CHAPTER 6. Connor #3
Wine hums pleasantly through my system as Noah and I make our way back to our cottage, the cool night air a relief after hours at the dinner table.
Maybe it’s the release of finally being away from everyone.
Maybe it’s all the expensive red Daniel kept topping off.
Either way, Noah’s laughter pulls another laugh out of me.
“Your sister has zero filter,” I say, chuckling as we weave slightly along the path. “I kind of love that about her.”
Noah snorts. “That’s only because she wasn’t exposing your entire life over dinner.”
“Give it time,” I add, and he laughs again, the sound carrying across the quiet property.
A little farther down the path, I hear gravel crunch behind us.
I glance back and spot Rick and Cassidy heading the same way, toward the cottage we’re all sharing. They’re far enough behind that I can’t make out what they’re saying, only the low murmur of their voices, but Noah must hear them too. His laughter cuts off. His shoulders tighten.
Without thinking, I slide an arm around his waist and pull him a little closer as we keep walking. I mean it as comfort, nothing more, but the feel of him against my side still sends a sharp jolt through me.
“I’m sorry about the engagement thing,” I say quietly. “That was shitty.”
Noah shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s not like Brad knew…about us.” His voice drops on the last two words, even though there’s no chance Rick can hear him from back there. “And they make sense together anyway. Total power-couple bullshit.”
There’s something sour in the way he says it that makes my chest tighten. He’s trying hard not to show it, but I know this hurts.
“You’re better off,” I say, and I mean it.
Noah tips his face up toward me, his eyes catching the moonlight. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s an asshole who couldn’t deal with who he is. You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you.”
Noah’s smile softens, and I could swear his cheeks look a little warmer in the low light as he leans his head briefly against my shoulder. “Thanks for doing this,” he says. “For being here. It’s making everything so much easier.”
The simple gratitude in his eyes makes something twist inside me. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me like that, with that kind of quiet trust.
We reach the cottage first, climbing the porch steps with the slightly exaggerated care of drunk people trying very hard not to look drunk.
Noah fumbles with the key, laughing under his breath when it takes him three tries to get it into the lock.
I stay close behind him, my hand resting lightly on his lower back, enjoying the warmth of him through his shirt.
For a second, my mind slips somewhere dangerous: into a version of this where we’re not faking anything, where we’ve come back from a night out and I’m behind him like this because I’m about to crowd him through the doorway, get him inside, get my hands on him.
The thought hits hard enough to make my breath catch.
I try to kill it immediately, but my body’s already gone traitor on me, my pulse climbing as heat curls low in my belly.
Finally, the door swings open, and we step inside together, the soft lamplight making the place feel warm and suddenly intimate.
We leave the door open behind us, both aware that Rick and Cassidy are catching up and will be inside soon.
The thought of Rick seeing Noah like this—relaxed, smiling, his guard lowered because of me, not him—sends something possessive through my chest.
As we start up the stairs, I impulsively reach for Noah’s hand and thread my fingers through his. He looks back over his shoulder, surprise flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything or pull away. He just smiles at me again and keeps going, drawing me after him onto the second floor.
The second we step into our room, I hear footsteps downstairs and a muffled conversation drifting up the stairwell. Maybe it’s the wine, or the tension still crackling under my skin from all the touching, but whatever it is, I act before I can talk myself out of it.
The moment we step inside, I pull Noah back toward me and kiss him.
He makes a small sound of surprise, and I swallow it down when he goes tense for the briefest moment.
Then he softens against me, his lips parting under mine.
The kiss isn’t soft. It’s an announcement, a claim staked out where Rick can see it.
Fuck. The taste of him—wine and something sweet, probably the chocolate cake from dessert—goes straight to my head. Maybe I’m just drunk, but this feels too good too fast, like my body recognizes something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
My hand slides to the back of Noah’s neck, my fingers threading into the soft curls at his nape.
