Page 79 of The Invitation
“Yeah, you had a bit of drool on your stomach, but you got it,” I say, meeting his smirk with one of my own. I grab the edge of my shirt and slowly drag it over my head.
The fabric is cold and heavy as it lifts, and the air meeting my damp skin causes a flurry of goose bumps. But my insides are smoldering. I barely even notice.
My heart pounds as I remove my shoes and socks—bending over to give him a full view of my cleavage. I know what I’m doing, yet I don’t have a clue. I’m playing a perilous game that I can’t stop.
Ripley’s eyes rake boldly over my body. His Adam’s apple bobs just before he licks his lips. I’m uncertain if the wetness on his skin is from the rain or sweat.
His attention,his arousal, is flattering. The power from knowing a man this virile is attracted to me is heady. And the intensity of the flame licking my core is almost unbearable.
I’m only human.
But we’ve been here before …
My stomach twists into a tight knot as a cyclone of memories comes rushing back.
I’ve stood in front of him in my bra and felt his desire for me one other time. I’ve basked in the glow of being Ripley’s chosen girl. I trusted him, bamboozled by his good looks and dazzling charm, and I got crushed.
Because I made the mistake of thinking his intentions were real.
A full-body shiver hits me with full force.
Suddenly, everything is clear.
This really is just a game to him.
The sweet words, gentle touches, the fucking purple gloves—it was all a side quest in his effort to help out Jonah. He was using me as entertainment. And I fell for it.
In fact, if I hadn’t just come to that realization, I could have fallen for him.
My breath stalls in my throat.
Oh, my God.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, a shadow dusting his features.
I laugh out of anger, mostly at myself.I knew better than to do this. How did I let this happen?
“Okay. All right. You win,” I say, pulling the long-sleeved shirt he gave me over my head. I don’t want to be enveloped by his clothes, or his cologne, but I also don’t want hypothermia.
“I win? What are you talking about?”
My mind races through the last few weeks. Ordering for me at Ruma. The promise of not letting me fall. The texts. The almost kisses.
You fucking asshole.
Fear mixes with embarrassment and swirls with anger inside me, creating a nasty cocktail threatening to explode.
“What’s going on, Georgia?”
“I hate to admit this, but you might’ve gotten one over on me,” I say, glaring at him. “Do you want to know where you went too far?”
His brows pull together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I laugh at his faux ignorance. “It was the almost kiss in the parking lot. And even that almost worked. The purple fucking gloves were a great addition—well fucking done, and I drove away thinking—hey, maybe he means it this time.” I glareat him. “Like an idiot. Because there were no cameras there, Ripley. That wasn’t for the show.That was for you.”
The color slowly drains from his face. “You almost kissed me, too.”
“Maybe. Maybe for a split second I did. Maybe for a moment I had the courage to hope that you weren’t the rich prick who fucked with my feelings at a time when I was the most vulnerable, and you weren’t using this stupid show that I never should’ve done to do it all over again—oof.”
