Chapter 6 Calder #3
“Yes, I’m sorry. I misunderstood the process. Silly me.” Lara faked a laugh, but her eyes were as serious as sin the way they pinned mine. “Correct, it’s not just me. My boyfriend, Calder, and I would like to enroll in the couples’ portion of the retreat.”
Boyfriend.
Couple.
A red fog came over me, whatever she said after drowning in the drone of my furious pulse.
“Lara . . .” Her name cracked from my chest as soon as she ended the call.
“They bring singles into the retreat for two weeks and then add in people who are already in relationships,” she said, defending her rash decision. “It was the only way for us to get in.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said, my jaw spasming. “We don’t even have solid proof that Rachel is there—”
“I know she is, Calder.” She glanced at the brochure. “I know it.”
My breathing labored as I fought for reason. “Okay, say she is—you think the best way to get to her is to go undercover as my girlfriend? Yesterday, you said you had to be involved because Rachel wouldn’t trust me, and now you want to show up and have her think we’re dating?”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way we’ll know for sure. Plus, Rachel would know—would realize—that I would never . . . with you . . . after how—” Her mouth snapped shut, red flushing her cheeks.
Even as she cautiously verbalized the wreckage between us, there was no denying both of us were thinking about what had happened in the diner.
Despite our past. Despite how her sister felt about me.
Despite her own opinion of me . . . of what I’d done .
. . of what she needed from me . . . we’d almost kissed. We’d both wanted that kiss.
Even now. I was furious, and still I wanted nothing more than to kiss the hell out of her.
“Dammit, Lara.” I drove my fingers along my scalp.
This was why I worked alone. Growing up Stone meant growing up under the perpetual test of worst-case scenario. And the worst-case scenario invariably meant that help was never guaranteed.
“Give me a better idea and I’ll agree to it,” she offered, her stance firm and her chin defiant. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
“No, you were desperate and you reacted—there’s a difference,” I ground out, my jaw locked tight. “It’s better to move at the pace of observation rather than desperation. When you rush, you miss critical details.”
“And when you don’t act, you miss opportunity,” Lara volleyed back, the green in her eyes glittering.
“Making up your own rules now?”
Her chin lifted. “Sometimes it’s better to beg for forgiveness than to ask permission.”
Desire rocketed straight to my groin. Oh, the way I’d make her beg . . .
I stifled a low groan and banded my arms over my chest. “How long do we have?”
Before we had to go along with Operation Insanity.
She slid her tongue along her lips, armoring them for the answer she knew I wouldn’t like. “Brielle said she would message me the address tomorrow morning at eight, and we’re to arrive by nine.”
My lungs deflated with a hot hiss. Less than a day was a pretty poor timeline.
I rattled off my plan like I was bailing water from a sinking ship. “If Callum can find a location before then, we’ll send one of his drones out to surveil. To confirm Rachel is there first.”
“Once Brielle sends the address, could he . . .” She trailed off, seeing me shake my head.
“It’s not the address of the retreat,” I said, wishing it were that easy.
“Places like this usually have some lot where you leave your car and all your traceable belongings before they bring you on-site.” At least in my experience with programs like this, that was how they’d worked every single time.
“Oh. That makes sense.” She folded the brochure absentmindedly. “Did Callum get back to you?”
I checked again. “Not yet.” He’d said two minutes, but it had been ten. “I’m going to head back and check in.” My truck beeped when I unlocked it.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, quickly elaborating when the low, gravelly sound I’d buried rose from the dead. “We should probably prepare just in case we have to go tomorrow and pretend . . .” Her throat bobbed.
“To be dating.” My voice was as hard as my glare.
Folding her arms, she refused to back down. “I’m sure you have some rule about being prepared.”
I frowned.
Rule #1. The essence of survival is preparation. But for some reason, what she was suggesting didn’t feel like preparation, but purgatory. Pretending to want a woman who couldn’t know I actually wanted her, for how long?
“Just look on the bright side,” Lara added when I didn’t respond. “It’s not like we have to pretend to have a good relationship. I mean, that’s the point of the program. So we won’t really need to pretend very much. We can just go and be our incompatible selves.”
Incompatible.
“Yeah,” I said gruffly, even as my eyes roamed over her again.
It didn’t feel incompatible the way she made my body heat.
It hadn’t felt incompatible when her body was pressed to mine or when her mouth was poised and parted for my kiss.
And it definitely didn’t feel incompatible to claim her as my girlfriend even though it should’ve felt worse; it should’ve felt illegal. Illicit.
Her weak smile flashed wide with bravado. “It’ll be easy.”
I almost choked. Easy . . . Tell that to my cock.
Decades spent being raised as a survivalist, and as I pulled out of the lot, the only thing I could think was that I might not have the skills to survive a fake relationship with my ex-girlfriend’s little sister.