Page 163 of The Faking Game
West lifts his scarred eyebrow. “You’rean open book?”
“Compared to you, I am.” My gaze slips past him to the boats passing beyond the pier on the roaring waves to mine. They’ve already rounded the farthest edge of the course. “You used to compete in these. I saw the trophies. In the library.”
“Yes.” The answer comes easily, steadily. “Did you like sailing the other week?”
“You know I did.” Behind us, outside the VIP section, someone walks by with a giant grip of balloons. “Do you think he’s watching now?”
West’s eyes darken. “I hope so. And if he is watching…” He tilts my head back and brushes away a tendril of my hair. His eyes are bottomless on mine. Inscrutable. “He’ll see that you’re mine.”
I slide my hands up his broad chest and over the slightly rough linen of his shirt. It’s a warm spring day, and there’s laughter in the air, shouts to the sailing boats passing. A strong wind from the ocean and the hot sun. “Is this when I look at you like I’m deeply in love again?”
“Try,” he says. He’s so much more than I once thought he was. More ofhimself, more dimensions, more intrigue. But he still swallows all my attention when he’s around. Consumes it.
Looking at him like I’m in love might be the easiest thing in the world.
“Look at that pretty smile,” West says. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
I dip my head in the smallest of nods.
“It’s going to look possessive,” he warns.
“Isn’t that the point?” I press up, my lips inches from his.
His eyes flash, and then he presses his lips against mine. It’s a hot, claiming kiss. It’s the kind of kiss he’s given me in private, a little open-mouthed, warm, dizzying. I hold on to his neck and feel the world shift beneath me when his tongue brushes against mine.
His hands slide down my body and come to rest right above the curve of my ass. An inch too low to be entirely decent. He’s pulled me flush against him, like I really am his. Like he’s feeling possessive.
Like all the people around us don’t matter.
Or maybe theydo, and it’s a statement to them all. Here we are, and look how well we match. See how much we want each other.
I nip at his lower lip, and West groans into my mouth. “You’re such a good fake girlfriend.”
“I am?”
“The best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had.” His gaze dips to my mouth again. “Your lips look rosy now.”
I feel light. Like one of the sailing boats out at sea, bobbing across the waves. Someone knocks West on the shoulder, and he levels them with a stare. “Yes?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but Terry from the sailing association wants to talk to you. Something about the prize ceremony. He saw that you were here, and…” Madison shrugs. She takes a step forward, and her voice lowers. “Michael suggested we see what happens if Nora is alone. Maybe the stalker will text her then.”
West looks down at me. “I’m not leaving?—”
“Go,” I tell him. “Sam is right here, and I know I’m being watched by all the guards. It’s fine. Let’s see if it works.”
West kisses my forehead. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted,” I tell him with a smile. I put my hand on his chest. “Now go.”
He walks toward the prize podium. Madison disappears back into the VIP crowd around me, and I take a sip of my champagne.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I want to find this bastard.
I want it to be over with, and I want my life to return to normal. To begin again. To stop being scared?—
A hand grabs my upper arm, and I’m tugged backward around the edge of the tent. I shove my elbow back like West has taught me, connecting with someone’s soft body. There’s a low, muffled groan.
