Fake (West Hollywood #1) -Kylie Scott Page 0,41

when I thought we had agreed to be friends he reverted to sullen and silent. I’d been doing my best to hide it and deny it, but oh well. These things were bound to come out in passive-aggressive rants now and then given I was only human. “Though I can’t help but notice that’s a thing for you, retreating back into your shell when something goes wrong. But yeah . . . you’re my boss and this is none of my business. I’m going to stop talking now.”

His forehead furrowed. “No, hang on.”

“What?” I said, tone sharper than I’d intended.

“We are friends. I fucked up. Be mad at me.”

“Would that make you feel better?” I asked, tipping my chin.

“I think so. Yes.”

My laughter sounded brittle to my own ears. “Fine. Whatever. Mostly I’m just pissed that you avoided me instead of talking to me about it. I thought we were past that.”

“I did upset you,” he said, like it was a revelation. Men could be such idiots.

“Yeah. I guess you did.”

His fingers moved against my skin all agitated like. As if he was worried I’d make a run for it. Or a swim. Then he made a low growling noise. “I’m sorry, Norah. You’re right, I shouldn’t have behaved that way this morning. Do you forgive me?”

Something in me eased at the words. “I suppose so.”

“Friends?” he asked.

“Yes.”

For a moment we were quiet, letting the pool water lap gentle waves at us in the wind. It was oddly peaceful.

“But you’re not worried about the girl sitting on my lap?” he asked, out of nowhere.

“Wait. Are you asking if I’m jealous?” I asked, keeping my voice low so we wouldn’t be overheard.

He froze. “No. No. Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” I wound my arms around his neck. To help with my balance in the water. No other reason. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one who found this situation a little confusing now and then. Emotions were complicated things. But it was good and right that we were friends.

“Are you two finished fighting?” called out Mei from where she was working on her tablet perched on a sun lounge. “Because this is getting awkward.”

Sure enough, all eyes were on us. We had quite the audience, including the stylist, makeup and hair artists, and a collection of various assistants. Even the security guard seemed interested in our tiff.

“Time to kiss and make up,” said Mei.

“Guess it’s what a real couple would do,” he whispered, staring into my eyes in a disturbingly intense fashion. Just friends. But also a very good actor. Little wonder my heart got confused from time to time.

The photographer picked up his camera and started clicking.

“We better make it look good,” I whispered.

“Right.” He frowned. “How good, exactly?”

I gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Surprise me. And stop frowning. What was it you said before? About kissing if the story needs it?”

His hands tightened on me, nose brushing mine all gentle like, his breath warm on my lips. This wasn’t anything like our first kiss at the restaurant. It made my nerves jangle in a whole different way. As in a would-he-or-wouldn’t-he type of situation. Now I knew he would, and the knowledge was one part thrilling and two parts terrifying.

First he executed another perfect stage kiss. A sweet pressing of his lips against mine. One, two, three kisses. Each being a little longer and more devastating than the last. A hand pressed against my lower spine still, the other curling around the back of my neck. All in all, there wasn’t one iota of space left between us. Neither above water nor below. And the people watching, the awareness that we had an audience, disappeared the first time the tip of his tongue brushed against my lower lip. Asking a question. Delivering an invitation. That teasing tongue sent electricity straight up my spine.

He moved back an inch, gaze on my face.

I nodded. A bare tip of the chin.

Then Patrick angled his face and I opened my mouth and it was so good. All-consuming amazing. The sweep of his tongue into my mouth and the confidence of the man. He was sensual and forceful and knew exactly what he was doing. How he traced my teeth before returning to rub his tongue against my own. The way his fingers rubbed at the back of my neck, alternately holding me in place and urging me on. I’d have climbed the man if my tight dress