Chapter 35
Rhiannon
From our weekly quizzes, I know Robert is grand with either Jameson or Bushmills from the offering behind the bar.
He offered to get drinks, but I needed to walk off some of this nervous energy before the rest of my family arrives.
So, he’s sitting like Billy No Mates at our table, watching my every movement.
There’s been a heat behind his stare since he picked me up, the same kind of heat I saw the day I strode into the bathroom at The Rusty Anchor, and he bent me over the sink.
It’s electrifying, alluring, and there’s a piece of me that wants to reach my fingers to his flame and get fucking scorched to ash.
For the most part, we’ve stuck to the rules.
Aside from an accidental sleepover, we don’t message each other late at night, and we don’t talk about our exes.
He doesn’t pry about rugby, my parents, or my ex, and I don’t press him about why he wrote his article, his accident that resulted in his amputation, or his time in the Middle East.
Some rules are easier to follow than others. The no flirting one is getting kind of hard, especially when he looks good enough to eat, and he’s looking at me like I’m his favorite food and he hasn’t had it in years.
My return to the table is slow, partly because I have two full drinks, and partly because I’m balanced on high heels. Why didn’t I stick it to the patriarchy and put some trainers on? I’ll never learn.
Robert sees my stop-start self and jumps out of his seat to intercept and help me with the drinks.
“Not that you can’t do it yourself.” He grins.
“I just don’t want that beautiful dress getting covered in my whiskey.
” His hand brushes mine as he takes a glass off me and a delicious shiver slithers through my limbs.
We sit, and there’s an electrically charged awkwardness hanging between us as we sip our drinks.
“Good choice.” He tips his glass to me. “You pay attention.”
I give him a thin smile. I can’t hear anything over the roar of my nipples pressing against my dress. I feel like I’ve been reduced to my basic instincts. Hot man, in a tux. And… oh shit. Shit. No. He’s taking off his suit jacket.
Please don’t roll up your shirtsleeves. Please don’t roll up your—I’m done for. He’s turned up his cuffs, flashing his forearms like a total slutty slut. Fuck, they’re such nice forearms.
“Rhiannon?”
I slowly drag my stare from his toned muscles to his face. “Mm?”
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to make a scene.”
My lips quirk. The feeling’s mutual, mate. “It feels weird.” When in doubt, go with rule number twelve, always being honest.
He nods, confirming my suspicion. “It does.” His eyes wander around the room before he knocks his knee against mine. I swallow a groan, because who the hell gets turned on by knocking knees with another human being?
“Is it because we’re in a fishbowl surrounded by people who either want a story from us or who want to kill me?”
The fluttering in my chest tells me it’s nothing to do with anyone else in the room other than the man sitting in front of me.
But I’m not sure I’m brave enough to be that honest. He’s nothing like my ex.
He’s confident in an unassuming way, he acts like he has nothing to prove to the world, like nothing bothers him.
George spends his life at an eleven on the arrogance scale, always eager to flex his superiority over other people.
I didn’t really realize it until I met Robert and wasn’t slapped in the face by his every achievement.
Not everything is a competition with Robert.
I don’t feel that same tightness in my chest every time I open my mouth to say something; I’m not concerned that he’s going to dismiss it, downplay it, or try to one-up it.
Who knew there were people out there who didn’t try to best each other?
It seems the longer I stayed with George, the less aware of our incompatibility I became. I found a groove, a routine, and accepted the status quo without question.
Maybe if I’d paid more attention to my relationship, I’d have left him long ago, and in a much more private manner.
I clear my throat. “Maybe.”
He studies my face, and even though he’s not touching me, my body hums from the proximity, from how he’s almost touching me.
Our legs are an inch apart, our elbows a similar distance, and when he looks at me, really looks at me, it’s like I can feel his stare…
everywhere. “Do you have any other ideas about what could be making this weird?”
Is he fishing? Or simply trying to analyze the situation? I can’t tell. Maybe a little of both. He leans forward and brushes his knuckles across my cheek, and like every romance movie heroine ever scripted, I suck in a sharp breath that makes him smile.
I’m not going to be the person to open my mouth and say things are getting blurry around the edges of our boundaries.
