Pretend It's Love (7 page)

“It’s not too late, you’re still young.”

“So are you,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine so long as I can get the family off my back.”

“They don’t seem that bad.”

“It’s more the extended family. They’re old school, they think anyone who doesn’t have a degree or some form of qualification is going to be a loser their whole life.” He leaned back against the couch, reducing the space between them. “I don’t care, I do what I like.”

“Obviously you
do
care, since I’m playing the role of happy girlfriend.” She paused. “Unless there’s more to the situation than you’re telling me.”

“I’m helping you out.”

She grinned, like a cat who’d caught the scent of a mouse. “Nah, there needs to be something in it for you. It’s not just judgment from your family, is it? Who’s going to be at the wedding that you’re so worried about?”

He clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening until the muscles ached. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” She held up her hands in retreat. “I just thought since I poured my heart out to you that you might want to reciprocate.”

“There’s no point talking about it. It doesn’t change the situation.” He needed to change the topic, stat. “Actually, I had an idea that I wanted to discuss with you.”

She raised a brow. “Sure.”

“I want to start up my own mixology school at First.”

He sucked in a breath, annoyed at how nervous he was about sharing it with Libby. The idea had come to him like a bolt of lightning when one of the new waitresses had asked him to show her how to make a cosmopolitan. He suspected the request was a ploy to talk to him, but after he’d started teaching her about the proper way to mix cocktails she’d seemed genuinely excited to try it on her own.

“We could run classes on how to create professional cocktails at home or for parties, teach people the theory behind mixing the perfect drink. Since you’re trying to get your product in there, we could pitch it as a branding partnership.” He tried to keep his face neutral, but waiting for her reaction was killing him.

“I love it!” She clapped her hands together and laughed. “It’s perfect. It will make my product look more attractive, and I could include some promotional gifts as an incentive to customers…and Des.”

The genuine excitement on her face made his blood rush. Ideas for how they could pitch the mixology school to his brother came tumbling out, their energy and creativity matched. Eventually, when the well ran dry, Libby motioned for him to follow her into the living room.

“By the way, I wanted to say thanks for getting my dad out of here earlier. Whatever you said seemed to have worked, but you don’t have to play white knight.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve been the bouncer at First on more than one occasion.” He shrugged it off, but deep down her thanks warmed him.

“Oh yeah?” She smiled, the white dress swishing around her knees as she walked.

The straps were like two thin strands of spaghetti, leaving most of her shoulders and chest bare. A hint of cleavage tempted him, the creamy expanse of her skin dotted with a few freckles. He wanted to connect them by drawing lines with his tongue.

“I’ve kicked out a fair share of drunks, broke up a few fights. It can get a little crazy on a Friday night.”

“But there must be perks…I bet you have your pick of the ladies.” She dropped down onto the sofa and kicked off her heels, crossing her legs demurely.

“Why? Do you think I’m hot?” he teased.

Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to cover it by pressing her water bottle to her neck. The air hung heavy with summer heat, despite the churn of an air conditioning unit overhead. Condensation from the bottle dripped onto her skin. A lone droplet ran down the length of her neck and made a beeline for the sweet valley between her breasts.

“No comment,” she said, fanning herself.

He took the spot next to her on the couch. “So you felt absolutely nothing when you kissed me?”

“
You
kissed
me
.” She gestured with her water bottle. “I was happy to play the polite, conservative girlfriend.”

“They would never have bought it. I don’t go for conservative types.”

“So you prefer med school dropouts with a penchant for expensive shoes?” She lifted her hair from her neck and wound it into a knot on top of her head.

“That’s quite a niche.” He tilted his head, watching her closely. “There hasn’t really been anyone in a while, to be honest.”

“How come?”

He shrugged, pushing his fingers through the inky black curls on his head. “I don’t want to be in a relationship, but the dating scene got old. Too many games for me.”

Nodding, she secured her hair with a hair band from her pocket. Wispy sections escaped around her face, framing those sharp hazel eyes and her perfectly pale skin. “I know what you mean. I haven’t dated anyone in…forever. But I didn’t really like the idea of constantly jumping from one guy to another, so I stopped altogether.”

“Relationships aren’t a very good alternative, though.”

“I can see why so many people do the friends with benefits thing. You just take a good personal connection and add sex, but there’s no emotion. No messy stuff.”

“There’s
some
messy stuff.” He chuckled and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a guy.”

“I try.”

“So are you going to find a new place?”

She looked as though she might call him on turning the tables on her, but she didn’t. “I should but that would require me to be making some money of my own. I sank a lot of what I had into the business. I didn’t want to be saddled with a loan so I used my savings. I don’t have enough for a deposit on a new place.”

