I turn my face and press my cheek to his chest, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and holding him close while I catch my breath…
Only I can’t.
Not with his dick thickening, lengthening, and pressing against me, a long line of warmth neither of us can ignore.
No matter how much we might want to.
Nathan dances us into a dark corner, out of the middle of the room, then steps back. We stare for several long moments, my chest heaving, his eyes heavy and hooded and filled with something that sets my heart racing.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I had a lot to drink.”
“Me too.” I swallow hard. “I mean, obviously that’s the only way something…like that…would happen.” I glance pointedly at his crotch, which sends my libido into a happy dance of expectation, then drag my focus back to his face. I thought that would be safer ground, but it’s not. The heat in his gaze threatens to light me ablaze.
Nathan frowns. His jaw tightens. Brows furrow. “Obviously,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Listen, I—”
“Wilhelmina!” booms a familiar voice. “You are the last person I expected to see in Nathan’s arms. After our conversation this morning?” I turn to see Mason Channing, drink in hand, sunshine engaged.
It might be the first time I’m not happy to see him.
“You know I’m just plain Mina,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as discombobulated as I feel.
“Not in that dress.” Mason flares his hands like the statement is obvious. “So, which is it? My cousin’s an asshole? Or you’re dating?”
“Both,” I say with a shaky laugh and a glance at Nathan, whose face is maddeningly unreadable.
After tonight, I know one thing for sure:
I don’t know the real Nathan West.
THIRTEEN
Nathan
The party ends, I sober up, and drive Mina back to her car. All in all, the evening didn’t go too badly. Hot Mess Express or not, Mina Blake is beautiful. She wears the hell out of that red dress. It begs my hands to explore every curve. Her smile is a gentle white wine, a light rain after a scorching summer day. Her rich black hair hangs straight and shines like moonlit midnight over water. Her lips are candy, sweet and baited.
I want to taste them. And damn it, I almost did. Worse, I’m disappointed I didn’t.
There’s something to her. Something I didn’t expect.
She’s funny.
And strong.
And won’t take my shit.
Mina doesn’t like me. And she has every right not to. I’ve been rude. And selfish. And impulsive.
Hell, I don’t want to like her.
But part of me does.
And that is a big ass problem.
When people like Mina look at me, they see an opportunity. Not a human being with hopes and dreams and feelings.
And because Blossom opened my eyes to that truth, I’ve wrapped myself in barbed wire, frozen like that damn picture Mina included in her mood board this afternoon. I’m not supposed to like being seen or understood. I’m not supposed to let Mina’s smile lower my guard.
This is a woman who would do anything for money, including pretend to date a man she thinks is an evil, villainous, Prince of Darkness. Her old car and worn clothes tell me she’s hurting for money, and me? I’m a fucking bank.
How can I believe anything she says or does around me is real?
I can’t. Simple as that.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Mina says as I pull to a stop beside her car. Streetlamps illuminate the parking lot, light diffused by humidity tumbling through the window to brighten her face. “Having second thoughts about this whole fake relationship thing?”
Her tepid smile tells me she definitely is.
“Something like that.” I roll my lips together and stare out the windshield, watching bugs flit around the streetlights.
“If this is a bad idea, we could end our little experiment and no one would think twice.”
“No.” I speak too quickly. Too sharply. My voice is intense. Mina’s gaze darts my way and she frowns, then holds up her hands.
“Fine. Fine. No worries. I said I’d do a thing, so I’ll do the thing. I’m just getting weird signals from you and honestly, this whole day’s got me wondering if I should be looking for hidden cameras or something.” She finishes the sentence with a shrug and silence charges the atmosphere of the car.
My jaw pulses in frustration. With myself. With her. With everything that’s happened in the last several months. She’s waiting for me to explain my strange behavior. Hell, I’m waiting for me to explain my strange behavior.
“I’ve had a lot to drink,” I finally say, even though we both know I was perfectly sober before I got behind the wheel.
