Chapter 12 Nicolas
nicolas
We were really doing this.
“Hey.” I leaned against my car, grinning at her. It was easy to act like this—to be the cocky, playboy guy everyone loved. It was far harder to be real, to divulge every truth about myself and lay myself bare in front of the woman I wanted, the woman who was mine, and yet I couldn’t have.
“Hi.” Zofia gave me a small smile, suitcases ready at her side for our trip to Vegas.
That was when I realized—she was wearing it. My heart practically skipped a few beats with the realization that Zofia was wearing my ring. Why did that satisfy some primal part of me?
Why did I like it so much that the ring I’d painstakingly chosen looked so perfect on her?
“You’re wearing it.”
She rubbed it absentmindedly, like she was still trying to get used to it. “Yeah. I just figured, well… We’re doing this, aren’t we? It’s like a practice run before we tell the rest of the world.”
“Yeah.” My voice was rough. It felt like we were discussing a business contract, not our marriage. “Ready to go?”
Zofia turned, looking back at her apartment. “Yeah. My brothers are going to come over this week to check on Duchess. So…” she hummed, rocking on her heels.
“We should probably practice,” I blurted out.
“Practice?” Zofia froze, her eyes wide. “Practice what?”
I shot her a look. “You know what, Gorgeous.” My hands wrapped around her waist as I pulled her between my legs, trying to ignore how fast my heart was pounding.
“Why do we need to practice?” Her voice was calm and collected, totally the opposite of how I was feeling inside.
“Because we want people to think we’re in love, Zo. This will never work if we can’t touch each other openly.” I brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and she bit her lip. “It’s not like we haven’t before,” I reminded her.
She shook her head, her hands curling over the edges of my desk. “We agreed—”
Letting my hands rest on her thighs, I rubbed them absentmindedly, watching her eyes dip down to my lips. “I know,” I said, voice soft. “Do I… make you uncomfortable?”
“Oh, Nic. No.” Zofia shook her head. “Of course not. You never have. That’s not the problem.”
“So what is?” I was well aware of how husky my voice sounded, how close together we both were.
“You know what,” she said, echoing my sentiment.
Yeah, I was pretty sure I did. “Kiss me,” I begged. “All I can think about is having your lips back on mine.”
“Nicolas—” She gave a weak whimper of protest, but didn’t stop me when I slid my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me until our lips were almost touching.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmured. “If you don’t want this, push me away. We can tear up that contract right now and pretend like none of it ever happened. But if you want this—want me—then kiss me, Zofia.”
Her lips were on mine before I could blink, soft and warm and inviting, everything I’d dreamed about over the last few months.
Zofia wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me harder, our mouths devouring each other in what promised to be a repeat of before.
I groaned into her mouth as she opened for me, her tongue sliding against mine, the kiss turning deeper, more urgent.
She tightened her hold on the back of my head, fingers gripping my hair as I pulled on her bottom lip with my teeth before kissing her again, lips moving against hers like I couldn’t get enough.
Because I couldn’t. When we pulled apart, panting, I rested my forehead against hers.
“Think that’s good enough to convince them?” she asked, nipping at my bottom lip one last time.
It was a reminder of what this was. Practice.
Fuck. I smoothed a hand over my face, trying to calm my body’s reaction to her mouth on mine. My cock was already half-hard in my pants, pressing against the zipper angrily.
“Yeah, gorgeous. Kiss me like that, and I don’t think we’ll have any problems with people believing we’re in love.”
I willed my erection to go away, trying to think of the least sexy things possible. Anything but my fake fiancée, standing next to my car, lips swollen from kisses. Our no sex rule was definitely going to be the death of me.
And we had a flight to catch.
“Showtime,” I told her, opening the door for her. I pressed a kiss to her forehead before rounding the car, buckling myself in.
It had been hard enough to keep my hands off of her in the office these past weeks. Now that we were fake engaged, and she was wearing my ring? It was a temptation almost too hard to pass up.
But I needed to.
After this week, we’d get married and she’d move into my place. She’d be so deeply entrenched in my life, I couldn’t possibly get her out.
I needed her like I needed air.
But we had an agreement, and I knew it wasn’t like that for Zo.
So I wouldn’t push her. I was letting her have the reins because I knew what I wanted—her.
For better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.
And yet, even knowing what we agreed, she still wasn’t mine.
Which is why I wasn’t allowed to touch her. Wasn’t allowed to feel her skin against mine.
Because it was irresponsible to give in to this heat between us again.