“I will do everything I can to make sure you get into First and get your business off the ground.” The words slipped out before he could think to stop them. “You know, since that’s what a boyfriend would do.”

“I appreciate that. But you know you don’t have to play boyfriend if we don’t have an audience, right?”

“Why? Don’t think you can handle me if it’s just the two of us?”

She shifted on the spot. “I didn’t say that.”

“Are you worried you wouldn’t be able to say no to me?” A surge of desire flooded him as she blinked, her cheeks flushed. “Just like you melted into a puddle when I kissed you.”

“I
can
say no to you, Mr. Cocky.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re not God’s gift to women, you know.”

“I’ve been told things to the contrary.” He grinned, enjoying putting her on the spot. It was like the adult equivalent of tugging her pigtails.

“You’re far more tempted by me than I am by you.” She shoved her chin up into the air and looked him square in the eye.

“Is that so?” God damn if he didn’t love a challenge.

“Yep.” She nodded, spurred on by her own false bravado. “You came up with the excuse to kiss me in the kitchen, and you’re the one who turned up today out of the blue.”

“You say that like you haven’t been debating whether to call me all week.”

“I haven’t.” She blinked rapidly.

“I’m sorry, you’ll need to start speaking English again. I don’t understand bullshit.”

Her mouth formed a shocked
O
, and she shoved him in the shoulder. “You’re so unbelievably cocky.”

“You love it.”

“I definitely do
not
.”

An impulse shot through him, the desire to do something totally wrong and stupid and oh-so-worth-it. “We’re going to settle this with a game of chicken.”

“Chicken?”

He nodded, raking his eyes over her so she knew
exactly
how much trouble she was in. “I’m going to kiss you for a whole minute, and you’re going to tell me to stop when the timer goes off.”

She raised a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m one hundred percent serious.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket and opened up the stopwatch app. “One minute. Then you can put me in my place.”

“No way.”

“Think you’re going to lose?”

Her hazel eyes sparked. If there was one thing he’d learned—and deeply enjoyed—about Libby, it was her competitive streak.

She took a swig of her water bottle as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I never lose.”

“Then you’ve got one minute.” He set the phone on the table and purposely didn’t switch on the timer.

But before Libby noticed, he turned to her and cupped her sweet face with both his hands. He made her look at him—
really
look at him—before he brought his mouth down to hers. Her breath hitched at the light kiss he planted on the corner of her mouth, at the gentle swipe of his tongue as he taunted himself with the barest taste of her.

Going slow seemed impossible when his whole body screamed
more, more, more
.

“I’m not even a little bit tempted,” she whispered, though her eyes fluttered closed the second his lips came back to hers.

“Bullshit.”

He captured her mouth, opening her up like a flower under the first beam of summer sunlight. Her lips were cool from the water bottle, but her mouth was hot. Thrusting his hands into her hair, he pulled her head back with a swift tug, exposing her neck. Floral perfume mingled with the scent of soap and skin.

He trailed a line from her jaw to the base of her neck, feeling her pulse flutter wildly beneath his touch.

“You’re a terrible kisser.” Her words came out raspy, broken.

Terrible? He brought his mouth back to hers and punished her for the lie. The sensation of her tongue against his made him so hard he might never recover, not till he satiated himself deep inside her. God, he wanted her. Every time he saw her that want grew, expanding and consuming the areas of his mind that should be used for other things.

Like motor skills. And breathing.

She moaned, the raw sound of pleasure setting off every alarm bell in his head. But there would be no stopping him unless she called for an end. Which she wouldn’t, of that he was certain.

The bare skin of her shoulders and chest tempted him. All the creamy, smooth porcelain in contrast to the rich tan of his hands. Like they were made to complement each other. He moved down to the base of her neck, tracing the line of it with his thumb. “Still think it’s terrible?” he asked, the gentle curve of her breast filling his palm. His thumb caught a hardened nipple, rolling it gently as he nipped on her lower lip. The light fabric of her dress couldn’t conceal the life radiating from her like heat shimmering off smoldering tar.

The ache for her built; with each breathy little moan his need grew.
He
grew.

Her tongue clashed with his, her back arching to increase the friction between them so he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her down until she was beneath him. He pressed her into the couch, the sweet heat from her parted legs making his blood fizz and hiss.

“Paul,” she gasped, as he pressed his cock against her. “We agreed…”

“What?” He fought the urge to tear off her underwear and plunge deep inside her. This was his game, he had to maintain a modicum of control. But it dangled by a thread, her sweet hands digging into his back. Pressing him against her.

Pushing his limits.

“No sex.” The words trailed off into a soft moan.

“This isn’t sex.” Burying his face into her neck, he nipped at the smooth flesh there while his hands pushed her dress up. “We’re just kissing.”

“It’s more than that.”

