Chapter 4
Four
NIX
Ishould leave.
That’s what a truly intelligent man would do.
A man with functioning self-preservation instincts would thank the host, congratulate Parker and Makena one more time, and get the hell out before he does something pathologically stupid.
But it seems my self-preservation is still where I left it last summer, abandoned in Parker’s garden, somewhere between the crushed tomato plants and that perfectly sized zucchini.
Fuck it. Who cares?
Being inside Charlotte is far superior to playing it safe. And what do I really have to lose? If three months on her “must avoid list” hasn’t killed the hunger that rampages through my blood every time she glances my way, saying no to her clever plan isn’t likely to get the job done.
It is a clever plan.
I get what I need, she gets what she needs, and we both head into the holidays better off than we were before. And if we manage to fuck away this burning need that’s haunted me since June while we’re at it, all the better.
Because we will be fucking. There’s no way in hell we’ll be able to pretend to be in love without getting naked again. The chemistry between us is too damned hot.
Self-preservation banished to the far reaches of my mind, I settle into the shadows on Charlotte’s oversized outdoor couch, watching her say goodbye to the last of her staff from the back porch.
Only one string of lights still glows in the trees, casting the yard in a mix of deep shadows and warm amber.
She stands in a patch of amber now, looking like a movie star.
She’s way too hot for normal life.
With her willowy build, supermodel cheekbones, and silky soft hair that lies in perfect waves, Charlotte should be on the set of her next blockbuster, not giving her crew instructions about tomorrow’s cleanup.
“Ten o’clock is fine,” she says, waving a graceful hand through the air.
“Sleep in, enjoy your Sunday. There isn’t that much left to do anyway.
You’ll be able to breeze through it in an hour or two.
Just don’t forget to drop the flower arrangements by the hospital when you’re done.
They’re expecting a donation from us before two tomorrow. ”
Even at the tail end of a long night, she’s the calm, collected woman in charge, every inch the successful businesswoman.
Except I’ve seen her lose control.
I’ve felt it, heard it, and once had the scratch marks down my back to prove that Charlotte doesn’t always keep it Gwyneth Paltrow in Great Expectations cool.
And damn, I’d give just about anything to feel her nails dragging across my skin again…
The party officially ended about half an hour ago. Most of the guests cleared out by eleven, and Parker and Makena left fifteen minutes ago, both of them shooting me curious looks that I pretended not to notice.
It’s too late for talking things over with a friend to help anyway.
The moment Charlotte flashed that sexy smile over her shoulder on the way out of her laundry room, my fate was sealed. Yes, pretending to be in a relationship is bizarre, dishonest, and not something I’d normally be on board with. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
I don’t like to lie, but Plato did warn that people tend to hate those who tell the truth.
Maybe it’s time to give faking it a try…
Too bad there’s nothing false about the way my pulse spikes as the fence gate slams behind the last staff member and Charlotte turns, homing in on where I sit lounging in the shadows.
Looks like I’m not the only one keeping track of where my potential partner in fake love is at all times…
Our eyes collide, the potential energy that simmered between us in her laundry room sparking to life all over again.
She ambles toward the porch steps, her sandals clicking on the paving stones, moving with that sensual grace that reminds me of the way her body flowed against mine when I was buried deep inside her.
By the time she reaches the top step, I’m hard.
She stops a few feet away, propping her hands on her hips as she arches a brow. “Well? What’s the verdict? Are you in or are you out?”
Straight to business.
Very Charlotte.
Or at least, I think it’s very Charlotte.
I don’t actually know her that well, but I will by the time this deal is done. And I’m in. I’m so in. Wish I was “in” at this very moment in fact…
I nod. “I’m in, but I have some thoughts.”
“Thoughts.” She crosses her arms, pushing her cleavage higher, making my cock twitch with an almost painful need. “Care to share?”
“Come here first,” I say, my voice husky.
She hesitates, as if debating whether she wants to play with fire. But less than a beat later, she steps closer. Close enough to see how tight her nipples are beneath her dress…
“I’m listening,” she whispers.
I reach up, wrapping my hand around her wrist and tugging her forward. She resists for maybe half a second before letting me pull her down.
