Chapter 11
RHETT
Ipull up a chair beside her. Hesitate for a moment. It should probably be for more than a moment.
But then I slip my arm over her shoulder. As gentle as a man like me can be. Slow and steady. She shivers.
“Is this too much?” I say softly, getting ready to snatch my arm away.
But then she makes a humming noise of contentment, and I know it wasn’t a bad shiver. “No,” she says. “I like it, Rhett. It feels nice. Safe. New. And a bunch of other things too.”
We sit in silence for a while. We stare into the night. Bright stars shine from a clear sky, and the moon is a crescent. Like a smile.
“Are you practicing?” she asks. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling.
I make small circles on her shoulders. “Isn’t this what boyfriends do?”
“I’m not sure,” she murmurs. “I’ve never had much practice.”
“Me neither,” I say. “But if we’re going to make this convincing and scare off whoever that was, we better get our act together.”
“Maybe you should start by telling me what you liked most about your girlfriends, then,” she says.
I laugh softly. “Girlfriends? Do you take me for some kind of Casanova or something?”
“Maybe I did until you said Casanova. I didn’t know people still used that term.”
“I’m ancient, Sunshine.”
She looks up at me, lips pursed, eyes vulnerable and sleepy. “Did you just call me Sunshine?”
“I think I did. I promise I didn’t plan it. You can puke if you want.”
“Explain first. Then I’ll decide if I want to puke.”
“It’s what you said about finding the light. Your old photography motto. Guess it stuck with me. And it’s what you do, Elle. You find the sunshine where others can’t.”
“I don’t know about that,” she murmurs. “What makes you say that?”
Yeah, Rhett, what exactly are you talking about?
It’s her past. Obviously. The secret I’m holding. I think about what Mira said earlier—about living in the dream a while longer—and look out at the night sky.
“Call it instinct.”
“Hmm. Anyway, you’re not ancient.”
“Compared to you, Elle. I’ll be thirty-six this year.”
“And I’ll be twenty-five. That isn’t a big deal unless we make it a big deal. It’s…” She hesitates, then laughs gently. “Believable. I think it works for our fake-dating angle. People would believe people of our age would date. But don’t avoid the question. I need data.”
I chuckle. “I’ve never had a long-term relationship.”
“And why’s that?”
“Too busy with work. Being a soldier, then being a cop.”
Then getting justice when the law fails.
She rests her head against my shoulder. “Then maybe we should be glad this is only make-believe, huh?”
I clear my throat. I’m aching for her in a way that makes no damn sense. I just met this woman and yet…
“Maybe,” I say. “What about you, Elle?”
“What happened to Sunshine?”
“You like that?”
“Yeah, actually. I do.”
“You know, Sunshine, if I were your boyfriend, I’d kiss the top of your head right now. Like in the movies. Lean in and kiss you and smell your scent.”
She finds my hand in the dark. Squeezes hard. When she speaks, it’s daring, like she’s taking a chance and knows it. “Then maybe you should do that.”
I move my lips to her hair, breathe her in. She smells of vanilla, and something else, something more primal. When I kiss her head, she makes a soft sighing noise that touches something deep inside me.
“That felt very… convincing,” she murmurs.
“I’m convinced,” I agree.
“So, if you’re determined to pretend, you’re not a ladies’ magnet—”
“Whoa, slow down. What do you mean, pretend?”
“I saw the way those women were looking at you today.”
“What women?”
“Come on, neighbor. The ones power walking down Main Street, the yoga-pants gang. It’s not a big deal. They were just staring.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her, clueless to what she is talking about.
“Oh, really?”
“Seriously.” I look down at her. She’s staring up at me, suspicion in her eyes. “I don’t remember any women, yoga pants, or sweatpants, or any kind of pants.”
“Seriously? Most men would’ve loved that: been flattered at least.”
I search my mind, not wanting to lie to her. Not more than I already am, anyway. “Seriously.”
