Page 25 of The Fake Affair

“Obviously.”

“And no sex,” she repeats.

“Uhm… yeah, definitely not.”

“Even if...”

“Even if what?”

She meets my eyes. “Even if we both want to?”

For a second, I don’t trust myself to speak. Because the worst part is how easily I can picture it—her in the next room, brushing past me in the hallway in one of those sleep shirts that barely covers anything, her bare legs just a glance away. The sound of her laughing in the kitchen late at night, her voice still husky from sleep. The way she tastes, how her body gives in without hesitation.

And I’d have to pretend none of it gets to me.

I swallow hard, keeping my voice level. “Especially then.”

We quietly sign the contract on my phone. One for the business arrangements, one for our personal agreement.

She disappears into her kitchen again, returning with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "One last drink before we're officially fake dating?"

I find myself accepting the glass even though I shouldn’t.

"Don't worry, it's not a thirty-year Macallan," she says, pouring. "Just regular people's whiskey."

I groan. "Are we ever going to let that go?"

"Nope." She settles back on her couch, feet tucked under her. "So, do we need a backstory? For Edinburgh?"

I take a sip. The whiskey's better than she's letting on. "You did a semester abroad. We met at a pub near the university."

"The Elephant House?"

"Too obvious. Tourist trap." I lean back, letting my accent wrap around the memories. "There was this small pub off the Royal Mile. The Bear's Head. Dark wood, low ceilings. Local bands on Thursdays."

She smiles as she imagines that, and I can see it in the way her eyes go dreamy. "Sounds real."

"It was. Best whiskey in Old Town." I find myself smiling. "We'll say you were there with classmates. I was avoiding a business dinner."

"And I quoted Shakespeare to you?"

"Naturally."

She bats her eyelashes at me. "Then you pursued me relentlessly until I agreed to coffee?"

I snort and take a long sip. "Other way around, love. You were quite taken with the accent."

She throws a pillow at me. "In your dreams, Fraser."

If I stay any longer, I’ll find myself wishing for things I can’t have tonight or for a long while. So I drain the contents of my glass and set it down with a tight nod. "I should go."

“Of course,” she says. “But one last thing. When do I move in?”

I picture her in my home, moving around like she’s… mine.Yup, I definitely need to get out of here.“Sunday. I’ll send movers.” I head for the door before I can do something stupid like kiss her again.

“Logan?”

The softness in the question makes me pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

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