Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
This thing looks like it was stitched together by a maniac, meaning it could only have been made by Elle herself.
I eventually find the right pocket and pluck out the small prescription bottle, scanning the label. Take 1–2 by mouth as needed. “One to two . . . how many do you want?”
“One should be enough.”
“You sure?” I eye her.
She immediately looks away.
With a frustrated grumble, I set her purse aside next to her hip and catch her chin. I won’t force her, but I nudge her to meet my eyes, searching her face for the lie. She must be able to lie so easily, to make me believe her response to that kiss.
“Do not lie to me, Elle Lark,” I order firmly. “If you’re feeling like a worn heel, you need a doctor.”
But there’s no trickery in that sweet expression she wears.
No deception in the gentle tremor of her eyelashes, or the startled part of her lips.
No manipulation in the way she colors, or the soft, confused stammer of her voice.
“I . . .” She stops, licking her lips. Her mouth glistens coral pink. The same color is probably still clinging to my mouth after the way our lips were pressed together. “I promise. It’s not bad enough for more than one.”
I shouldn’t be grasping on to her like this.
I shouldn’t be pressuring her and making demands.
To me, she’s little more than an employee, a contractor filling specific needs.
So I let her go. Quickly, and yet it does no good when the softness of her skin stays imprinted on my fingertips.
Without a word, I shake out a pill from the bottle, put it away, and offer her the little capsule.
Elle hesitates.
Then she opens her mouth like a baby bird asking to be fed, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Are you serious?” I scowl, glaring down at her.
“My hands are full. And slippery. I might drop it.” She holds the water bottle up with a grin.
Wide, innocent eyes.
Goddamn.
She’s definitely faking it now.
It’s annoying that it’s so obvious. The girl couldn’t lie if someone paid her, even if that’s exactly what I’m doing. I need to believe that any attraction she might feel toward me is feigned for her own ends.
That’s all.
But she’s still looking up at me with that little smile, while Rick keeps pretending not to watch us in the rearview mirror.
I meet his eyes and stare.
“Just drive,” I mutter. “We’re taking Miss Lark home promptly.”
Then, turning that glare on her, I pop the pill into her mouth.
My thumb accidentally brushes her lips—just barely—right where they’re silkiest.
I jerk my hand back like she’s a thousand degrees, folding my arms over my chest because I have nowhere else to put them with her in my lap.
“You’re feeling better. Good,” I growl.
Elle swallows what sounds like a giggle. “And you’re sulking again.”
“I am not—”
The moment I make eye contact, I realize she’s trying to provoke me.
Fuck.
I suppose I can’t blame her.
She’s trying to restore a little normalcy between us again—whatever passes as normal for us, when we barely know each other and we have to pretend we’re engaged.
Still, there’s a certain comfort in this too.
In knowing she doesn’t want the memory of that kiss hanging awkwardly between us, no matter what latent things came to life the moment our lips touched.
I can’t hold back my scowl.
Just like I can’t bring myself to kick her out of my lap, either, especially when the car is coming to life with a rumble and moving forward when I’m not sure she should be sitting up.
Sighing, I watch her.
“Just rest, Elle,” I say. “I’ll have you home soon.”
We didn’t kiss again when I dropped her off, even if it wouldn’t have been out of place.
For all I know, there were paparazzi hiding in Miss Jacqueline’s hedges, but it felt prudent not to mix up my brain any further with this gal.
So I let her off on the curb with a polite farewell, watched to make sure she reached the door, and chose not to respond when she stopped and raised her hand in a little wave before ducking inside.
For some reason, missing a second kiss bothers the hell out of me.
Just logistics, I’m sure. Whatever helps keep this farce publicly visible and visibly believable.
Nothing more.
I have plenty of other worries—like the text waiting on my phone.
Snarky. Cutting. Angry.
Oddly jumbled, like it always is.
Unknown: nice you gt the hole intentent buzzing laready
Unknown: tring to plafy for the sy mpthay points . . . SAD!
I frown.
“Merrick?” I ask pointedly.
“Yes, Mr. Marshall?” Merrick’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“Has anyone requested my number lately?”
“No, Mr. Marshall.”
He watches me strangely in the mirror as I text back.
I probably have the damnedest look on my face right now. Who the hell is this and how did you get my number?
Only, I already have a good idea, and I can almost hear the sneering laugh that comes back in the response.