of her throat, and her clit ached in time with every slow sweep. Apparently, she had a thing for being grabbed by large men. Funny how she’d never noticed that until this moment. Of course, she didn’t usually let anyone grab her in public, since it had always seemed disturbingly proprietary, and Dani was not property. So why, exactly, was she allowing Zaf the privilege?
As if that thought had deactivated some sort of mental firewall, the last of her faculties returned. All at once, she remembered why Zaf was there, why he was holding her as if they’d been married for sixteen years, and why he was staring at her with a slight, sweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Fake relationship. For . . . reasons. Lunch. To be . . . seen. And . . .
“Oh, crap,” she said. “I’m late, aren’t I?”
His smile widened into a grin, which was an absolutely shocking turn of events for a man with such epic resting bitch face. “Maybe.”
“I’m sorry,” Dani blurted, then wondered why she was apologizing. She was a terminally disappointing date, and I’m sorry had never changed that. The phrase was usually just an opportunity for whomever she was with to wrench her flaws wide open and list them all in excruciating detail. Not that Zaf had a right to do that, because they weren’t really in a relationship—she was doing him a favor, for heaven’s sake—and anyway, she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, so really, what was to be done?
Except . . . well, she supposed something could’ve been done. Something other than accidentally standing him up. She didn’t like the idea of standing him up, not even for a library power nap.
“It’s okay,” Zaf said, and the ease of his response snapped Dani out of her thoughts like an unexpected static shock. “I brought lunch,” he went on, “since I thought you might be busy in here.”
For a moment, all she could do was stare. He’d thought she’d forgotten him because she was busy with work, and instead of throwing a righteous fit, he’d . . .
He’d brought lunch to her.
A sunrise threatened in Dani’s chest, but she shoved it down, barely wincing when the heat stung her palms. They were coconspirators, after all. They were in the midst of a plot. A plot that required Zaf to be around her, and do nice things for her, and look at her with eyes like fire gleaming off midnight water.
“You’re very laid back about this,” she whispered, arranging her books into a neat pile. “But I suppose allowances must be made for fake girlfriends, as opposed to real ones.”
“Yep,” he said cheerfully, and there was no reason for that confirmation to pinch at something behind her breastbone. She already knew she wasn’t quite up to scratch; every relationship since her first, since Mateo, had taught her that, and it didn’t matter. A sensible woman played to her strengths and left immaterial weaknesses behind.
Which didn’t explain why she kept asking pointless questions, like picking at a scab. “So if this was real, and your girlfriend missed lunch . . .”
Zaf looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed as he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “You didn’t miss lunch, Dani. You fell asleep because you work too hard, and if you were really mine, I’d be less worried about lunch dates and more worried about ways to trick you into slowing down.” His thumb swept over her neck again, a slow, soothing stroke that tugged at something sweet and lazy in her. If you were really mine, he’d said, and the words seemed to beat a tattoo against her skull, as fast and firm as the pulse pounding scandalously between her thighs.
“Oh,” she said, so quiet she barely heard herself.
But Zaf heard and came closer, his scent filling her lungs. “When you ask me things like that, Danika, it makes me think someone hasn’t treated you right.”
Those words were a wake-up call, swooping in to save her from herself. “Sorry,” she said brightly. “No soap-opera sob story here, mostly because I’m humanly incapable of sobbing. Superior tear ducts, you understand.”
“Got it in one. I was just curious about how relationships work when you’re a hopeless romantic.” She waited for him to deny that judgment, wondering if he’d respond with sarcasm or maybe some masculine bluster. There was a first time for everything, after all.
Instead, he watched her steadily. “Right,” he murmured,