Chapter 6 #4
"Yes, I just..." I trailed off, my heart pounding traitorously in my chest as Cam's gaze held mine.
I did not want to argue in front of my parents, my bosses, or the Redline executives, so I let him lead me to the dance floor, where other couples were already swaying to the music.
His arm slid around my waist, drawing me close until we were heart to heart.
His hand held mine against his heartbeat.
The solid warmth of him surrounded me, the scent of his cologne making my knees weak. Had he always smelled this good, or was this some new torture specifically designed to make me lose my mind?
"You're staring at my neck," Cam whispered, a smile in his voice.
"Just making sure your tie is straight," I lied, quickly looking up to meet his eyes. Big mistake. The amusement dancing in those ocean blues was worse than the cologne.
"My tie has been straight for four hours," he murmured, his thumb now making small, devastating circles against my lower back. "But please, feel free to keep checking."
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore how perfectly we fit together, how his body seemed to remember mine from that one night so long ago.
"Where'd you get your dance moves?" I asked. "From all those models from your calendar shoots?"
His eyebrow shot up. "You've seen my calendar?"
"It was research," I said primly.
"Thorough research, I hope," he replied, pulling me a fraction closer. "Did you spend extra time on August? That's the one where I'm shirtless on the beach with just a hockey stick."
I nearly tripped over my own feet. "There is no August beach photo."
"Gotcha." His grin was downright wicked. "But now I know for sure you looked through the whole thing."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "That's just good PR."
"Sure it is, Cupcake Queen."
When he spun me, the movement was so smooth and controlled it felt like flying, I couldn't help the small gasp that escaped my lips.
"See? Not so bad," he murmured against my ear, his breath sending a tingle that worked its way down my neck and was now pooling low between my thighs.
"Not bad at all, Murphy," I admitted, my voice embarrassingly breathy. I could feel the rumble of his chuckle against my chest, the vibration doing absolutely nothing to help my composure. Keep it together.
"You look exquisite tonight, Lana," Cam said, his voice low and intimate. His eyes traced over my face like he was memorizing it. "But then, you always do."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Hitman," I said, trying to sound unaffected while my body was actively staging a full rebellion.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Is that a challenge, Ms. Decker?"
My breath hitched, and I swore my heart was pounding so hard he must feel it. "Maybe it is."
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there on the dance floor. I found myself tilting my chin up, just slightly, an involuntary invitation I wasn't ready to acknowledge. I snapped it back down to my clavicle in self-defense.
"Game on, then," he murmured, his voice filled with promise. But instead of kissing me, his hand slid just a fraction lower on my back, still perfectly appropriate but somehow infinitely more intimate.
"You realize what you've done, right?" I asked quietly, desperate to break the tension. "A whole weekend with my family. They'll expect us to be..."
"Happy? In love?" His mouth curved in a smile that sent my stomach into a triple axel. "I think I can manage that. The question is, can you handle me for a whole weekend, Decker?"
"I manage you every single day of my professional life," I countered.
"But this is different," he said. "This weekend, you have to pretend you actually like me."
"Who says I'm pretending?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His step faltered – barely noticeable, but there. I'd surprised him. Good. Let him be the off-balance one for once.
"Still think we're faking this?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me like a bass line.
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away from the intensity in his gaze. "Convincing doesn't mean real," I whispered, but even to my own ears, my voice wavered with uncertainty.
"Keep telling yourself that," he said softly. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, sending another jolt through me. "But that dress has been saying something else all night."
The dance ended, and he stepped back, breaking the spell that had momentarily surrounded us. I felt oddly bereft without his arms around me, like I'd lost something essential that I hadn't known I needed.
"I need a drink," I muttered.
"That makes two of us," Cam agreed, his eyes never leaving mine. "Do you need something cold?" he winked.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations, small talk, and carefully maintained appearances. Cam played his role perfectly – attentive but not overbearing, affectionate but appropriately restrained, charming everyone from veteran coaches to rookie players' nervous dates.
By the time we finally made our excuses and headed toward the exit, my feet ached from hours in heels and my cheeks hurt from smiling. The weight of the ring on my finger felt both foreign and strangely right, a paradox I didn't have the energy to examine too closely.
In the relative privacy of the hotel car, I finally turned to Cam, unable to contain myself any longer.
"We'd love to come to the beach?" I hissed, mindful of the driver just feet away on the other side of the privacy shield. "Really, Cam?"
He had the grace to look slightly abashed, but there was a stubbornness in his jaw that told me he didn't regret his decision. At all.
"What was I supposed to say? 'No thanks, Mrs. Decker, we're only pretending to be engaged for a sneaker deal'?"
"You could have let me handle it," I countered. "Instead, you've committed us to an entire weekend of... this." I gestured between us. "With my family. Who know me better than anyone."
Cam's expression softened, his hand finding mine in the darkness of the car. "Lana, it's going to be fine. We've got this. And honestly? It's better this way. The more people who believe we're actually together, the more convincing it is for everyone else – including Redline."
I knew he was right, logically speaking.
The weekend at Siesta Key would solidify our cover story, provide more social media opportunities, and further the narrative we were trying to create.
But the thought of maintaining this charade with my family – of basically lying to the people I loved most – felt like a step too far.
"Hey," Cam said softly, noticing my distress. "If you really don't want to go, I'll call your mom tomorrow. I'll make up an excuse. We can find another way."
His willingness to back down should have made me feel better. Instead, it made the knot in my stomach twist tighter. Because the truth was, despite all my reservations, despite all the reasons it was a terrible idea...
Part of me wanted to go.
Wanted to pretend, just for a weekend, that this was real. That Cam and I were actually engaged, actually planning a future together, actually in love in the way he'd described so convincingly to my parents.
"No," I said finally. "You're right. It makes sense… strategically. We'll go."
Cam studied me for a moment, as if trying to determine whether I meant it. Finally, he nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Too late now anyway," he said, leaning back against the leather seat. "Better pack that bikini, CupcakeQueen."
I rolled my eyes at him dramatically, "Whatever you say, Puck Daddy."
He roared with laughter, his features lighting up like he was up on the big screen, "That's my girl."
And despite everything – the stress, the confusion, the growing fear that I was in way over my head – I couldn't quite suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.
Because as much as I wanted to deny it, there was something terrifyingly real hiding beneath the surface of our carefully crafted lie. And the longer we played this game, the harder it became to remember where the act ended and the truth began.