My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,45

guys? Or is it because you’re just that into eighth graders?”

With a grin, I ducked under his arm, backing away to give myself some space from the gravity of his presence. “Those aren’t bedroom eyes. That’s me wondering how you managed to make it through so much life without growing up.”

Chris pursued me in a slow chase. I backpedaled, he stalked forward. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end and I could already feel the warmth of arousal starting to spread from my lower belly to every inch of me.

“Oh, I’ve grown plenty. Especially since I met you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Chris’ mouth twitched, then I realized he was making a joke. Of course he was. But I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracking down to see that—yes. He really had grown.

I made a sound of disgust. “You’re unbelievable.”

Chris laughed. “Jokes aside, when are you going to give up pretending, anyway?”

I ducked under a low hanging arch crafted completely out of hedges and found myself in an enclosure of flowers where a few butterflies flitted from brightly colored petal to petal.

Chris came in behind me, swallowing up the spare bit of evening light that had been coming through the entryway.

“I’m not pretending. I’m being smart, which you should try for once.” I ran out of space to back up as velvety flowers brushed the back of my neck and arms. The whole room smelled like an explosion of fragrances, and I already felt like my head had gone a little light.

“You want me. I want you. Why does it need to be complicated?” Chris was just a hair’s width from me now. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body spilling out toward me. I could practically sense the thumps of his heart, which I imagined was beating steady and calm. Mine, on the other hand, was pattering away like an animal trying to break from a cage.

“Because it is complicated. Maybe not for you, but it is for me.”

“Is it turtleneck?”

“Stop calling him that. And no. Yes. Not really.”

Chris titled his head. There wasn’t much light in the room, but I could still make out the light brown pools of his eyes and the dark lashes framing them. He was enchanting, and in this room of flowers I couldn’t help feeling like he was some sort of deity—like a construct of nature sent to seduce me into a bed of thorns. “Maybe try telling me the truth for once.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Here, I’ll start.” Chris was still so close I could barely take a deep breath without pushing my breasts into him. He was locking me in place with his eyes, and I thought I couldn’t have moved if I tried.

“I’ll give you one truth, then you give me one,” he said. “Mine is that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that flight to New York.”

I swallowed. “I’ve wished I would never see you again more times than I can count.”

I meant for the words to bite—if nothing else, for them to dissolve the tension of the moment. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. If he stood this close to me for much longer, I’d do it again. I’d let my urges take over and I’d wind up rolling around with him while some poor proper British family could walk in on us and get an eyeful.

Chris just smiled faintly. “I’d started to think women like you didn’t exist, or that I scared them off.”

“You do scare me.”

“You scare me too. Because I’m starting to think I’d fuck up my life to have you, if that’s what it takes.”

“You’re just saying things,” I breathed. “You just…” I looked down, failing to find the words. “It’s just what you do. This is, I mean. You make girls feel special so they’ll sleep with you. Then they are left feeling like idiots when you move on and they’re left realizing it was all just syrup with no pancakes.”

Chris burst out with a surprised chuckle. “Syrup with no pancakes? Belle. I promise you, there are two firm cakes behind all this syrup, and they’re all yours if you want them.”

I found myself smiling, even though, like always, I wished I wouldn’t. “Keep your cakes away from me, Chris Rose.”

“Not a chance. You’re my wifey, remember?”

Those words weren’t supposed to send golden blasts of gooey warmth rushing through my body, but they did. I wasn’t supposed to let him kiss