Playing For Her Heart - Megan Erickson Page 0,34

as he seemed to battle his climax, wanting to hold it off. She closed her eyes as her own orgasm curled her toes and forced a cry from her mouth.

Grant was right behind her, pulsing inside of her, his breath rasping from between his lips.

She propped herself up with one hand on his abs, rolling her hips slightly, clenching her inner muscles around his cock, cataloging the feel of him. And then she collapsed onto his chest as his arms wrapped around her back.

She wondered if he could ever like her as Chloe, if she could allow herself to let him in. But she couldn’t imagine anything beyond failing him in some way or another. She wasn’t this fantasy girl come to life. She was Chloe.

“Hey.” Grant’s voice was low as he shifted under her. “I still owe you a tip.”

Or not. Chloe sighed, the unfairness of the situation settling deep into her bones. This was her doing, after all. This role-playing. She’d set the parameters of their messed-up relationship. Of course he was only interested in playing the role. Grant was fun and carefree and so super-hot. He deserved a woman who wasn’t a ridiculous, insecure mess like Chloe.

She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile as she rolled off him. He shifted to his side as she stood beside the bed, beginning to dress again.

“So,” he said. “Two grand really set me back and I don’t have much food in the house, but I know a place that makes a mean breakfast burrito. Open 24/7.” He waggled his eyebrows. “What do you say?”

She froze. Was this an extension of their role-playing? Because she wasn’t sure how much longer she had it in her to keep up the role. She was already exhausted and a little foggy from the sex and the facade she’d been keeping up since she got here. “Um…”

“I got a spare T-shirt or something you can wear, Chlo. Probably a pair of shorts or something, too.” He shrugged, as if the shortened version of her name, said with affection, didn’t steal her breath. “No one where we’re going will care what you look like.”

“No,” she said, firmly and quickly. The last thing she wanted to do right now was go out in public, as Chloe, without the armor of her clothes or her role. It was no big deal to Grant—Ethan had said he was social, had friends all over town—but that wasn’t her. Going out now would take energy she just didn’t have. And the thought of making small talk while still feeling the effects of him inside of her didn’t sound appealing at all.

Grant was checking his phone. “What?” he asked distractedly. “If you don’t like burritos, we can just go somewhere else—”

“No,” she said again and this time he looked up, brow furrowed.

“No what?”

“No, I can’t go out.”

He put his phone to the side and sat up, watching her closely now. “You can’t go out tonight or you…can’t go out ever? What exactly are you telling me here, Chloe?”

Chloe wasn’t made for relationships. She didn’t know to communicate effectively. She couldn’t even do it with her own family, couldn’t help them through their grief or knit them all back together.

Emotions and relationships were hard and too gray. She’d stick with debugging computers and out of relationships she had no business being in.

And above all, she’d stick to the roles she played.

She lifted her chin. “What, you think you’re my only client tonight?”

He blinked at her, clearly confused. “Uh…”

She needed to get out of here before she lost her mind. “So I’m sorry, but you’ll have to do your midnight burrito run by yourself. If you want my services again, you have my handler’s number?”

He was still staring at her like she’d gone crazy. Something flitted over his face. Frustration, maybe? A little bit of anger? “Uh,” he mumbled again. “Yeah. Yeah sure.”

She was letting him down already; that was what Chloe did. So this was time for her to get the hell out while maybe he still had the desire to see her again. In a role, of course.

God, how was this her life?

She paused in the doorway, biting her lip, thinking she should just go, just leave, but Grant deserved something. She turned her head, to look at him as he sat in his bed, brow furrowed. “Sorry but it’s better this way. What we do now. You wouldn’t want the real me.”

He looked even more confused. “What does