Page 28 of The Love Clause

The teasing reference to yesterday's capsizing incident would be annoying enough without the added complication of Josie's appearance. As we approach, I see Harrison's eyes register her outfit, a knowing sparkle lighting his expression.

"Sorry we're late," Josie says, sliding into an empty chair with casual grace. "Laundry mishap. Had to borrow from Elliot's closet."

"It looks better on you than him anyway, dear," Harrison's daughter-in-law remarks with a wink that makes me want to disappear through the floor.

Josie laughs, adjusting the collar of my shirt in a way that draws attention to the fact that she's definitely not wearing anything substantial underneath. "Everything looks better on the woman, isn't that the rule?"

I take the seat beside her, focusing intently on the coffee a server immediately pours for me. Black, scalding, a welcome distraction from the way Josie crosses her legs beneath the table, her bare knee momentarily brushing against mine.

"You must be excited about the closing dinner tonight," Melissa says, passing a basket of pastries our way. "Grandpa always goes all out for the final evening."

"Wouldn't miss it," I reply automatically, reaching for a plain croissant—something, anything to occupy my hands.

"Elliot's been telling me all about it," Josie adds, selecting a chocolate pastry with obvious delight. "Though he was a bit…distracted last night. Weren't you, honey?"

The endearment, delivered with a sidelong glance that suggests something far more intimate than our awkward pillow wall arrangement, makes me nearly choke on my coffee.

"Hard to focus on dinner plans after that canoe adventure," I manage, trying to redirect the conversation.

"Speaking of adventures," Harrison interjects, "the couples' massage session starts at eleven. Melissa arranged it as a special treat before the closing dinner. Not to be missed!"

Josie's eyes light up. "Massage? Like, professional massage?"

"Only the best," Melissa confirms. "We've brought in specialists from the city. Very exclusive, very relaxing."

"Elliot's not big on massages," Josie says, placing her hand on my arm with familiar ease. "He has control issues about strangers touching him. Don't you, babe?"

I've never expressed any such reservation, but her fabricated insight into my preferences creates exactly the impression she intends—that she knows intimate details about me, that we share confidences, that we are, in fact, a real couple.

"I'll manage," I say, the phrase becoming my mantra for this entire weekend.

Breakfast continues with similar moments of torture. Josie helps herself to food from my plate without asking, feeds Barney scraps under the table despite my disapproving look, and repeatedly touches me—casual, seemingly thoughtless contacts that feel anything but casual to my increasingly frayed nerves.

"Here, try this." She holds out a forkful of her chocolate pastry, offering it to me as if feeding me is something we do regularly.

Every instinct tells me to decline, to maintain some semblance of professional distance. But Harrison is watching with that same knowing expression, clearly charmed by these small displays of affection, and I can't afford to break character now.

I lean forward and accept the bite, my eyes locked with hers as she slides the fork between my lips. Her eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating in a way that suggests she hadn't expected this response, hadn't anticipated the intimacy of the moment. For once, I've caught her off-guard.

"Good?" she asks, her voice a touch breathier than usual.

"Very sweet," I reply, deliberate ambiguity in my tone.

A flush creeps up her neck, and I feel a small, vindictive satisfaction at having turned the tables, however briefly.

But Josie never stays off-balance for long. As the meal progresses, she escalates her campaign of subtle torture. Sheleans close to whisper comments about other guests, her breath warm against my ear. She steals my napkin when she drops hers, fingers brushing mine in a way that feels intentional. When she stretches, the shirt rides up, revealing an expanse of thigh that has me immediately averting my eyes.

And all the while, she maintains that air of innocent enjoyment, as if completely unaware of the effect she's having on me. But the occasional glint in her eye when she catches me watching her tells a different story. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"More coffee, Elliot?" Harrison offers, signaling a server.

"No, thank you," I decline, hyperaware of Josie's knee now deliberately pressed against mine under the table. "Actually, if you'll excuse us briefly, I need to discuss something with my…with Josie before the massage session."

"Of course, of course," Harrison waves us off with a jovial smile. "Young love needs its private moments!"

I stand, placing a hand on Josie's back to guide her from the table—a touch that appears courteous to observers but allows me to apply gentle pressure that brooks no argument. She follows with a smile that doesn't quite hide her curiosity.

Once we're in the relative privacy of the hallway leading back to the guest rooms, I stop, turning to face her.

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