Chapter Twenty-Two
RHYLAND
M y stomach dipped as soon as our lips touched, a roller-coaster effect I’d never experienced before when kissing someone.
My hand hiked up, cradling her head, fingers threading along the locks of her hair of their own accord as our hot mouths fused together, suckling each other in desperation, as if we were gasping for breath.
She moaned into my mouth, and I seized the moment, slicking my tongue over hers, finding the heat of her and burrowing into it. She tasted like the sweetest nectar, and I found myself edging closer to heaven’s gate, moving my mouth over hers softly at first, searching for the moans and the gasps, trying to gauge how she liked to be kissed—passionately? Sweetly? Ardently? Leisurely?—until I found the perfect pressure that made her ankle vine around mine, her sandaled toes curling.
Our tongues danced together now, and fuck, she knew what she was doing. She teased me with fast, shallow strokes, and every time our kiss got into a rhythm, she gave me a curveball, changing the angle of her head or biting my lower lip. She was playful and confident and famished. I could feel the tension in her muscles dissolving, how her trepidation melted away. She was putty in my arms, fierce but pliant at the same time, and I thought to myself that I’d been doing it wrong for the past thirty years. This was the real deal. The edge of something wild and dark and different.
This one simple kiss was better than a whole night of sex with someone else. It was—
Dylan broke off the kiss, slapping my chest away lightly. “Okay, horndog. That’s enough practice.”
I grudgingly disconnected my lips from hers, sulking—honest to God fucking sulking—down at her.
“You always bust my ass about having sex, but you won’t even let me kiss you properly?” I gently brought her up and eased her body against the wall. Her nipples dug into the fabric of her dress like two bullets. Jesus. She wasn’t wearing a bra. The little sasshole defied gravity too.
“That’s different. Sex would be a mutually beneficial, tit-for-tat arrangement.” She pretended to examine her nails in boredom.
There will be tits, all right.
The mere thought of it made my dick rigid and my balls heavy. I was very close to throwing caution—and a twenty-two-year friendship—to the wind and going for it. I wanted her. Bad.
“If I fuck you, will you let me kiss you again?” I blurted out.
“You’re not doing me a favor.” She snorted out a laugh. “And we can kiss again in two minutes when he arrives. Which reminds me, we need to get inside if we want t—”
“Are you kidding me? Two minutes is a lifetime. Let me kiss you again.” I sounded like I was asking her for a first aid kit to sew my limbs back together. That was the level of desperation we were dealing with.
Pathetic, Coltridge. All you needed was one hit to get hooked.
She smiled incredulously, searching my face. “Oh my God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I’m serious,” I confirmed sullenly. “I want to make sure that first time was a fluke. No way is the next time going to be as good.”
“What will you give me in return?” A gleam of mischief flickered in those dark eyes.
“Whatever you want,” I croaked. “More money. Unlimited babysitting gigs.” Pause. “You can never have too many kidneys.”
She screwed her mouth sideways, scrunching her nose. “Mine work fine.”
“How about I give you my penthouse for the length of the arrangement?”
Talk about pussy-whipped. Dylan laughed harder at this, and I didn’t know when this whole thing had morphed from funny and light to decadent and tragic, but we were straddling that line like a stripper eager for a fat tip.
“No, thanks. But I would love it if you could take Grav to a Mommy and Me class once a week.”
“Done.” Small price to pay. “Can I kiss you again?”
“What’s with you?” She seemed amused. “I mean, sure. Go for it.”
I dove down again, desperate for that same rush and heat. For the way every cell in my body buzzed with adrenaline and greed.
Tragically, this time was even better. I threw out the handful of fucks I still gave about Dylan being Row’s baby sister. Coaxing her lips open with the tip of my tongue, I met her velvety tongue with mine.
The kiss was playful at first, our tongues dancing together in a rhythm, thrust for thrust. Her hands slid beneath my shirt, nails raking up my torso, making my body break into uncontrollable goose bumps. I licked and kissed and bit the corner of her mouth, making up for…what, all the years I’d missed? All that time she was tucked away in bumfuck Maine, hidden like something precious and forbidden? I was grabbing her by the hips, pressing her core against my hard-on, wondering if we were going to get arrested for dry humping in public—and half hoping we would, since that’d mean more alone time with her—when a Southern drawl pierced through my skull like an arrow.
