Page 59 of The Fake Affair

Bella starts to answer, but I cut in. “Give us a moment?”

Once we’re alone, I take her hand. “Dance with me?”

“There’s no music.”

I pull out my phone and tap the screen. Soft sounds fill the room—the same song that played at Audrey’s wedding when I first found Bella on that terrace.

“You remember,” she whispers.

“I remember everything.” I draw her close. “How beautiful you looked. How much I wanted to kiss you.”

The chef returns with the dessert plate. Bella turns to look, then freezes.

Written in chocolate:Will you be mine? For real this time?

“Logan...”

“These past months,” I start, my voice rough, “everything was supposed to be pretend. But you made me feel real. Made me want to be better. Made me brave enough to face my fears.” I take her hands. “I want this—us—to be official. No contracts, no arrangements. Just us.”

Tears shine in her eyes. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“I’m asking you to be everything. My girlfriend. My future. My reality.”

She pulls me down and kisses me with everything she has. When we break apart, she whispers, “Yes.”

The kiss starts slow this time, deep and searching. Her hands slide into my hair as mine find her waist, pulling her closer. The music plays on, forgotten, as we lose ourselves in each other.

“The chef,” she murmurs against my lips as our energy turns sexual.

“He’s gone.” I trail kisses down her neck.

She laughs, then gasps as I find that spot below her ear. “Bed?”

“Too far.” I lift her onto the dining table, careful of her flat belly.

Her dress rides up as she wraps her legs around me. “I’ve missed this,” she breathes. “Missed you.”

“Every night,” I unzip her dress slowly, savoring each inch of exposed skin, “I kept thinking about you in that little apartment.”

“You could have visited.” She works on my shirt buttons.

“I wanted to do this right.” My hands trace her curves, memorizing changes only I would notice. “Wanted to earn you.”

“You have me.” She arches as I kiss down her throat. “Always had me.”

Her skin is impossibly soft and warm beneath my palms as I trace the curve of her waist. My lips follow a slow, deliberate path down her neck, tasting the faint hint of her perfume and the slight saltiness of her skin.

I pause at the hollow of her throat, pressing a kiss there, feeling her pulse race against my lips.

Her breathing grows shallow as I continue lower, my hands pushing the fabric of her dress aside to reveal more of her. The way she shivers under my fingertips, the way her nails dig into my shoulders, spurs me on.

I let my tongue flick across the sensitive skin of her chest, drawing a soft moan from her lips. My name falls from her in a whisper, her voice wrapping around the syllables, making them sound like a plea.

I take my time with her, tasting, teasing, and exploring every curve as her body trembles beneath me. Her thighs tighten around me as I shift lower, my hands sliding up her sides.

She gasps when my lips find a particularly sensitive spot, her back arching, her body pressing closer to mine as though she can’t get enough.

Every inch of her is mine to claim, and I do so with an intensity that makes her cry out again, her voice breathless and broken in a way that it has never been, sending heat rushing through me.

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