“Then you’re a different breed, Rhett,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s nuts. Anyway, I was saying… maybe you should tell me what your dream girl would be.”
“You really want to know?” I ask.
“If you tell me, I can try to be more like her. You know, to sell our whole fake-relationship thing.”
“My ideal woman would probably be around twenty-four years old, with perfect gold-colored eyes, a shield of sassiness but a clear, gorgeous layer of vulnerability underneath. She’d be the best big sister any girl could ask for, and a fighter.
Every single day she’d fight. Even when she was scared. Especially when she was scared.”
Elle licks her lips, eyes glistening. I love it when her eyes do that. Shine like she might cry, but she will not let herself. Strength and softness mixing together.
“She’d become a painting while doing something as simple as looking out a window,” I tell her. “Her eyes filling with her own special point of view, an angle only she sees. Finding the light, Elle, that’s what she’d do.”
“This hypothetical girl,” she whispers.
I lean in close. Knowing I shouldn’t do this, not yet. Not until she knows. Knowing I could break a little girl’s heart if I shatter the dream too soon. Or is that just an excuse?
She turns away, sucks in a breath. I’m moving too fast.
“What about you?” I ask, massaging her shoulder again. Calming myself down. “I need data too, Sunshine.”
“I’ve never really thought about it,” she says softly. “But I think I’d want a man who understands that I’m a human being.”
“That’s a low bar, Elle.”
“It’s rarer than you’d realize.”
“Of course you’re a human being,” I practically snarl.
“Some men want a woman to fit neatly into a little box. To do all the right things at the right time. I just want… a person, treating me like a person. Two people going through life doing people-y things.”
I lean down and kiss the top of her head again. “Like I said. Low bar. You should think of something more than that. Expect more than that.”
She sighs. “I always thought I’d stay single for a long, long time anyway.”
“Thought, past tense?”
“Well, we’re in a relationship now, aren’t we?” She speaks in that sarcastic tone that I recognize.
I know she’s dodging something real. Can’t begrudge her that. It’s only been a few days.
We return to silence. Over the course of a few minutes, I hear her breathing picking up, like she’s building to something. Finally, she sits up, looks at me with sunshine eyes, bright even in the dark.
“I’ve thought of a good test to see if we can really sell it,” she murmurs.
I know what she wants. I can see it in the rise and fall of her chest. In the way she keeps her mouth open even when not speaking. Like she’s waiting. Like she’s as hungry as I am.
“Oh, yeah?” I growl, tone husky.
“I think if a man grabs and kisses his girlfriend, and it’s obvious she likes it, no one would doubt they’re a good fit. Right?”
Tell her, tell her, tell her—
“I’ve got it wrong,” she says after a moment. “Oh, God. Have I gone too far? I didn’t mean—”
I grip her shoulders and pull her roughly against me. Too hard. But when I hear that tempting gasping noise, I can’t stop. And when I kiss her and feel her heated response, I know she feels it too.
She moans as I lift her up and drag her onto my lap. She straddles me, her hips twitching against mine. I open my mouth and find her tongue. We move together like we were made for it. My hand braces her back as I grind against her.
My manhood floods with heat, hard and ready. My head burns with precome. Thick, hard steel straining against my pants.
“I’m taking you someplace private,” I groan, standing up and taking her with me. She wraps her arms around me as I hold her, one arm braced on her back, the other under her legs.
“Do it,” she says with a note of daring. “Just… just fucking do it, Rhett.”
She says it recklessly, wildly.
I slide my hand up her thigh as I carry her through the house. Into the guestroom. Kick the door closed, then carry her to the bed.
I lay her down, then gently lay my body against hers. But when I kiss her again, the savage in me roars. She makes a desperate moaning noise and grips the back of my neck, pulling me against her.
“Oh, fuck,” I growl through the tight press of our lips, gripping her thigh, gliding my hand up toward her center.
“Yes, yes,” she moans, shivering against me. Even through the coat, I can feel the curvy shape of her body. I can feel her lust.
I can feel how right this is.