Chapter 22
SIX FOOT FOUR INCHES OF A TERRIBLE IDEA
DAVINA
I balanced the Thai food bags against my hip while trying to unlock the door, with the key he'd given me that morning.
“Honey, I'm home,” I called out, the words dripping with sarcasm.
Dallas appeared from the kitchen, and my stupid heart did a little skip that I firmly told it to stop doing.
He'd changed into worn jeans and a gray Henley that clung in ways that made my mouth water.
The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that had no business being that distracting.
His hair was pulled back, and there was a small tear in the knee of his jeans that my eyes kept finding.
“How very 1950s of you,” he said, taking the bags from me. His fingers brushed mine, lingering just a second too long, and I definitely didn't notice how warm they were or how that warmth seemed to travel up my arm. “Though I think you're supposed to have a martini ready for me, not Thai food.”
“I'll keep that in mind for never.” I followed him to the living room, hyperaware of the way his shoulders moved as he walked. “How did the pet integration go?”
“Karen established dominance by breaking my fruit bowl. Ricky yapped for thirty-eight minutes straight. I may have mild hearing damage.”
“Only thirty-eight? That's progress.” I kicked off my heels and tucked my legs under me on his comfortable couch, noticing how his eyes tracked the movement. “He once barked for three hours because a leaf moved outside my window.”
Dallas handed me a plate, his fingers brushing mine again, definitely on purpose this time, and started unpacking the containers. “Pad Thai?”
“Obviously.”
“Spring rolls?”
“Always.”
“Spice level that would make normal humans cry?”
“Is there any other kind?”
He grinned, and damn him for having such a good smile. “We might survive living together.”
“It's only six months,” I reminded him, trying not to think about how his cologne was already becoming familiar. “We can survive anything for six months.”
“Minimum,” he corrected, settling next to me on the couch. Not at the other end like I expected. Right next to me.
I focused on twirling my pad Thai, determined not to notice the way his thigh was almost touching mine, how if I shifted just slightly, we'd be pressed together from hip to knee. He stole one of my spring rolls, reaching across me to do it, his chest brushing my shoulder.
I smacked his hand with my chopsticks, trying not to notice the way my pulse jumped at the contact. “Ow. Violent.”
“Thief. Get your own spring rolls.”
“We're married. What's yours is mine.” His voice dropped on the word married.
“That's not how fake marriages work.”
“How would you know? How many fake marriages have you been in?”
“Including this one?” I blinked sarcastically. “One too many.”
He laughed, the sound vibrating through me since we were sitting so close.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, some cooking show playing quietly on his massive TV that we weren’t really watching. I was too aware of every tiny movement Dallas made, every shift that brought us closer or pulled us apart.
“Speaking of our arrangement...” His voice had that quality that made me want to lean in, like he was about to share a secret.
“That's never a good start to a sentence.”
“We need to talk about the public affection thing.”
I nearly choked on a piece of chicken. “The what now?”
“Public affection. Hand-holding, casual touches...” He paused, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Kissing.”
“Kissing,” I repeated, my voice embarrassingly high, my eyes dropping involuntarily to his mouth.
“We're supposed to be newlyweds. People are going to expect us to be...” He waved his hand vaguely, but his eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made breathing difficult. “Affectionate.”
“Right. Affectionate.” I set my plate down. “So what are you suggesting?”
“We should practice.”
I stared at him, at the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Practice. You want to practice kissing.”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”
“That's because it is ridiculous.”
“Is it though?” He shifted closer, his knee pressing against mine now. The henley stretched across his chest as he turned toward me. “Think about it. First time we kiss in public, if it's awkward or uncomfortable, people will notice.”
His eyes kept dropping to my lips, and I was doing the same thing, cataloging the curve of his mouth, the stubble along his jaw.
“The point is, we need to look natural. Comfortable. Like we've done it a thousand times.”
My heart raced uncontrollably. I could feel my pulse in my throat, in my wrists, between my thighs. “And you think practicing will help.”
“I think it can't hurt.” He reached out, fingers ghosting over my hand, tracing the veins on my wrist with a touch so light it made me shiver. “Unless you're scared.”
“I'm not scared of kissing you.” The lie came out reflexively, breathlessly.
His eyes darkened. “Prove it.”
“What are we, twelve?”
“Davidson. We got married. We've already kissed. We just don't remember it.”
“That doesn't count.”
“Exactly my point. Shouldn't the first kiss we remember be private? Or would you prefer an audience?” His hand was still on my wrist. “Don't you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“What it's like. If we're... compatible.”
The word compatible shouldn't have sounded that dirty. I hated that his logic made sense. I also hated that he was this close, smelling this good, and looking at me like he wanted to devour me.
“Fine,” I heard myself say. “For the sake of public appearances.”
“For the sake of public appearances,” he agreed, but his voice had dropped an octave.
He brought his hand up to my face slowly, giving me time to pull away. But I didn't. His fingers slid into my hair, and my breath caught at how good it felt, the slight tug as he angled my face up toward his.
“Your hair is so soft,” he murmured, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, and I wondered if he could feel how hot my skin had become, if he could feel my pulse racing under his fingers. “Still okay?” His breath fanned across my lips.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My hands were on his chest, and I could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine.
“We should make it look natural,” he whispered, leaning in until our lips were barely an inch apart. “Like we do this all the time. Like I know exactly how you like to be kissed.”
