Chapter 23
COLD SHOWER, HOT PROBLEMS
DALLAS
I closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, the cool wood pressing into my shoulder blades. My hands raked through my hair hard enough to sting.
The ghost of her taste lingered on my tongue.
I caught my reflection in the mirror above the double vanity and almost laughed.
I looked wrecked. My hair was pointing in six different directions, my lips were swollen, my eyes glazed, and the expression of a man who just had his entire worldview dismantled by a single kiss.
My gaze dropped to my pants. Below the belt, the situation was equally dire, my body making its enthusiasm abundantly clear, almost painfully so.
We should practice. Brilliant strategy, Dallas.
The problem was, it had worked too well.
We'd been entirely too convincing. Or maybe that was just me, considering I'd forgotten the word fake existed approximately two seconds after her mouth touched mine.
The way I'd hauled her onto my lap, my hands finding the curve of her hips like they'd been searching for her my whole life, holding her there while I kissed her like I was staking a claim…
And the worst part? I wanted to do it again. Right now. Tomorrow. Every single day until…
“Get it together,” I muttered to my reflection. He didn't look convinced.
Six months. That's all this was. Six months of playing house with a woman who made me want to tear my hair out and tear her clothes off in equal measure. Six months of pretending to be in love with someone I could not fall for.
I turned on the shower, cranking the handle toward the blue. The colder, the better. My clothes hit the floor in a pile.
The icy water hit my shoulders, and I turned my face into it, letting it needle my skin, willing it to wash away the memory of her.
It didn't work. It only made it worse.
Behind my closed eyes, she was everywhere. Not just her face—all of her. The way her hair had felt wrapped around my fingers. The weight of her pressed against my chest. The give of her hips beneath my palms when I'd pulled her closer, greedy for more contact.
I'd wanted to strip her naked right there on my couch. To find out whether reality matched the fever dream my imagination had constructed the moment I met her.
My hand flattened against my chest, then slid lower. The cold water wasn't doing a damn thing to cool me down, and that's when the reality of our situation hit me.
The new bed I ordered earlier wasn't coming for another three days. Which meant until then, we'd be sharing.
There was absolutely no way I could climb into a bed with her like this.
Not with my body wound so tightly and every one of my nerve endings screaming for contact.
I'd last approximately four seconds before I did something catastrophically stupid that would shatter our arrangement and probably get me slapped.
My gaze dropped to my rock-hard cock. I had two choices: take care of this now, or spend the entire night lying six inches away from her, with a raging erection and slowly losing my mind.
Option two wasn't really an option at all.
I wrapped my hand around myself as I gave up pretending I had any self-control where she was concerned.
The first stroke dragged a sound out of me that echoed off the tile. The fantasy shifted, sharpened. Her eyes, dark and hungry. Her lips parting. The breathless little gasp she'd made when I'd nipped at her bottom lip, like I'd surprised her, like she'd liked it…
“Fuck…” Her name caught in my throat as the pressure built, my rhythm growing urgent, graceless. “Davina…”
My grip tightened as I pumped slowly, the slick soap from my body mixing with the water, creating a smooth, gliding friction.
My fantasy accelerated as I pictured her kneeling. Her big brown eyes stared up at me as she wrapped her small hand around me. The steam of the shower surrounded us, but her breath was hot on my skin.
And then her lips parted, and she took me into her mouth.
My hand moved faster, mimicking the rhythm of my imagination. I pictured her tongue flat against the underside of my cock, then curling around the head. I can almost feel the wet, velvety heat of her mouth, the slight scrape of her teeth, the absolute surrender of her throat as she takes me deeper.
The rhythm of my hand was punishing now. Fast and desperate. Every stroke brought a wave of electric pleasure, coiling tighter in my gut. I pictured her mouth open, taking me deep, her body rocking back against each of my thrusts.
“Fuck,” I grunted as the release hit me hard, wiping my vision white, leaving me shuddering against the cold tile while the water ran over my shoulders and my pulse roared in my ears.
I stood there for a long moment after, forehead pressed to the marble, breathing hard. The tension was bleeding out of my muscles.
Now, maybe, I can share a bed with her without making a complete ass of myself.
I almost believed it.
This was supposed to be simple. A business arrangement. We'd both been drunk in Vegas, made a spectacular mistake, and now we were handling it. No feelings. No complications. Just six months of performance.
Except nothing about that kiss felt like a performance.
I shut off the water and grabbed a towel from the warming rack, catching my reflection again. Water dripped down my chest.
“You're in trouble,” I muttered.
Because the truth was, I'd wanted to kiss her long before tonight.
A crash from the living room shattered my spiral, followed by Ricky's frantic barking and what sounded like Davina inventing new profanity.
“Everything okay?” I called out.
“Your house is trying to murder me! Who puts a freaking coffee table in the middle of a walkway?”
“People who can see in the dark?”
“I hate you.”
I grinned.
Wrapping the towel around my hips, I opened the door to find her in the hallway, balanced on one foot like an angry flamingo. I pressed my lips into a tight line, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
“Don't,” she warned, pointing at me. “Don't you dare say a word.”
I held up both hands. “Wouldn't dream of it, wife.”
Her eyes dropped to the water still sliding down my chest, over my stomach, disappearing into the towel slung low on my hips.
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
The flush started at her collarbones and climbed up her throat. I watched it spread with way too much satisfaction.
So much for the shower fixing anything. My body was already stirring again, responding to her gaze like a flower turning toward the sun.
“You're staring,” I observed.
“I'm glaring.”
I stepped closer. The hallway wasn't wide. Another step and we'd be sharing air. “It looks a lot like…”
“Like I'm plotting where to hide your body.” But her voice had gone breathy, and she hadn't moved back. “Put some clothes on, Dodger.”
“This is my house.”
“Our house.” She jabbed a finger at my chest, making contact, then yanking her hand back like I'd burned her. “For six months. Which means you can't just... wander around... like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, letting the movement shift the towel. Her gaze flicked down again, then snapped back to my face. I probably shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as I did.
“We should figure out sleeping arrangements,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral despite the renewed tension building inside me. “Since the new bed doesn't arrive until Thursday.”
“We can figure that out after you're dressed,” she said.
“I don't know.” I tilted my head, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “I'm starting to think you like me like this.”
“I think you hit your head in that shower.”
“Fine,” I relented, pushing off the doorframe, already walking toward my bedroom. “I'll get dressed.”
Six months of pretending to be in love with a woman I was definitely not falling for.
I was so freaking screwed.