Under the frothy layers his hands found her, damp and hot. He pressed the heel of his hand to her center, his insides roaring as she ground against him. Libby was so sweetly responsive, so sensual.

So unbelievably sexy.

“Oh Paul, it’s…” She bucked her hips as he hooked a finger inside her underwear. “This is a terrible idea.”

But as he stroked her slowly, feeling her desire as she trembled beneath him, she pressed against his hand. He’d barely touched her and already she was close. Cool air hit his skin as she pushed his T-shirt up, her nails scraping along his chest.

“That’s got to be longer than a minute.” She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip as he slid a finger into her.

Heat radiated from her. The muscles of her sex clenched around him, urging him on. Drawing him deeper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“You better not.” Her eyes clamped shut, a moan escaping her mouth.

Pink flashed as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he captured it. Sucking on it as he stroked her.

He pressed his thumb to her clit, the tight bundle of nerves swollen and needy. Another tremor ran through her. She rolled her hips, trying to take control of the rhythm. But he was in charge here—for now she’d have to follow his lead. His touch.

Clenching his bicep, she rocked against his hand. He’d have the mark of her nails in his skin soon, and that knowledge made his cock swell to bursting point. But he wouldn’t deny her, not when she was so close.

No matter how desperate he was to feel her shatter while he was inside her.

“Please.”

“What do you need?” He drank her in, slipping a second finger inside her and feeling the muscles tighten.

“I need…” she gasped. “Paul, make me come.”

He dropped his head beneath her skirts and shoved her underwear aside. The sound of delicate fabric ripping cut through the air but nothing mattered except getting his mouth on her. His lips barely touched her before she shook, a sharp cry echoing through the house as she came.

Watching Libby orgasm was the most gratifying thing he’d ever experienced. As she released her grip on his hair her eyes fluttered open, a smile curved on her luscious lips. She opened her mouth to speak when a sudden knock at the door shattered the mood.

Chapter Seven

T
here were bad life decisions, like bleaching your hair to within an inch of its life. Then there were the kind of decisions that were not only colossally stupid, but had immediate ramifications. Like letting your fake boyfriend give you a “dare orgasm” while someone knocked at your front door.

Libby resisted the urge to curl into a ball. The last waves of her climax still washed through her, though Paul had withdrawn his hand and—thankfully—returned her dress to its rightful place.

The knocking sounded again. She’d recognize the owner of that knock anywhere: three sharp raps that weren’t melodic or careless in any way. Nina.

“Should I hide in a cupboard?” Paul looked at her with a wicked glint in his eye.

“It’s fine, just…” Libby pushed up from the couch and tried to fix her appearance. “Act cool.”

He laughed. “Says you.”

She caught her reflection on the way to the door. Pink cheeks, a rumpled dress, and disheveled hair…she may as well hang a sign around her neck that said, “Hey, I just had an orgasm. It was great!”

As she opened the door, Nina burst forth. “I thought I was going to have to send a search squad. You’ve been avoiding me. What the hell is going—”

The words died on her lips as she took in Libby’s appearance. Her eyes moved to Paul, who made his way across the room in a lazy swagger that spelled sex and sinfulness. His hair, mussed by her fingers, had that slept-in look to it. Libby gulped.

Oh crap! Nina is going to kill me. No matter which way I spin it, she’s going to know I’ve kept her in the dark.

Nina looked at Libby pointedly, awaiting an introduction. The words stuck in Libby’s throat. Should she introduce him as her boyfriend and thereby continue the lie? Or should she come clean and wear Nina’s judgment?

“I’m Paul,” he said, sticking out his hand—the one that didn’t bring her to orgasm—and offering a charming smile.

“Nina.” She looked at him closely. “You’re the guy from the bar, aren’t you? You were there when Libby sprained her ankle.”

“Yes, I’m the bar manager at First. We’re interested in Libby’s business, so she was kind enough to talk me through how she makes her product.”

“Oh.” Nina nodded, some of the suspicion seeping out of her features. “That’s great.”

“Nina is the one responsible for all the artwork I showed you.” Libby looked up at Paul, hoping to hell her features didn’t betray her.

Cool as a cucumber, you can do it!

“You make a great team.” He looked at his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. “I should be heading off.”

“Meet me in the office, Neens. I just need to finish up with Paul.” Libby swallowed the giggle that bubbled up in her throat.

Maybe it was the fact that she’d had her first orgasm in months—one that didn’t come from her own hand—or perhaps it was just that she was doing something naughty for once, but Libby felt giddy with the danger of it all. She never lied to her friends, and it had been an age since she got involved with a guy for anything more than scratching an itch.

But she had to remember that’s all it was, a silly mistake. Paul was just the kind of guy to have a girl melting at his feet, that’s why he was so damn good at it! She had to stay away; getting involved with a ladies’ man was not on her agenda.

