Page 29 of Fake Wife
“At some point,” I whisper to Corbin, “you’re going to have to give me the scoop on those two.”
“No scoop. Swear it. They bicker like brother and sister and are the best of friends. She’s the one girl we’ve ever met who’s completely immune to our charm. A tiny pain in the ass, but we haven’t been able to shake her since freshman year of college.”
Huh. I’d put all my money—what little I currently have—on some hidden sexual tension between the two, but I take Corbin’s word. He’s known them for years, so he’d know best.
For the next hour, I’m served dish after dish of salads and soups and palate cleansers before the main course. All of it is delivered and then whisked away before I can eat much of anything. Now I know why rich people are so thin and trim. They don’t have enough time to actually eat the food they’ve paid thousands for.
How bizarre. Fortunately, Corbin and I are sitting at a table with Trey and Caitlin, and if they know the rest of the people, they don’t speak to them more than exchanging common social pleasantries. While I spend most of the time trying to remember which fork is for which meal—mostly by copying Caitlin—the night isn’t entirely stressful.
I try to be myself, the only thing I can be, and the only way we can swing this. It’s not long before Caitlin has us all laughing with memories of the three of them at Stanford. She relays the story of Trey in the river, which happened after his boat capsized during a rowing practice. Considering it was early May when it happened, I take his word that the water was in fact cold.
Still, the whole time, Corbin’s presence is heavy next to me. Warm and tender, his hand is on my shoulder, running through my hair, cupping the back of my neck. He touches me easily and confidently, like he’s had his hands all over my body, and the only thing it does is remind me of the kiss in the car.
The beautiful, mouthwatering kiss that I can’t help but want more of.
Now.
Immediately.
My mind is spinning with the laughter and the friends and his delectable sandalwood scent as he leans in to me. When I feel his lips brush against my ear to whisper something I jump in my chair and tense.
“You okay?” he asks. I’ve pushed my chair back, away from him, and both Trey and Caitlin are giving me an odd look. I don’t bother to see if anyone else at the table has noticed my strange reaction.
“Yeah. I, um, just spilled my drink on my dress.”
I haven’t had anything to drink, and I certainly wasn’t drinking when he whispered to me. All I notice is him. So close and sexy and smelling so good.
I’m never going to be able to keep this completely business.
“I should use the restroom and go clean it up.”
His gaze drops to my dress and he sees nothing. Brows furrowed, his eyes meet mine, and one side of his mouth curves into a smile. He knows.
Of course he knows.
“You want some help?”
“No. I’ve got it. I’ll be back.”
“Hurry.” He leans in, his lips so close to mine, and mine part, almost begging him to brush his mouth over mine. My goodness, what’s come over me? “And come back to me. I’ll miss you.” As he speaks, he trails the backs of his fingers down my arm. I shiver, goosebumps explode on my flesh, and I can’t hide my reaction to him.
This man. He’s going to drive me crazy.
He shifts, and his lips graze my cheek. Just a hint, the briefest of touches, but between his hands and his scent and his lips and his words and the wicked gleam in his eye, I’m coming undone.
I swallow thickly, a lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe. “I’ll only be a minute.”
He grins, and it’s undeniable to both of us the effect he’s having on me, but this is ridiculous. Business, money, goals, and life dreams.
It’s all mixed with a whole lot of pretending, and I have to remember it.
I push out of my chair and head to the restroom, where I wash my hands longer than necessary just to stall. A quick glance in the mirror shows that I’m correct. It’s not possible to hide the attraction I feel for him.
Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, desire is flaring all over my features. I have to school this reaction to Corbin Lane immediately.
Or learn to ignore it.
I pat down some loose, frizzy hair at my temples and fluff my hair, not bothering to reapply lipstick in fear it will make me look like a clown to match the red cheeks. I can’t delay anymore.
