Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club #10) - Elise Faber Page 0,7
anything about you, and they know everything.” She picked up her fork, shoved a bite of pasta into her mouth, all while shaking her head fiercely. Once she’d swallowed, she shook her head firmly once more, scattering her hair over her shoulders. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this. It’s insanity. I just need to come clean.”
He didn’t want her to come clean. He wanted more time with her. “It’s two dinners.”
“I—”
He shrugged. “I can manage two dinners, Kate.”
“You haven’t met my family.”
Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ditto.” He reached across the table, squeezed her hand. “How about you pretend two dinners are my ulterior motive?”
She frowned.
“Two more dates,” he explained. “That aren’t family dinners. That are just you and me getting to know one another. That will be payment for your favor.”
“Deception with a side of ulterior?”
His lips twitched. “Seems fitting, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Or maybe it’s dinner with a side of engagement?”
The laughter didn’t just bubble up this time, it burst right out of him. “Yes,” he said through it. “That’s exactly it.”
“Damn.” She made a face.
His amusement cut off. “What?”
“You’re even nicer than I expected.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Only that”—she shook her head—“never mind, it’s a silly thought.”
“No.” His hand found hers again. “What is it?”
A forkful of pasta into her mouth, her words muffled. “Really,” she said, “it doesn’t matter.”
“We can’t start off a fake engagement on a lie.”
Her mouth fell open, a strangled sound emerging. “What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Sure, it does.” He snagged her roll again, brought it up to his mouth like he was going to eat it, and her gasp of outrage made it clear that was the best ransom around. “Tell me,” he ordered.
She frowned. “So, sexy, smart, funny, nice, rocks a perfect man bun, and also a blackmailer.”
“Fiancés should discover these things about each other.” He shrugged, forced himself to bite back his smile when she rolled her eyes. “See, Red? We’ve made progress in our deception.”
She snagged the much-abused roll back. “Mine.” A bite. “And also, I was thinking that nice never lasts, okay?” She took another bite, chewed and swallowed, deliberately changing the subject. “Okay, so I’m the oldest of three. What about you? How many siblings do you have?”
Jaime knew he had a choice. Push or let it go.
Pushing might destroy the fragile bond they were just beginning to build. Pushing might mean he’d never get to his other plans—that being, how to get more than two dates with this smart, lovely woman sitting across from him. Pushing might mean that he’d never get a chance to turn fake into real.
So, he let it go.
And then he told her about his family.
Four
Kate
He’d paid the bill, like it was a legitimate date.
He’d talked about his family with equal parts love and exasperation. That was such a familiar feeling and one that made her like him even more.
It made him dangerous, the degree with which she liked him, and yet she also wanted to live in the moment, wanted to grasp on to that floating feeling of a new relationship.
When everything was all puppy dogs and rainbows and fun.
Before it deteriorated and the asshole appeared.
“Can I—?” She blinked out of her woolgathering, saw that Jaime was gesturing at her hand, asking to hold it.
Her ovaries were already dead and gone from one bowtie wearing guinea pig and kind brown eyes, and now her heart spasmed.
Fuck, he was nice.
She nodded, and he laced his fingers with hers. Such a simple touch, but it still took her breath away. His hand engulfed hers, the sensation from the roughness of his palm rubbing against the softness of hers. It raised the hairs on her arm, made heat drift down her spine, slid in—
“Your fingers are cold,” he murmured, wrapping his other hand around hers and bringing it up to his mouth, blowing warm air over her skin.
She shivered.
“That’s not all that’s cold,” he said, dropping her hand and shrugging out of his jacket. He dropped it over her shoulders, covering the thin wrap she’d donned but that didn’t do much to protect her from the cool evening air. “As much as I hate to cover up that pretty dress,” he whispered in her ear, “I can’t have you turning into a popsicle.” Then slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her against his side.
Being there, pressed against the hard of his muscles, the spicy male scent surrounding her, his arm a hot brand around her middle, meant it