I just need to get through this night, where everyone is wearing the best version of themselves, looking all shiny and enchanting, and tomorrow I’ll go back to being his fake girlfriend. With firm… uh… boundaries.
I swallow.
And forearms.
Very firm forearms.
He knowingly smirks just as my parents and siblings make their way through the sea of bodies and take their seats around our table.
We’re seated at tables of eight, and Robert, my parents, my three siblings and I make seven, so when a man sits next to me and Robert goes as stiff as a board, the air shifts.
“Robert.” The stranger gives my date a smile that brings an acidic swill in my gut. He looks like a predator staring down its prey.
Robert looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, giving a tight-lipped nod to the man sitting on my left. His fingers twitch like he might want to reach for my hand, but he doesn’t.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“You write for the same publication I do, Pete. You know who they are, and they need no introduction.” His voice is cold, hard, unlike the Robert I’ve known for a few weeks. And with just one comment, he’s put the rest of the table on notice that there’s a reporter in our midst.
Another one, I mean.
I have an agreement with Robert that he won’t use our arrangement for the benefit of his career, and so far, he’s given me no reason not to trust him. But this guy… this Pete guy? He’s not giving friendly, warm Robert vibes, you know?
Pete looks at how close I’m sitting to Robert and a knowing smirk spreads across his face. “You always did like to get close to the story, didn’t you, Rob?”
I don’t know what’s worse—being the punchline or being the headline.
Robert falls quiet through dinner, which serves to amp up the tension around the table. Taranis freezes Pete out, my parents chitchat to my sisters across the table, and every now and then they send either a scathing or an inquisitive glance at Pete and Robert.
What’s gone on between the two of them?
“Alright, love birds.” It’s Aoife’s voice that breaks the awkward silence as she points her phone in our direction. “Get together for a picture.” She flaps her hand, ushering us to close the already tiny gap between us.
We give each other a cursory glance and scoot even closer, so close our thighs press together. Fuck. Everything’s pressing together.
Aoife nods, giving us a thumbs up, but before we can pull apart, she yelps, “Wait!”
Oh no. I’ve seen that look in her eye before. I don’t like that look. I don’t trust that look. Whatever’s about to come out of her mouth… I’m not going to like it.
“Now give us a kiss.” She wiggles her brows.
What the fuck is she thinking? She knows this is a fake relationship. She knows it’s for show. Why? Why would she do this to me?
My stomach’s in freefall, my mouth dries up like I stepped out into the Sahara, and my palms get slick with a very unsexy sweat.
Robert gives me a quirky tilt of his lips before he places his lips by my ear. “Sell it, Rhi-Bird.” His words spread an army of goosebumps all over my skin as he drapes one arm over my shoulders to pull me to him, and with the other, he tips my head back to kiss me.
I hold my breath. My heart’s hammering so hard it might escape. His lips barely skim mine as he kisses me, which results in a loud raspberry being blown from my youngest sister.
I’m going to fucking end her.
He’s already so close, he smells so fucking tasty, I want to claw at his penguin suit and get him naked so I can explore his skin, and she wants us to go again?
This is painful. The air super-charged with a hot, aching need.
“Is that the best you can do, McAllister? Kiss the woman.” Clíodhna, the traitorous bitch dares to wink at me.
Time stops as Robert searches my eyes, I’m not sure if he’s silently seeking permission or apologizing for the fact that we’re in the spotlight right now. When his lips slant over mine, I sigh, maybe in relief that he’s actually kissing me.
My mouth parts for him, his tongue enters and sweeps against mine, painfully soft, intimate, and practiced like we’ve done this a thousand times before. But his body is tense, his jaw rigid, and his fingers twitch against mine again like he’s seeking comfort.
This Pete guy seems to have really upended my date. I can’t wait to get the fuck away from him so I can find out why Robert hates him so much his whole body is stiff and unyielding.
Speak of the devil. He mumbles something like, “Guess you’ve found a way to make this article really pop, huh?”
Article? What article?
Ugh. I’ve been here before. The flattery, the focus, the feeling like someone finally sees me for me—until it turns out I was just the convenient route to something they wanted.
But a rush of blood away from my brain tells me I had to have misheard him. And whatever he said isn’t important, only kissing this man until I’m forced to stop.