Letting me guide her thighs onto either side of my hips until she’s straddling my lap…
“Do we really think this is a good idea?” she asks, bracing her hands on my shoulders. Her pale green eyes lock on mine, her pupils dilated in the low light.
She looks as hungry as I feel…
“I do.” I slide a hand up her back, relishing the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not the best actor. Especially not when I’m this…distracted.”
“Distracted?” Her lips quirk. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” I confess, threading my fingers into her hair. “Not since June. And I think you feel it, too, Strawberry…”
“So what?” she murmurs, her breath rushing out as I tighten my fist in the silky strands. She’s close enough that I can feel it warm on my lips, smell the champagne and floral scent of her. “We wreck each other one more time? Just to get it out of our systems?”
“One more time might do it.” Using my grip in her hair to my advantage, I angle her face closer to mine.
“I just know there’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate on being the kind of sweet, romantic, devoted fake boyfriend I want to be when…
” I brush my nose lightly against hers. “When all I can think about is being inside of you.”
She lets out a moan that goes straight to my suffering dick before whispering in a rush, “Okay, fine, but just this once. Now kiss me. Hard.”
I don’t make her ask again.
I drag her in, crushing my lips to hers. Her tongue strokes against mine—slow at first, then deeper, bolder—turning the kiss molten. She presses into me, full-body contact, her breasts flattening against my chest as she surges closer.
“I love the way you move,” I growl in between kisses.
“Yes,” she agrees. Her hands slide from my shoulders into my hair, gripping tight as I curl my free hand around her hip and squeeze.
She rocks against me, grinding down on my lap. I groan into her mouth because damn, she feels good. Better than good. Perfect. Like sweet truth and a delicious lie all wrapped up in one sexy package.
“Too many clothes,” she breathes against my lips. “You’re wearing way too many fucking clothes.”
“You’re so right.” I kiss along her jaw, down her throat, tasting salt and perfume and the rapid flutter of her pulse as she tugs at my shirt. “Here, let me help.” I pull away from her lips just long enough to rip my T-shirt over my head.
I barely have time to toss it to the cushion beside me before her hands are on my chest, her nails scraping over my skin.
And yes. Hell, yes.
This is all I want, this woman clawing at me like she can’t get enough, and the knowledge that I’m free to return the favor.
I drag her dress straps down her arms. She’s not wearing a bra, and the sight of her naked from the waist up, backlit by string lights and panting for me, is enough to make my cock start to leak.
I bend, sucking a nipple into my mouth, pulling gently before teasing her with my teeth.
She arches into me with a gasp that sounds like my name as her fingers tighten in my hair, holding me in place.
I give her other breast the same devoted attention while my hand glides up her thigh, under her dress, finding the lace edge of her panties.
“Yes,” she says. “Inside me. Now. Just pull them to the side.”
Always eager to do as my lady wishes, I hook my fingers in the elastic, and fuck…
Fuck, she’s wet, so slick and drenched for me that the last of the blood in my body surges between my legs as I tease my fingers up and down.
I stroke her slow, deep, remembering how she likes it. Needs it. Just a few seconds later, the last vestiges of controlled, composed Charlotte vanish, replaced by a woman shamelessly rocking into my fingers, making sounds that are going to haunt my dreams in the best way.
“Inside,” she demands, breathless and needy. “Now, Nix. God, now.”
“Bossy,” I tease, but I’m already working my belt open, already lifting her so I can shove my jeans and boxers down enough to free my cock.
The second my throbbing length is bare, she reaches between us, wrapping her hand around me. I nearly blackout from the sensation. She strokes me hard once, twice, before positioning me exactly where we both need me to be.
We established in June that we’re STD-free and she can’t get pregnant so there’s no need to worry.
Or to hesitate…
She sinks down on me in one smooth motion, ripping twin sounds of gratitude from our throats that prove how desperately we needed this.
God, I needed this, needed her.
Needed her pussy hot and tight and perfect around me, and her head falling back as she relishes every inch.
She rides me hard and fast, rolling her hips with a grace, an ease that makes it feel like we’ve been fucking for years. Or should have been fucking for years.
I swear to God, it feels like she was made for me. Made to squeeze every inch of me, made to shake me to my fucking core and erase the thought of every other woman—past or future—from my mind.
How could any other woman compare to this?