“Right. Natural.” The word came out embarrassingly breathy.
His other hand found my waist, fingers spreading wide, burning through the thin fabric of my blouse. I was suddenly very aware of every point of contact between us—his hand in my hair, on my waist, my palms flat against his chest, our thighs pressed together.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah?” His nose brushed mine, and I felt the contact everywhere.
“Stop talking.”
He grinned, and then his lips were on mine, and my brain completely evacuated the premises.
It started soft, tentative, like we were both waiting for the other to pull back and laugh about what a stupid idea this was, but neither of us did.
His lips were softer than I'd expected, moving against mine with a gentle pressure that made me sigh into his mouth.
But then that sigh made him groan, and his hand tightened in my hair.
I made a sound I definitely didn't mean to make, something between a whimper and a moan, and tentative went straight out the window.
He kissed like he did everything else, with absolute confidence. His tongue traced my bottom lip, a request and a demand all at once, and I opened for him without thinking, my hands fisting in his Henley, pulling him closer.
The first touch of his tongue against mine made us both gasp. He tasted like Thai spices, and I was instantly addicted. He kissed me deeper, slower, harder, like he was mapping out exactly what made me moan.
And God, I was moaning.
His teeth caught my bottom lip, and his hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me against him until I was straddling his thigh.
I could feel how affected he was, the evidence of his arousal pressing against my hip, and it made me bold.
I traced my tongue along his bottom lip before sucking it gently, and the growl he made shot straight through me.
His hand guided me by my hair, angling my head to kiss me deeper, harder, and I was drowning in it, in him.
My hands slipped under his Henley, fingernails scraping against his abs, and he broke the kiss to groan against my mouth. “Fuck, Davina.”
The sound of my name made me grind against his thigh without thinking. His hands went to my hips, not to stop me but to guide me, and we were definitely crossing all kinds of lines here.
“We should…” he started, but I kissed him again, swallowing whatever responsible thing he was about to say.
This kiss was different. Hungrier. His teeth scraped against my bottom lip, and I gasped, giving him better access.
He took full advantage, his tongue doing things that made me imagine what else that mouth could do.
My entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and focused on him, his hands, his mouth, the solid warmth of his body under mine.
I pulled back only when oxygen became absolutely necessary, both of us breathing hard. His pupils were completely blown, lips swollen and red. His hair was a mess from my fingers, his Henley twisted, and there were probably nail marks on his stomach.
“So,” I managed, my voice completely shot. “That was...”
“Yeah.” His hands were still on my hips, which was not helping my ability to think.
“I think we're good. For public.”
“Definitely good.” He hadn't let go of me yet, seemed incapable of it. “Very believable.”
“Super believable.”
“Maybe we should practice again. You know. To make sure.”
“Dallas...”
“Right. Bad idea.” But his eyes were on my mouth again, and I was leaning in again, and…
Karen chose that moment to jump on the couch, meowing loudly and effectively killing the moment. We sprang apart like teenagers caught by our parents, me scrambling back to my side of the couch, him adjusting himself with zero subtlety.
“Your cat has terrible timing,” Dallas said, his voice completely wrecked.
“Brooke’s cat,” I corrected, my lips were still tingling, and my whole body was still humming. “And she has excellent timing.”
He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and I had to look away from how good he looked all disheveled. “Right. We should... establish some ground rules.”
“Ground rules. Yes. Good idea.” I grabbed my plate again, needing something to do with my hands that wasn't touching him. “Rule one: practice kissing is only for practice.”
“Obviously.” He adjusted himself again, and I pretended not to notice.
“Rule two: no kissing unless necessary for public appearances.”
“Makes sense.” His voice was still rough.
“Rule three...” I searched for anything to add distance between us and what just happened, even though I could still feel the ghost of his hands on me. “No falling in love with me.”
He laughed, but it sounded slightly strangled. “Same goes for you. No falling in love with me.”
“Please. Your ego doesn't need that kind of boost.”
“My ego is perfectly sized, thank you.”
“That's what they all say.” My eyes dropped involuntarily to his lap before snapping back up, and his grin turned wicked.
“I noticed you didn't complain a minute ago.”
“We're not talking about a minute ago.”
“No? Because I could talk about it. In detail. Like that sound you made when I…”
“Dallas.”
“Or the way you were moving against…”
“DALLAS.”
The banter felt safer, more familiar than whatever had just happened between us, even if it was charged with new tension.
We went back to eating, the cooking show droning on in the background, both of us determined not to talk about the kiss.
But I could feel him watching me, and when I snuck a glance at him, his eyes were dark, focused on my mouth like he was replaying it too.
“For what it's worth,” he said finally, his voice carefully neutral, “I think we'll be very convincing tomorrow.”
The thing was, for a minute there, it had felt too real. The way my body was still humming, the way I wanted to climb back onto his lap and continue our practice... that was exactly the problem.
“Yeah,” I agreed, stealing one of his spring rolls in retaliation for earlier, trying not to think about how his mouth had tasted. “We'll be perfect.”
“Davina?”
“Mm?”
“We're probably going to have to kiss in front of my family.”
I nearly choked again. “Right.”
“Just so you're prepared.”
“Prepared. Right.” I was the opposite of prepared. I was completely unprepared for Dallas Dodger and his stupid perfect mouth and the way he kissed like he was trying to ruin me for anyone else.