think would happen? That she could put on a show like that for a man like Justin and get away scot-free?
She stood in the middle of her living room clutching her phone, fully aware that there was no place to hide from what she’d done. He knew she was home.
She lifted her phone and read his text. Come out front.
Oh God. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what she had to do. Justin was her friend first, a flirt second. Okay, so he’d started flirting seven seconds after they’d first met, but still. She didn’t want to mess up their friendship, but more than that, she wasn’t going to climb into bed with him just because he knew how to push all her buttons.
She opened her eyes, inhaling deeply, and blew it out slowly, telling herself to just do it already. She typed, I’m not sleeping with you, and sent it to him. Then she stared at her phone, holding her breath as she awaited his reply.
A knock at her door sent the air rushing from her lungs.
Damn it.
Okay, Chloe. Time to face the music.
He knocked again, making her heart race impossibly faster.
She grabbed her cardigan from the back of the couch and put it on as she stalked to the door. Fake it until you make it. She drew her shoulders back, inhaled another calming breath that did nothing to ease her nerves, and pulled the door open. Justin stood in the moonlight wearing the same worn jeans and black T-shirt he’d had on at the bar. His hair had that just-been-fucked look, though she was sure—or hoped—it was from his motorcycle helmet and he wasn’t actually making a booty call after just having made a booty call. She felt a little sick at that thought.
Wait, this was Justin. He wouldn’t do that.
Would he?
He was looking at her funny, and she realized she hadn’t washed off her makeup before sitting down to watch television. She probably had bedhead and racoon eyes. She reached up, absently touching her hair.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, but his voice didn’t have the same visceral arrogance or flirty vibe as usual. He sounded a little sad. “We have a dance to finish.”
She stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her, and pulled her sweater tight around her, crossing her arms over her middle. “I’m not having sex with you, Justin. I’m sorry if I led you on at Undercover.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up, and he said, “Babe, I’m just here for a dance.”
He did something on his phone and “Heartbeat” by Carrie Underwood began playing. It was her favorite country song. She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Justin…?”
He set his phone on the porch table and said, “You went to see her in concert last fall, and I heard you tell Daphne this was your favorite song.”
His arms circled her waist, and he gazed into her eyes, swaying to the beat. She stood rigid, waiting for him to make his move. But then she realized his hands weren’t roaming and his hips weren’t grinding. His gaze was soft, endearing. They were just slow dancing. It was romantic and sweet, and making her melt inside. She didn’t know what to say, but as her tension eased, she began swaying with him.
“Did I get the song wrong?” he asked.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m just surprised. You really just want to dance?”
“Aw, Chloe. If you need to ask that, you have definitely been going out with the wrong guys.” His hand moved up her back, and he played with the ends of her hair. “A gentleman doesn’t lie. Especially to a woman he adores.”
Adores? Did that word really just come out of Justin’s mouth? Everything he was doing was so different from what she knew of him, she couldn’t help but say, “Does a gentleman trap a woman outside the ladies’ room and make a pass at her?”
“No. Did someone do that?”
She smiled and said, “You did.”
“That wasn’t a pass, sweetheart. If I had made a move on you, you’d know it.” He put his lips beside her ear and said, “That was a reminder.”
He didn’t say anything more, remaining silent long enough for her to realize how much she enjoyed being in his arms and the way their bodies fit together, moving in harmony without the pressure of sex. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d simply slow danced with a man.
“You like to pretend you don’t feel anything for me,” he said, drawing her from