“Dadgum it, Coltridge, you’re mauling the poor lil miss like a fox out for cattle!”
Dylan’s lips stretched into a grin against mine. “I think your plan is working, family guy,” she whispered into my lips.
It took all my self-control and a few other pedestrians’ willpower to right her against the wall and smooth out my fake fiancée’s dress. I turned to flash Bruce my cocksure smirk. He was striding his way over from a black Escalade. Luckily, my casual shirt was on the longer side, so it hid my enthusiasm for my newfound hobby of eating Dylan’s face.
“Marshall.” I nodded.
“Tomcat.” He held a thick envelope, which he pointed at me with a wink. Each time I met him, he looked progressively more Southern, but today took the cake, with his cowboy hat wide enough to shelter an entire hockey team.
“Fine day, ain’t it, Mr. Marshall?” Dylan’s recovery was flawless. She met him halfway and thrust her hand in his direction for a handshake.
He grabbed it and tugged her into a hug, smacking a noisy pucker on each of her cheeks.
“Thanks a lot for the preschool tour. Looks like a great place.”
“Sure is, Lil Miss. And would you look at that stone?” He pressed a rough finger pad to the diamond on her finger when their hands touched and turned her wrist to look at it with a nod of approval. “I say, Coltridge, you’re not as hopeless as I thought you were.”
I advanced toward them unsteadily, stopping beside Dylan and extending a hand to make him stop touching my fiancée. “Anything for my future wife.”
“Gotta love two young lovebirds.” He smacked the envelope onto my chest. “Here. All the details for the private flight and chauffeur that’ll take you to us. The missus and I are looking forward to getting to know y’all better.” His eyes bounced between us, assessing.
“Sounds good,” Dylan chirped, unaffected by Bruce’s obvious distrust. “Grav’s met plenty of ponies in her lifetime, but this’ll be her first stubborn ass.”
Bruce elevated a brow. The little sasshole was giving him attitude. I was torn between kissing her and berating her.
“’Scuse me?”
Dylan batted her eyelashes innocently. “Cherrie mentioned you have a donkey—Eeyore?”
“Dang straight we do.” His eyes lit up in delight. “Not many folks know this, but donkeys are smarter than horses. Don’t get scared as easily.” He stuck a red Marlboro to the side of his mouth, pulling a box of matches from his front pocket. He struck a match and held it to his cigarette, waving the match back and forth between us. “And lemme just give you a heads-up, I ain’t completely sold on that app of yours. Been makin’ some calls to people who know you through the grapevine, Coltridge. No one but Tate Blackthorn could vouch that you have any type of marketing and social media experience. And I trust Blackthorn just a tad less than I trust last year’s weather forecast.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Oh, got my reasons,” he muttered darkly. “Five hundred and thirty million of them.”
I gathered from this that Tate had screwed him over. Well, he was welcome to join the never-ending club.
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Marshall.” I placed an arm over Dylan’s shoulder. “I’d like to do business with you, but I’m not about to jump through unnecessary hoops to grant your investment. I have a good product that fills a massive hole in the dating-app market. I did all the legwork. All you have to do is put your already established platform to use and reap what I’ve sowed. If you’re not interested in doing business, that’s fine. Just tell me now so we don’t waste our time.”
“I’m not saying I don’t want to work together. I’m just saying I need more time to study this app of yours.” Bruce puffed his cigarette in my direction with a careless shrug.
It took everything in me not to lash out. I’d seen Tate and Row conducting business. They were always carefully unruffled. And to be fair, when I used to work with Row and when I worked as a fake boyfriend, I always maintained my professionalism too. It was only shit I cared about that riled me up. I cared about this deal greatly.
“That is fine.” I smiled cockily. “If you have any questions, you know where to find me.”
“Oh, I sure do,” Bruce chuckled, turning on his heel. He took a few steps toward the black Escalade waiting for him before he stopped and tossed me a look over his shoulder. “Know what else I heard through the grapevine?”
