Page 13 of Fake It 'Til You Feel It

“Not always,” he replies, his gaze lazy and assessing. “But I like knowing what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“You’d be disappointed,” I counter, taking a sip of my wine.

“Try me.”

The challenge grates on my nerves, but it also stirs something deeper—a pull Istillrefuse to acknowledge. I take a moment to process his words. As I do, I remain still as the evening breeze blows the hem of my dress against my legs. The fabric tickles, and I’m grateful that I managed to shave recently.

I decide not to engage further with the conversation.Because running is always something I’m great at.

“I’m going for some air,” I announce, heading to the far end of the deck.

I don’t have to look back to know he’s watching me. The fabric of my dress continues to swirl around my legs as I walk, and I wonder if I look as powerful and mysterious as I feel. The air is cooler here, tinged with salt. Waves lap rhythmically against the hull. I’m grateful for the cardigan I grabbed from the room earlier—the late-night articles on boating that I read the night before our trip really did come in handy.And I thought I was being excessive.I close my eyes, hoping the quiet will drown out the tension tightening inside of me.

Of course, it doesn’t.

“Running away, Dana?”

I didn’t hear him approach, but his voice is closer than expected. I turn to find him standing with his hands in his pockets, with thatdamnsmirk on his face.

“Maybe I needed space,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. My empty wine glass had been taken by a member of the crew in my brief time away fromhim.

He gasps in feigned offense. “From me?”

“Yes, from you,” I snap, sharper than I intend.

His smirk falters, replaced by something quieter. More guarded. The mask slips—just for a second. He steps closer and it’s gone, replaced with his usual, effortless confidence.

“You’re always so quick to push me away,” he says quietly. “Why is that?”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Because five minutes with you is enough to make anyone want to strangle you.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that really it?”

“What else would it be?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the space between us until there’s only a whisper of air left. My pulse kicks up, and I pray that he can’t hear it.

“You tell me,” he presses, his voice low.

I open my mouth, ready to fire back some witty retort, but the words catch in my throat. He’s too close. Close enough that the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw catches the dim light. Close enough that his heat mingles with the cool air, pulling me in.

“This is a bad idea,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face as I repeat my flimsy protestation from earlier. “Probably,” he says, echoing his prior response, but he doesn’t step back. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I open my mouth to say… something.

“Nathan—”

His lips capture mine, cutting off the rest of my thoughts.

Thiskiss is not soft. It’s deliberate and consuming, like he’s daring me to stop him. My body betrays me; my arms unfold and my hands grip the front of his shirt before I can think better of it. His hands find their way to my hips, firmly holding me in place.I wonder if he’s trying to control himself as much as I am.

The taste of wine lingers on his lips, but it’s the intensity—the way he kisses like he’s staking a claim—that sends heat spiraling through me.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and the silence between us is charged. Both of us pause, and his chest is heaving as deeply as mine.Good.It feels like neither of us want to break the silence first, but self-preservation alarms begin blaring in my mind.

“That,” I say shakily, “was a terrible idea.”

“Maybe,” he replies, his lips brushing mine as he speaks. “But you didn’t stop me.”

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