged. “What are best friends for?”

Chapter 13

Gabby glared at the clock—midnight—then went back to staring at the ceiling. She vowed to paint the walls of the guesthouse after tonight. If she ever saw the color eggshell again she might get violent.

It was cool outside. She could hear the wind rolling off the water. She was pretty sure it was ninety degrees in the bedroom. She wanted to glare at Harris, blame him for heating up the mattress, and not in a good way. Heat thrummed off him. Probably had something to do with his size and how he sucked up most of the space. She would have pointed that out to him but they hadn’t said a word all evening.

They’d eaten dinner with Damon and Ted. Not her choice, but Damon insisted. Ted clearly hadn’t liked it any more than she did because he barely looked up from his hamburger all meal.

She folded her arms over her chest then let them slide to her sides again. She was locked in a battle with the most uncomfortable bed in the world. It had been fine before tonight but now... no.

Harris let out a big dramatic sigh. “I wonder if this is what it’s like to be married.”

“You’re not funny.”

He rolled to his side and faced her. “Hey, I’m just trying—”

“What?”

He put a hand on her stomach. “I’m not the enemy here.”

The soft touch erased some of her anger. She knew she was being unreasonable by blaming Harris for everything that had gone wrong on the island during the last few days. For asking questions that needed to be asked and for pushing her to analyze all she thought she’d known about what happened here fourteen months ago. Despite all the frustration and confusion, she could still recognize she was the problem right now.

This thing where he talked in that hypnotizing voice or treated her to a gentle caress and her defenses tumbled... she didn’t get that at all. She’d dated men before, some good and some pretty terrible. She’d experienced good sex and had no trouble taking care of that issue herself, if needed. It wasn’t as if he wiped away her past and every insecurity with a mind-blowing orgasm. She didn’t believe life worked that way.

But he did have thisthing. Being around him calmed her. Engaging in banter, seeing how the verbal sparring excited him as much as it did her, ignited this dormant need inside her. She craved the energy and the challenge. Loved the rush she got when he kissed her and when his fingers slid through her hair.

All of it, wanting to be with him and the vulnerability that came with that, sent her into a full-body shake. It scared her and rocked what she believed to be true about herself. Left her open to feeling something for someone again after she’d committed to a lifetime of keeping her emotions shallow.

“You’re still lying to me,” she said to the quiet room.

God, she didn’t even know why she cared. If the time with him was about sex and burning off some of the spinning inside her, they really didn’t need to talk that much.

He was driving her to distraction. Just by lying there, a few inches away with his warm breath blowing against her cheek. She couldn’t keep her shield up against him and she hated that. Mostly, she hated that the feeling only went one way.

His thumb moved back and forth over her stomach. “Honestly though, have you told me everything?”

“No.” Of course not. She couldn’t... shouldn’t.

He tucked a hand under his pillow and raised his head higher. “Then what’s the difference?”

She turned into him then. Flipped on her side, letting the sheets fall low on her hip, and stared at him. “I have no idea.”

He looked at her as if she’d lost it. “Okay.”

“I’m in the mood to be irrational.” And that wasn’t far from the truth. Part of her wanted to poke at him, get him riled.

A smile appeared on his lips and disappeared just as quickly. “Is that really your answer?”

“Yes.” She reached out and dragged a finger over the scruffy start of his beard. “How did we both get so messed up?”

“Years of practice.”

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