I tell myself this is still for show, that I’m doing it because I can hear Rick and Cassidy on the stairs now, close enough that they’ll be passing our door any second.
But the warmth of Noah’s mouth against mine knocks that thought clean out of my head.
I kiss him deeper, angling my head until our mouths fit together better.
It stops feeling like a performance almost immediately and turns into something hungrier.
My thumb drags along the hinge of his jaw, tipping his face up toward mine.
I want him to feel this. I want Rick to see it.
More than that, I want Noah to forget him for one minute.
When his hands come up to grip my shoulders, I expect him to push me back, break the kiss, and ask me what the hell I’m doing. Instead, his fingers tighten, pulling me closer.
That does something dangerous to me.
Without breaking the kiss, I back Noah into the wall beside the door. It’s still open, and from the corner of my eye I catch movement out in the hallway.
My hands get bolder, sliding down his sides to his hips. His body is solid and warm under my palms, fitting too well between me and the wall. Then a sound slips out of him—half moan, half sigh—and it goes straight to my cock, making me hard against his thigh.
Shit. That was not part of the plan.
Then I hear a sharp intake of breath that isn’t Noah’s, followed by a woman’s giggle—Rick and Cassidy catching sight of us as they pass the open door.
I don’t look. I keep kissing Noah, but I’m aware of them, aware of Rick seeing exactly what I wanted him to see: Noah in my arms, flushed and pliant under my mouth.
I slide one hand down and cup Noah’s ass, pulling his hips harder against mine. I’m fully hard now, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel it. I should be embarrassed. Instead I kiss him harder, bracing one hand against the wall beside his head as the footsteps move faster past our door.
A second later, I hear a door open and then shut. Mission accomplished.
The problem is, I don’t stop.
I keep kissing him, my tongue sliding against his as the last of my self-control starts to fray.
His hands are under my shirt now, warm against the bare skin of my lower back, and the feel of them makes a shiver run through me.
We’re not putting on a show anymore. Rick is gone.
It’s just Noah’s mouth, Noah’s body, Noah breathing into me like he wants this as badly as I do.
It’s only when voices carry through the wall from the next room that Noah finally pulls back, breathing hard.
He stares up at me, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from my kisses.
His cheeks are flushed. His hair is mussed where my fingers tangled in it.
He looks dazed in a way that hits me right in the chest.
I step back then, because I have to. Because if I don’t, I’m going to do something even stupider.
I reach past him and push our door shut, the soft click of the latch sounding absurdly loud between us.
“He saw,” I say, barely above a whisper, my voice rough.
It’s a stupid thing to say, and I know it the second it leaves my mouth. My brain is trying way too hard to turn this back into strategy, and all the blood that should be helping it has gone elsewhere.
Noah nods, still leaning against the wall like his legs might not be fully reliable at the moment. “Yeah,” he says, a little breathless. “He definitely saw.”
We stand there for a second, the silence stretching between us. My heart is pounding hard enough to hurt, and I can still taste him.
“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the bathroom, desperate for a minute to get myself under control. “Wash up. Before bed.”
“Right,” Noah says too quickly. “Yeah. Good idea.”
I turn away before he can see how wrecked I still am and head for the bathroom on unsteady legs. Once inside, I close the door and lean against it, exhaling slowly.
The guy in the mirror barely looks like me—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, swollen lips. I’m still hard enough to ache inside my jeans, and I close my eyes, trying to will it down.
What the fuck was that?
It was supposed to be a performance. A way to make Noah’s ex jealous. A way to help him save face. But something happened the second our mouths met, something I wasn’t ready for, something that made me stop caring why I was kissing him in the first place.
I turn on the cold water and splash my face, trying to shock some sense back into myself. Water runs down from my chin as I grip the sink and stare at my reflection.
This is a favor, I remind myself. Noah asked me to play a part.
Whatever just happened, I need to get it under control. This weekend is complicated enough already without me catching real feelings for my fake boyfriend.
Feelings I absolutely, definitely do not have.