Page 48 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

I close my eyes, trying to banish these utterly inappropriate thoughts. No, I do not want to lick him like a delicious ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

Who am I kidding? I totally do. God help me, I do.

He sits up, steadying the raft. “Coming aboard? Or are you just gonna keep enjoying the view?”

I roll my eyes. “You wish I was staring, Barrett.”

“Pssh. I know you were.” He smirks, extending his hand.

I grasp it, doing my best to ignore the spark from his touch. “I’ve got it, thanks—”

And then with the grace of a clumsy stripper… I slip.

His strong arms catch me, and he falls onto his back. My hands are splayed on his pecs, and I can feel his heart racing beneath my palms.

“If you wanted to get on top of me, there are easier ways.”

I push against his chest, attempting to get up. “In your dreams.”

His embrace tightens around me. “Oh, trust me, my dreams are a hell of a lot more interesting than this.”

“Guys?” Nolan calls out from the boat. “You ready to get into position?”

“Always on point with your timing, bro,” Ethan remarks playfully.

We awkwardly separate, and I try not to mourn the loss of contact.

What is wrong with me today?

Ethan helps me turn onto my stomach, his hands lingering as he guides mine to the raft handles. Every touch feels deliberate, charged. His fingers trail fire across my skin, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a very inappropriate sound.

“Comfortable, darlin’?”

“About as comfy as you can get when you’re about to risk your life for some likes,” I grumble.

Am I crazy, or is Ethan being extra touchy-feely today? I mean, every little brush of his skin is saying, “Hello, fire department.” Or is this his usual MO with all women? Perhaps he’s just keeping his game sharp while he’s stuck playing my fake boyfriend?

“Live a little, Chase. It’ll be fun.”

“Your idea of fun and mine are vastly different.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, voice low. “What’sfunfor you?”

Images flash through my mind, all involving Ethan and significantly fewer clothes(which says a lot, given my skimpy outfit). “Not something you need to know.”

“You sure about that? I’m pretty confident I could change your mind about what fun we could have.”

I turn my head to look at him, ready with a snappy comeback, but the words die in my throat. His eyes are dark, intense, fixed on me as if I’m the only thing in the world.

“Chase,” he continues softly, “I—”

Nolan shouts, “Alright, guys! Ready for the signals? This means start.” He makes a thumbs-up gesture. “And this means stop.” He demonstrates, making a motion with his palm facing out. “Got it?”

Ethan and I nod, the moment broken.

We’re being dragged at least a jillion miles an hour on a giant inflatable death trap. Okay, maybe not quite that fast, since a Jimmy Buffet booze cruise just floated past us. But I’m clinging to this tube like it’s the last life preserver on the Titanic. Praying to every deity I can think of that the rope isn’t as flimsy as my dignity.

How, in a matter of days, have I gone from respected director to jackass stuntman?

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