Chapter 15
FAKE FIANCéE TIP: WHEN YOU REALIZE HIS ACHILLES’ HEEL IS HORMONES, SAUNTER AROUND IN NEXT TO NOTHING. #WARFAREJUSTGOTINTERESTING
AXEL
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Dakota looked at me over her shoulder. The one still angled down toward the floor with her ass pointed right at me like a goddamn invitation. She had the audacity to bat her eyelashes.
“Yoga,” she answered, voice dripping with innocence.
“At eleven thirty at night?” I growled.
She pushed herself up into what I’m pretty sure was the world’s most pornographic warrior pose. The barely there tank top—and I’m being generous, calling it that—rode up to reveal miles of toned stomach. Next, her heel pulled up to her knee, forming a perfect triangle.
Putting that space between her thighs on full display, beneath a scrap of fabric barely bigger than a postage stamp.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she claimed, stretching her arms overhead like she was reaching for heaven while sending me straight to hell.
My dick pressed against my zipper hard enough to leave permanent damage. Her eyes tracked the movement, and a victorious smirk spread across her face like she’d just won the lottery.
“Why are you wearing that?” I clenched my fists.
“This?” She glanced down. “I was hot.”
Yeah, well, now we’re both burning alive.
She transitioned into downward dog—because of course she did—pressing her palms flat while her ass shot skyward like a beacon of pure temptation.
This is fine. I’m a grown man. I’ve survived hostile takeovers and boardroom bloodbaths. I can handle one tiny woman in …
Jesus Christ, are those actual lace panties?
They barely covered the curve of her ass, and I could see the outline of everything that had haunted my dreams for the past decade.
“Stop.” My voice came out rougher than sandpaper.
Did she stop? Hell no. Dakota Blackwood had never stopped anything fun in her life.
She pivoted slowly, deliberately, giving me a front-row view of abs that belonged in a fitness magazine and breasts that were clearly enjoying the show as much as she was.
She’s doing this on purpose. She has to be. No one does yoga in Victoria’s Secret sexwear unless they’re planning a murder. And I’m definitely the victim.
Look away, Pierce. Look. Away.
I tried. Really, I did. But as I desperately tried to escape the room and head into the kitchen, my eyes had other plans, staying glued to the gentle curve of her waist.
CRASH.
My hip collided with the foyer table hard enough to rattle my teeth. A crystal vase wobbled dangerously.
“Everything okay over there?” She tilted her head, batting those long lashes. “You seem a little … distracted.”
My dick throbbed at the sultry rasp in her voice, then did a full-on salute when she trailed her tongue slowly along her bottom lip.
I’ve made grown men weep during negotiations. I will NOT be defeated by Dakota in … holy shit, is that tank top see-through? I can see her nipples.
Which were hard. And perfectly outlined as she arched her back, reaching toward the ceiling like she was putting on a private strip show.
“I’m great,” I lied through gritted teeth. The pain in my hip was nothing compared to the ache building behind my zipper.
All these years, I’d wondered what Dakota looked like with less clothes. I’d fantasized about her in my bed, bent over while I took her from behind, her whispering my name like a prayer. She was even more devastatingly beautiful than every forbidden dream combined.
“Really?” She shifted into what had to be the most obscene yoga pose ever invented. “Because the usually confident Axel Pierce looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust.”
Because I’m staring at the one woman I can never have. And feeling more tempted than ever before.
“I’m fine,” I managed, though my claim would’ve landed better if my dick wasn’t straining against my pants like it was trying to escape.
“So …” She moved into warrior pose, arms stretched wide, legs slightly parted, head cocked at that perfect angle that made my brain short-circuit. “Where were you tonight? Hot date?”
“Out,” I growled.
“Mmm.” Her lips curved into a knowing smile. And then she had the evilness to bend again, slowly this time. “If you were with another woman, your poor fake fiancée would be devastated. What would Rebecca say?”
“I wasn’t with another woman.”
“But I bet you wanted to be.” She shifted into cobra pose: chest pushed forward, back arched, looking like every wet dream I’d ever had.
“It’s got to be killing you, staring down weeks, maybe even months of celibacy.
No touching.” She knelt and ran her hands down her abs.
“No kissing.” She wet her lips again. “No hot, sweaty, all-night—”
“Stop.” The word came out strangled.
“I’m just empathizing,” she said, spreading her legs wider as she moved into some position that should’ve been illegal in twelve states. “It must be so hard, knowing you can’t have any relief.”
What is she doing to me?
“All’s fair in love and fake engagements.” She smirked, her gaze dropping to my crotch like she was cataloging exactly what her little show was doing to me.
“Do you really think it’s wise to parade around my penthouse, dressed like that?”
“Like what?” The picture of innocence, if innocence wore lingerie and had a PhD in driving men insane.
“It’s like holding a glass of water in front of a man dying of thirst.”
Her eyebrows shot up, lips forming a perfect O of mock surprise. But I knew exactly what she was doing with that mouth. Knew exactly what would fit in that O.
“Are you saying you find me attractive, Axel Pierce?”
More than any woman who’s ever existed.
“Put some goddamn clothes on,” I said.
Or don’t. God help me, please don’t.
My phone buzzed. A welcome distraction from the Dakota Blackwood torture chamber my living room had become. I could barely focus on the screen, too mesmerized by the way she was now stretching like a cat in the sun.
Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it—the message was like a bucket of ice water.
Ryker: We have a serious problem. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
Shit.
I looked up to find Dakota watching me, her expression shifting from playful to concerned.
“What is it?” she asked, all traces of seduction gone from her voice.
“Ryker said we have a problem.”
“We, as in the fake engagement? Or we, as in you and your buddy?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if he’s on his way at this hour, whatever it is must be bad.”