Chapter VII The Bark Side （Lena） #2
From the way Brady looks at me, it’s working. Or something is working for him.
“It has to look authentic,” he says.
“A whole year of my life. Awesome.”
“This has to work for me too,” he says gruffly. “A one-year gig for a million dollars up front—that’s more than fair, Sass.” He stands loosely yet firmly, a statue carved in raw emotion.
I hate that it looks so good on him.
Then again, he’s got the jawline and the soul-stripping eyes that look good with everything.
“One year,” I muse. “I think I can handle that.”
For Pawsome Hearts, I will. Really, what’s one measly year of my life when it could keep the clinic alive?
It might even give us a fighting chance to revive its former glory. Dr. Ezzie had the love but not the energy. If new people come in with passion and heart, there’s no telling how we could turn it around.
“So, let’s hear it. What am I in for?” I ask.
“Your obligations, you mean?” He stops to think.
I do my best not to notice the sharp way his gaze flicks across the water, watching a huge cargo ship pass by.
“We’ll need to make some public appearances.
Mandatory and tightly controlled, especially early on.
We’ll want the shit-stirrers and local media to see us on our own terms.”
Sensible. Unfortunately.
I breathe through stabbing anxiety.
The attention can’t be much worse than the current mess, and this time I’ll know it’s coming.
“You’ll have to meet my parents too,” he says carefully. “I’ll keep them the hell away as much as possible, but to really sell it on my end, you’ll have to play girlfriend.” He pauses, and his eyes lock on mine. “At some point, we’ll probably have to be engaged.”
Engaged.
Deep breath, Lena.
I don’t know how I ignore the sheer panic ripping through me, but somehow I manage not to freak.
This is what high-paid fakery involves. And if I want to save Pawsome Hearts, I need to commit now.
It won’t be forever.
“Okay, understood.”
“We should also discuss physical boundaries. Better now than later, to clear up any misunderstandings.” That razor-sharp gaze slides back to me, weirdly gentle behind his intensity.
If a shark could apologize before snacking on a fish, this is what it would look like.
“Physical boundaries,” I repeat numbly.
Why does it feel like it’s ninety degrees outside?
“What you’re comfortable with, specifically. Obviously, there has to be some touch.”
Some touch.
Oh my God, stop.
There’s only so much my heart can take before it shorts out.
“. . . What are you suggesting?”
“Holding hands, for one. Hugging, kissing, nothing too scandalous. About what you’d expect for public affection.”
“Kissing?” My voice squeaks.
Sit down, you prude. You’ve kissed men before.
But I’ve never fake-kissed them.
And I’ve certainly never wrestled lips with a man descended from the Olympian gods of this city.
I’ve just bitten off way, way more than I can chew.
“That’s what couples do, yeah. Don’t tell me you’re that clueless?” Brady’s smile returns, more wicked than ever.
“I know what lovers do, idiot. Spare me the birds-and-the-bees lecture.”
“Good, then you get why it’s nonnegotiable.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “That’s . . . fine, I guess. I can kiss.”
“Can you?” He narrows his eyes.
“Yes! I mean, it would be weird if we didn’t, right? People would talk.”
“They would.” His devilish grin slices me in two.
“Cool, then it’s settled.”
Good thing I’m not trying to get him to date me for real.
I looked into him thoroughly when I did my Google stalking. So much spilled tea that causes him so much grief today.
Scorned models.
Dicey hookups.
Public spats.
Casual affairs with women whose appearance is their livelihood and who owe enough in taxes to make me pale.
I am so not in his league. Not even in the same zip code.
I mean, I clean up okay.
But there are levels to social value. And what’s the point of getting your nails done pretty when tomorrow you might be cleaning up puppy barf?
“Well, if that’s the nitty-gritty, I guess we’re done. You should get going before people notice us together,” I say.
“Isn’t that the point now?” Brady’s eyes spark.
Ugh, it is.
“But not until we have a contract in place.” I hold up my hand. “Thanks for the apology, though. And for reassuring me you’re not a pile of tapeworms in a suit.”
Snorting, he looks at the hand I extend, then my face.
His lip curls, feral and sensual in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
Then he steps closer, knocking my hand away, and catches my face in his hands. His palms feel so warm against my cheeks.
But it’s nothing like the hellfire when his lips meet mine.
Holy flaming shit.
For a second, I’m too stunned to react.
I’m not sure I can react.
My knees lose their structural integrity as he hits me with high-voltage Brady Pruitt passion.
Blazing breath.
Teeth. Lips. Tongue.
All him.
We haven’t signed a thing yet, but he’s looting my mouth.
And there’s no prayer of pointing that out, because his kiss is too searing to stop. His tongue flicks at my bottom lip, and my mouth opens without meaning to.
This man is a master conductor, and right now my body feels like the whole orchestra, singing for him so sweetly, just as he commands.
And oh, this is music.
I’m clinging to him, one hand on his arm and the other fisting his shirt at his waist. Both his hands are still on my face, gentle yet firm as he tilts my head slightly, fitting us together at a better angle.
Fireworks.
Literal fireworks.
My stomach leaps in a way I’ve never experienced. Like I’ve swallowed a whole summer’s worth of butterflies.
Super cheesy. But super real.
Is this what kissing is supposed to feel like?
Or have I just been kissing the wrong men all my life?
Or maybe—the thought irks me, though I don’t know why—he’s just kissed enough women that he’s an expert in the dark arts of sex.
That’s the most likely explanation.
I tell myself I don’t care as his tongue roams mine and his fingers press into my cheek, adding this roughness I shouldn’t like.
I definitely don’t mind that he’s turned my body liquid.
That shameless surrender spreads from my knees to the rest of me too soon.
If he didn’t have another hand on my back, holding me up, I’d be so screwed.
Pretty sure I still am, because I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
If he wasn’t so good at this, I’d also say I’ve just forgotten how to kiss. Because this kiss tells me I never knew.
But his lips move slowly and suggestively—all sharp, silent words—until only primal instinct remains.
When he moves away, I follow him before I catch myself and jerk back.
No way. I can’t be doing this.
I can’t seek his warmth, dick-matized by a near-stranger I wanted to strangle half an hour ago.
Right now, I’m nothing but bad instincts, and most of them are lodged in my lower belly. There’s an ache between my thighs I haven’t experienced in ages, pulsing so intently it scares me.
Holy shit, this is bad.
And that was quite possibly the best kiss of my life.
Speechless.
“Practice, Sass. Don’t look so shocked,” he tells me.
My mouth opens, and I fully intend to say something witty and harsh, but all I can manage is “What the hell?”
Clever. That’ll show him.
“I’ll have my people send over the paperwork soon. Tell me you get it when it comes through.” He has the audacity to salute as he walks away.
Looking utterly unaffected.
And I think I’m back to hating his smug, arrogant ass, even if he’s converted me to the dark side.
Just not like before.
Not when it’s also possible that I’ll never forget this shredding, world-tilting kiss for as long as I live.
And that’s the worst part.
There’ll be more kisses like that coming, and soon they’ll fill my head until I forget how to keep my guard up.