Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Eva
I’ve been smiling so much tonight, my cheeks actually hurt.
This dinner, which I thought would feel awkward or stiff, has been surprisingly fun. I’ve spent most of the evening watching Esteban and Noah charm the McNeals with their pitch, and honestly, it’s been something to witness. They’re smooth, polished, professional, and just so damn convincing.
I’ve seen glimpses of this side of my brother before, but never Esteban’s. He’s confident, quick on his feet, and totally in his element. And, God help me, he looks incredible.
The sleeves of his light green button-up are rolled neatly at the forearms, drawing my attention to the tan skin and the veins that snake down his arms. Why are veins suddenly sexy?
Like, medically, what is wrong with me? Every time he shifts or lifts his glass, those damn veins flex, and all I can think about is licking them.
His beard is trimmed to perfection, and every time he looks at me with that playful glint in his eyes, it gets harder to remember that we’re just pretending. Because the way he’s watching me doesn’t feel fake. Not even a little bit.
And then there’s the way he leans in when he talks to me, low and warm, his cologne curling through the air and wrapping around me like it knows all my weaknesses.
I’m starting to think this man was engineered in a lab to destroy me.
He smells so damn good, looks like every sin I’ve ever wanted to commit, and sits next to me like he belongs there.
I try to keep reminding myself that this is all pretend. But my brain is no match for my hormones right now.
Because honestly, I want to kiss him. Like, really kiss him. Push him back against this fancy velvet chair and make out like we’re in some teenage rom-com with no sense of public decency.
Who am I?
I feel like a possessed woman. Like someone hijacked my body and replaced it with a thirst trap in heels. And it’s not just that he looks good, he’s charming, relaxed, warm in a way that feels... easy. Familiar. Safe. Dangerous. It’s ridiculous.
I offered myself up for this. Volunteered. And now here I am, fighting off dirty daydreams in the middle of a business dinner, wondering if I’ve made the worst mistake of my life. Because here’s the kicker—I don’t even know if the attraction is real from his part.
What if he’s just really good at this? What if the way he leans in, the way he looks at me like I’m the only woman in the room, is all part of the act?
God, I hope not. Because if it’s not real, I am completely, utterly screwed.
Across the table, Noah keeps stealing glances our way. He’s trying hard to play it cool, but I know my brother. His jaw ticks every time Esteban touches my hand or gets a little too close. He hasn’t said a word, but the protective big brother energy radiates off him like a low hum.
I’m trying to stay focused on the conversation, but every now and then, my gaze drifts back to Esteban. And every single time, he’s already looking at me.
I swear he doesn’t even blink.
After a few more minutes of sipping wine and smiling through a story Mr. McNeal is telling, I quietly excuse myself to use the ladies’ room. As soon as I step inside, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
The lighting in here is soft and warm, and I catch my reflection in the mirror as I head to the sink.
My long-sleeved dress hugs me just right, and the soft waves in my hair miraculously haven’t completely fallen flat.
I smooth my hands over my hips, trying not to overthink the way Esteban looked at me earlier when I twirled for him at the door.
It’s pretend.
Just pretend.
I reach for a paper towel when my phone buzzes inside my clutch. I frown, pulling it out and unlocking the screen.
Brandon: I miss you. Can we please talk?
Why does he keep insisting? Doesn’t he get my silence? I stare at the words for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen.
We said everything that needed to be said. He made his choice. I blink away the sudden heat in my eyes and lock the phone again. No reply. Straightening my shoulders, I tuck the phone back in my clutch and take one last look at my reflection.
Then I turn around and walk out, ready to sit beside Esteban again and torture myself with dirty fantasies that will never become reality.
On my way back to the table, I feel it before I see it—Esteban’s eyes on me. Like a slow, deliberate pull that zips through my skin and settles low in my stomach. And when I glance up, yep, there it is. That look. The one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the room worth watching.
Tingles race down my spine like a warning and a promise all at once.
