Page 75 of Seduced by Her Billionaire Fake Fiancé

She shook her head.

“Because you want me to kiss you?” He asked, a mocking, confident smile on his lips that made her hate him even when she wanted him with every fiber of her being.

“I—you’ve kissed pretty much every other woman in England, so I guess fair’s fair.”

His grin was so sexy. Her stomach squished.

“Jealous?”

She snorted. “Of someone like you? Please.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m not, believe me.”

“I don’t.” He reached for the pen and her heart thumped. Was he going to just sign the document? End this? Without kissing her? Her insides squeezed. She moved closer, looking over his shoulder as he reached not for the documents but for the envelope in which she’d brought them and wrote:I, Portia Mason, want to be kissed by Marco Santoro.

Her heartrate trebled.

“Sign it,cara.”

She stared at him, bewildered. “Why?”

“HR,” he grinned, passing the pen to her, his fingers brushing hers so she startled, eyes wide. “Just so there’s no doubt.”

“I’m not signing that.”

“Then I’m not kissing you.”

She was trapped. She could walk away, refuse to sign the damned envelope, and never know what it felt like to be kissed by someone else, still live in a world where Jack’s were the last hands to touch her, the last lips to possess hers. Or she could succumb, let Marco kiss her, work out if she did have some kind of sensual spark after all.

It was an experiment, pure and simple.

With a mutinous glare, she took the pen. “Fine. But I’m ripping it up afterwards.”

“That defeats the purpose,” he pointed out.

“And what’s that?” Her hand hovered over the page.

“Insurance.”

It wasn’t stupid of him. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her ethics and moral fiber, but if in six months something happened and she got fired, what was to say she couldn’t go to HR and make a complaint. She admired his level-headedness in the midst of whatever madness was circling them. Then again, maybe it was just proof that he wasn’t as caught up in this as she was. Marco flirted like he breathed.

“Fine,” she signed her name. “Go on. Show me what all the fuss is about,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her breasts, and standing still, refusing to show how much she wanted this.

His smile was indolent as he closed the distance between them, his breath warm on her temple as he reached out and deliberately uncrossed her arms, holding them at her sides.

“Prim so far,” he murmured, appraising her carefully. Then, he moved her hands behind her back, using just one of his hands to hold her wrists, trapping them so she couldn’t move, and her breasts were thrust forwards, moving rapidly with each tortured breath that came from her body.

His other hand curved around her hip, super-heating her skin through the fabric of her suit. He reached for the middle button of her jacket, unfastened it, revealing the blouse underneath, the buttons of which were straining across her breasts.

“Perhaps not so prim, despite the way you dress,” he mused, eyes on her breasts so even though he wasn’t touching her she felt as though he was, and her nipples hardened, straining against the lace of her bra.

“Marco,” she groaned his name, then tried to be rational and in command. “I don’t have all day,” she reminded him. “Your brother’s waiting on those papers.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a look that was halfway to a dark emotion, but then he covered it with a sensual grin.

“Impatient,” he murmured, moving closer, so the word was whispered against her ear. Her body trembled. “But this should never be rushed. A good kiss is like wine, to be savored, enjoyed, each moment tasted and reflected upon.”

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