Page 12 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
The first dramatic notes fill the air. I lock eyes with Amber, summoning every ounce of confidence I have. "Eyes on me. Nothing else exists."
And then we're moving. The first steps are tentative, Amber following a beat behind, her hand gripping mine too tightly. But as we complete the first turn, something shifts. Her body relaxes incrementally, her movements becoming more fluid. When I pull her into the first close embrace, her breath catches, but she doesn't falter.
"That's it," I encourage softly. "You're a natural."
The music swells, and so does my daring. I guide her into a series of more complex moves—a quick corte, a sharp flick of her leg that she executes with surprising precision. Her eyes never leave mine, wide with a mixture of concentration and something else. Trust, maybe. Or desire. Possibly both.
The other couples fade to background noise. All I see is Amber. The flush on her cheeks, the curve of her neck as she executesa perfect lean, the way her body fits against mine like it was designed to be there.
We're having a conversation without words, every step and touch communicating something raw and honest that I can't quite name.
As the music builds toward its climax, I take a risk. "I'm going to dip you," I warn, seconds before executing the move.
Amber doesn't hesitate. She arches back, one leg extended, her throat exposed in a gesture of complete trust. I hold her securely, our faces inches apart, her weight balanced perfectly in my arms. For a suspended moment, we're frozen in that position, breathing hard, eyes locked.
Then I slowly raise her back up, our bodies flush against each other. The final notes hang in the air, and without planning it, without thinking, I capture her lips with mine.
This kiss is different from the one before. It's not for show, not for Callie or the town gossips or anyone but us. It's heat and need and something dangerously close to reverence. Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, holding on as if she might float away otherwise.
The crowd erupts in cheers, breaking the spell. Amber pulls back slightly, her eyes dazed. I keep my arm around her waist, unwilling to let her go just yet.
"And I think we have our winners!" the singer announces, to more applause.
Mia rushes over, hugging Amber tightly. "That was amazing! I had no idea you could dance like that!"
"Neither did I," Amber admits, her eyes finding mine over Mia's shoulder.
The next few minutes pass in a blur of congratulations and good-natured teasing. Amber accepts the "prize"—a bottle of local wine and a gift certificate to Riverbed Brewery, which makes everyone laugh—with gracious humor. But I notice how she keeps a slight distance from me now, her smile a touch too bright, her laugh a bit too careful.
When she slips away during a lull in the music, I follow, drawn like gravity.
I find her at the edge of Acorn Circle, beneath a canopy of golden lanterns strung between ancient oak trees. The sounds of the reception fade to a distant hum here, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the soft gurgle of the nearby brook. She stands with her back to me, arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth of my jacket still draped over her shoulders.
"Amber."
She turns, and the sight of her in the lantern light steals my breath. Honey-gold hair caught in the gentle breeze, brown eyes reflecting tiny points of light, lips still faintly swollen from our kiss.
"That was some performance," she says, aiming for lightness but missing by a mile.
"It wasn't a performance." The words come out rougher than intended.
Her eyes widen slightly. "Tucker—"
"Let me finish." I step closer, needing her to understand. "I asked you to fake date me to avoid Callie. That was the plan. A simple arrangement between two people with mutual problems."
"I remember," she says quietly.
"But something happened. Is happening." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my sudden inability to charm my way through this conversation. "When I'm with you, I'm not pretending. That's what scares the hell out of me."
She studies me, guarded hope in her expression. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever." The admission costs me, but her soft intake of breath makes it worth it. "And I think— I hope you might feel something too."
Amber looks away, vulnerability crossing her face. "Tucker, you don't have to—"
"I do." I close the distance between us, gently turning her face back to mine. "Look, I know my reputation. Whitetail Falls' resident heartbreaker, right? The guy who flirts with everyone and commits to no one."
She doesn't deny it, just watches me with those perceptive eyes.