When I slide back into my seat beside him, he leans in, voice low and playful near my ear. “I missed you while you were gone. Your brother hasn’t stopped looking at me like he wants to murder me.”
I bite back a laugh and shift slightly so I can peek past him. Sure enough, Noah’s eyes are locked on us, his jaw tight.
I turn back to Esteban, narrowing my eyes like I’m onto him. “Are you doing all of this on purpose?”
“Of course I am.” His chuckle is smug and entirely too sexy. “I love to see him squirm.”
Then his fingers gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I swear my soul almost leaves my body. His hand lingers for half a second too long, warm against my cheek, and I forget how to breathe.
He’s so close. Too close. His green eyes gleam under the restaurant lighting, looking somehow darker and brighter all at once. And the way he’s watching me, like I’m a secret he can’t wait to unwrap, makes it almost impossible to keep pretending this is just for show.
My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid everyone at the table can hear it. And I can’t tell if I want to kiss him, slap him, or drag him into the nearest closet.
Get it together, Eva. He just said that he is doing this to fuck with Noah. He is pretending. Nothing else. Because this is fake. This is acting. This is you, being professional and helpful and completely screwed.
Dinner eventually winds down, the plates cleared, the wine poured one last time.
Conversation stayed smooth after that, thank God, and Esteban had remained close, his hand brushing mine here and there, his eyes lighting up every time I said something even remotely funny.
The McNeals laughed easily, especially when Esteban told a story about how we “accidentally” ended up at a salsa class on our first date.
He’s dangerously good at this. At faking us.
And maybe that should scare me more than it does.
By the time we say our goodbyes outside the restaurant, Mr. McNeal shakes all our hands and leans toward Esteban and Noah with a grin. “We’ll be in touch very soon. Great dinner.”
Mrs. McNeal gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “And I expect an invite to that Puerto Rico beach wedding.”
I laugh, trying not to look at Noah’s face.
They walk off toward their car, and the second they’re out of earshot, Noah pounces.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
His voice is low and sharp, but I feel the way Esteban stiffens beside me. He turns slowly, hands casually tucked into his pockets, completely unfazed. “I’m sorry, what exactly did I do?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Noah steps closer. “The way you touched her? Whispering in her ear like that? You kissed her cheek.”
Josy steps between them, holding up a hand. “Noah, seriously? He didn’t do anything wrong. They were acting. And they did a wonderful job.”
I step in before this explodes. “Noah,” I say, my tone clipped, “you knew this was going to happen. What exactly is your problem with Esteban? I thought he was your best friend. Your business partner.”
Noah doesn’t answer, his jaw grinding.
“I don’t need your protection,” I continue. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself. Esteban’s been nothing but respectful. I feel safe with him.”
Esteban’s brows lift just slightly at that, but he stays quiet. Smart man.
There’s a pause that stretches long enough to feel heavy, and then Josy grabs Noah’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
We walk back to the cars, the tension still clinging to us. I slide into the passenger seat of Esteban’s truck while Noah and Josy climb into their own. Their car peels out first, Noah accelerating so fast as he passes us that there’s no mistaking it—he’s still furious.
The silence in the truck is warm, but not awkward. Still, I can feel Esteban’s jaw tick as he glances in the rearview mirror.
“I’m dropping you off fast,” he mutters. “Before your brother decides to beat my ass in your driveway.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Sorry about that.”
He finally looks at me, and for a second, the playful glint returns to his eyes. “No need. Totally worth it.”
My heart stumbles again.
Was it worth it because he got to touch me, kiss me, and flirt? Or worth it because he got to annoy my brother?
I laugh under my breath, trying to look away, trying to act like his nearness doesn’t undo me. But it does. Everything about him does.
We pull up to the house, and he parks. By the time I open the door, the light of the truck flickers on, casting a soft, golden glow across us.
And as I glance at him under the warm light, the curve of his mouth, the sharp edge of his cheekbone, the way his eyes keep dipping to mine, I feel it again.
That ache.
I’m not so sure if I can keep pretending I’m not having feelings for this man.