The Bookworm's Guide to Faking (The Bookworm's Guide #2) - Emma Hart Page 0,40

and I really didn’t want to cause a scene.

Seb dropped his jaw and offered me an open-mouthed smile, then wiggled his hips like he was some kind of male Shakira. He looked completely ridiculous, especially when he did jazz fingers with his one free hand.

“You look so stupid!”

He dropped his head and laughed, then used his good arm to force me into a spin that I groaned my whole way through. By the time he’d pulled me back into him, my heart was thumping furiously against my ribs.

My body was pressed firmly against his, and my lips parted as I drew in a deep breath. Every part of me tingled as time seemed to stop as our bodies came together like they were made to be this way.

The pause lasted for all of a second before Seb grabbed my other hand and started dancing.

If you could call it dancing.

It was halfway between watching Dancing With the Stars and watching your dad do the macarena while half-drunk at the latest family reunion.

The worst part?

He could dance better than I could.

“See?” he said in a low voice, lips brushing my earlobe. “It’s not so bad.”

“It’s terrible,” I murmured. “I’m scarred for life.”

“Yet here you are. Dancing. With me.”

“Awful choice, really.”

“You didn’t have a choice.” He twirled me out, flashed a grin, then pulled me back into him.

I slammed into his body with the finesse of a bowling ball and looked up at him. “And I resent that.”

“You’ll live.” His grin reached his eyes and made them shine, and he tilted his face down so that our noses almost brushed. “You’re not complaining nearly enough for someone who’s hating every second of this.”

“I’m biding my time so I can murder you while you sleep,” I replied. “Strike while the iron’s hot.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” he retorted.

“You’re right. Is there anyone here you hate that I can make out with?”

Sebastian stopped, ending our dance, and stared down at me with his lips twisted to one side in a somewhat sardonic smile. “No. But even if there were, I wouldn’t let you do it anyway.”

“Let me? I’ll have you know that nobody lets me do anything. I do what I want. I’m an independent woman.”

“All right.” He clasped my waist and turned. “That guy over there. With the dark hair, red tie, drinking the… is that a cocktail?”

“Martini.”

“Drinking the martini,” Seb continued. “Like he’s James fucking Bond. Darren Greenwood. One of my cousins. As my friend from England would say, a total knob.”

“And?” I was more interested in the fact he had a friend from England. That was one hot accent…

“And I don’t like him. Go make out with him.”

I stared up at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You asked.”

“It was a joke.”

He twirled me out to arm’s length and brought me back in, slamming me against his body. “It wasn’t funny,” he said into my ear. “Jokes should be funny.”

“Well, this whole weekend isn’t funny, but here I am,” I shot back.

“You’re so fun when you’re feisty. Even more so now that I know you don’t really hate me.” He gripped my hips and pulled them against his. Our bodies swayed together, and our lips were only centimeters apart. All I had to do was stumble and we’d be kissing.

Just like that.

That easily.

That simply.

I had to swallow back a smartass retort to his last comment because there was every chance I’d either let out a little whimper or accidentally on purpose fall into him just to kiss him.

Because he was right.

Sebastian was completely and utterly, annoyingly right.

Now that I knew the truth, I couldn’t hate him.

I didn’t hate him.

And you know what?

I wished I did.

Because when he twirled me out and back into his body for the hundredth time, my heart thundered, and a shiver ran down my spine.

And that was one thousand times more complicated than hating him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – SEBASTIAN

rule thirteen: faking it is easier if you have a little bit of reality to draw upon.

“It’s that one. Definitely that one.” Holley fumbled with the cards as she attempted to take them out of her purse.

“That’s your credit card,” I said dryly and pulled the room key from my back pocket with a grin, brandishing it in her direction.

She gasped and pointed. “I don’t have one of those!”

“A room key?”

“No, an ass pocket!” She shoved me in the arm, and I stumbled through the door, laughing. “God sake.”

I was still laughing as she stomped into the room and kicked off her shoes