Page 23 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
I whine. “It doesn’t make me feel better at all.”
He laughs and pulls me closer to him, so my pelvis touches his. “Let me try it again. Although the engagement is fake, my feelings for you aren’t.”
“W-what?” my eyes widen as I stare at him. “Surely you don’t mean it.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “I like you, Vivian. I had a hard time falling asleep with you in the same room.”
Holy shit. I recall our kiss earlier. His hardened center and my drenched panties. I thought it was just a natural physical response. But now that he confirms it, I’m so embarrassed I can’t even look at him.
Strangely, his confession eases my feeling of guilt. I let him convince me our engagement isn’t completely fake.
I don’t have much time to feel anxious. Soon Karen takes my hand and introduces me to her friends. From the way they dress, I assume they are all as wealthy as she is. They look kind, too, and don’t seem to have a problem with my age.
“Vivian is a fashion designer, and she works for Alex,” Karen says, exaggerating my credentials a bit.
“How wonderful!” her friends nod with approval.
Their attention soon turns to each other’s dresses.
“I like your dress,” a lady wearing an elegant Giorgio Armani dress says to Karen. “I saw something similar to this at Nordstrom, but the collar was different and I didn’t like it.”
Karen smiles proudly. “Actually, this is probably the one you saw, Paula. My daughter-in-law altered it for me!”
Everyone gasped and Paula examined Karen’s dress from all angles. “My goodness! That’s neat! It completely changes the look!”
And then the woman turns to me and smiles. “You’re talented, sweetheart!”
“Thank you!” I blush and chuckle. Karen calls me her daughter-in-law again. My God.
We cut the fabulous engagement cake after the guests have their share of the food. After that, Alex comes to me and says, “It’s time to dance.”
“What?” I ask. I didn’t know it was on the agenda. “I don’t know how!”
“Don’t worry.” He winks. “I’ll teach you.”
“Okay,” I say and place my right hand in his left hand. “You sound like an expert.”
When his right hand presses against the small of my back, I shiver. What he did to me earlier instantly replays in my head, and heat courses through my body.
“Relax,” he whispers, gazing at me with twinkling eyes. “Listen carefully and follow my movement.”
I do as he says. I walk two steps back, point my foot backward and then forward, and then I repeat. “That’s it?” I ask. It’s easier than I thought.
“No, it isn’t,” he says, smiling. “You need to swing your hips and throw your shoulder toward me.”
I clumsily follow his instructions and soon end up falling into his arms completely. I giggle embarrassedly. “I give up,” I say. “I’m not good at this. I wish we’d practiced.”
He chuckles and pulls me closer to him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect.”
As soon as our thighs touched, I feel his erection. I gasp and look up. He shrugs. “Sorry. A natural response to a beautiful woman in a killer dress. Not to mention she’s my fake fiancée.”
I laugh at his humor. I have the impulse to tell him I wouldn’t mind being his real fiancée if he wanted, but modesty holds me back. Instead, I change the topic, “I’m sorry, but it cost your mom a fortune. Do you think I could sell it later and return her the money?”
“Don’t do that!” he says. “She’ll be insulted. Just keep it and wear it whenever you go out with me.”
I laugh. “What do you mean? I can’t wear it on other occasions?”
“No,” he says with a serious face. “Not when I’m not around.”