I glared at him wordlessly. I had a feeling this one was going to hurt.
“That you’re pawning your shit all around town. Are you losing your pants, Coltridge?”
Heat rose up my neck, spreading across my face. I opened my mouth, but Dylan beat me to it.
“I’m teaching him how to be less materialistic. He has no use for all those fancy watches and man jewelry. He’s donating the money to children in need.” She tossed her hair back.
“Which charity?”
“He’s splitting it evenly between Children of America, Locks of Love, and Make-A-Wish Foundation. We won’t be attending the latter’s gala at the end of the month, but we’re sending a check for both our plates and someone to do the bidding for us at the annual auction.”
Holy fucking great liar. Was she a politician or something?
“What’ll you be bidding on?” Bruce remained unaffected.
“The Damien Hirst skull.”
She did not miss a beat. She was frighteningly good.
Bruce’s face softened. “All right, Lil Miss. Either you’re saying the truth or you’re a fantastic liar. I can appreciate both.”
“He’s turning a corner, Marshall.” Dylan patted my ass, and I could see the flare of her eyes when she realized my buns of steel could smash nuts, they were so tight. “I’m civilizing this man. A few more months and he’ll be ready to join society.”
“Careful, or I just might believe you.” He saluted her, slipping past the door one of his assistants held open for him. “See y’all next week for the spice thingy.”
“You mean the thing where you could’ve given us the useless invitation we’ve already RSVP’d?” I hissed sardonically.
He rolled down the backseat window with a shit-eating grin. “Yup. That’s the one. I like to ensure my business partners are willing to drop everything and make time for me, as I tend to do the same for them.”
When the Escalade pulled away from the curb, Dylan tipped her head back and moaned. “Don’t pay me for next week. Send the check to the gala.”
My brow furrowed. “Are you kidding me? You don’t have to do that.”
“Are you kidding me? Lying about giving money to charity? We don’t need this kind of karma on our asses. Plus, he’s not above checking if we secured seats with our names. And ten thousand is a lot of pants—it buys credibility that you have ten thousand in liquidity.”
“You’re right. Fuck. Thank God one of us is smart.” And that someone wasn’t me. I blew out air, delight trickling into my system. Bruce Marshall had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. “We need to practice some more.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying since I got here. Look, I’m not a fan of reverse cowgirl or spooning, but any other position, I’m down.” Dylan hiked her purse string up her shoulder, waggling her brows.
“I mean we need to get to know each other. He’s going to ask us questions we don’t know the answers to.” I rubbed my stubbled jaw.
“Oh. Yeah. That’s what I meant too,” she mumbled, the apples of her cheeks pink now.
She was adorable on top of being sexy. I’d already come to terms with the fact that I was going to fuck this woman and bear the consequences. Even the complete demolition of my life was a price worth paying.
“Like, what kind of things?” She tossed her hair back from her face.
“I don’t know. Favorite color. Favorite band. Favorite sex position.”
“Turquoise. Panic! At The Disco. Sideways sixty-nine.”
Precum pasted my crown to my briefs, my pulse hammering through the length of my dick. “Right. I think we should probably—wait, what’s sideways sixty-nine?”
“It’s the same as the regular one, but lying sideways so you can have eye contact. Pretty cool.”
Not so cool that I imagined her doing it with Tucker and wanted to plummet my fist into his face until he looked like a defiled cherry pie.
“Right. Let’s get inside and unpack all that.” I rubbed my hands together.
“You mean…now?” She frowned.
“Yes. Now.” I gestured to the café in front of us. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s honestly not a selling point for me, but okay.”
“Dylan, you have to stop doing this.”
“Doing what?” She shot me a confused look.
“Being all funny and smart and sexy. Tone it down a little. Be, I don’t know, more like Cal.”
I liked Row’s wife, but she was a disaster area who suffered from frequent bouts of verbal diarrhea and was almost cartoonishly clumsy. I could spend an entire lifetime fake engaged to her without yielding to temptation—or even being tempted.
“No, I can’t.” Dylan grinned cunningly. “If you find me so irresistible, stop resisting.”