“Nice to meet you, Paul.” Nina nodded and retreated into the depths of the house.

“Outside. Now.” Paul’s breath tickled her ear as the whispered command sent a shiver down her spine.

“Did you even set the timer?” she asked as they walked out onto the front of the house. She closed the door behind her.

“You seemed so certain that you’d be able to say no, I didn’t think you needed it.” He looked so smug she wanted to kick him in the shins and wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face.

“I’ll get you back, you know that, right?”

“I look forward to it, Tiger.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek. “See you later.”

He made it halfway down the driveway before Libby found her voice. “Why did you come by today, anyway?”

“I wanted to tell you about the mixology idea…and Gracie and Des are coming for dinner tomorrow night. Bring some of your product around and we’ll give them a chance to try it firsthand. I’ll text you the details.”

“You could have just called.” She planted her hands on her hips.

“Aren’t you glad I didn’t?”

Without waiting for her to respond, he headed toward his car with the kind of hip-rolling gait that was hot enough to singe a girl’s panties. Speaking of panties, hers were…irreparable.

Libby waited until Paul had driven off before she headed back into the house, undoubtedly to face an inquisition from Nina. Paul had covered when words failed her, but her best friend wasn’t so easily fooled.

She found Nina sitting on her desk, twirling a strand of her bright blue hair around one finger.

“Spill,” she demanded.

“Spill what?” Libby shrugged innocently and went to her stock cabinet to select a few bottles to present to Des and Gracie.

“You don’t expect me to believe that gorgeous hunk of a man was here purely for business.” She raised a brow. “Or did you get that JBF look all by yourself?”

“JBF?”

“Just been fucked.”

Libby held up a hand in surrender. “So we kissed, no big deal.”

“You did more than kiss.”

Libby sighed and plucked out a bottle of lemon myrtle vodka. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Nina shrugged. “Maybe because you’ve got that puppy-dog look on your face. Or maybe because his jeans were more revealing than he probably wanted them to be.”

Heat surged through Libby, the memory of Paul’s hands on her fresh and raw. It was lucky that Nina had interrupted them—she would have given him anything at that point. At least now she had a minor indiscretion on her record rather than a full-blown fake relationship violation.

“Lucky you, by the way, and you’re a
terrible
liar.” Nina winked in her usual lewd manner and burst out laughing when Libby looked at her guiltily. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No,” she sighed. “But I was damn close.”

“You should have put a bloody sock on the door or something. I don’t want to be the source of your continued sexual frustration.”

“I’m not the one who’s frustrated.” She couldn’t stifle her grin.

“You dirty birdy!” Nina slapped her palm down on the surface of the table. “I love it.”

“So did I, unfortunately,” Libby muttered.

Tomorrow night she’d have to keep her cool. She may have slipped up, but that wasn’t a reason to throw it all in. Paul was dangerous, and she’d already opened up to him more about her past than any other person with the exception of Nina. She didn’t want a relationship, and talking about personal stuff before sex was definitely relationship territory.

She had to put a stop to it now, no matter how much she wanted to return the favor.

S
ince meeting Libby, Paul found himself uninterested in other women. Temptation hadn’t once caught his eye at the bar or anywhere else. All he could think of was the plucky redhead who’d burst into his life and not only given him a permanent hard-on, but had made him feel things that had been locked away for a long time.

Like possessiveness. The need to protect. A desire to listen and learn.

These were all things he hadn’t experienced since Sadie, but the comparison terrified him. They were very different people, but some of the traits that had pulled him and Sadie apart were the things that attracted him to Libby, like her ambition. That wonderful competitive streak. Her relentless pursuit of what she wanted. Those similarities were so clear, in fact, that he could see the way their future would unfold…right down to the exact scene where she was packing her bags and leaving him.

He couldn’t let her get under his skin.

Focusing on the fact that Libby drove him crazy with her passion, despite trying her hardest to hide it, would be the best thing he could do. After leaving her house yesterday he’d had the mother of all cold showers, but the memory of her splayed out on that couch would not abate.

Now he was trying to cook something that didn’t resemble prison food, all so they could have another opportunity to pitch her product and the mixology school to Des.

He raked a hand through his hair. At least it had distracted him from the black cloud that was Des and Gracie’s wedding. Although if he was being honest with himself, being needed by someone like Libby made him feel alive…not that any amount of water torture would force him to admit those words aloud.

It’s just pent-up sexual frustration; you don’t really feel anything for her. Remember what she said, it’s just business.

Or had they crossed that line when she told him about her family? Was that her way of leaving things open enough for him to want more?

The doorbell buzzed, pulling Paul away from his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, holding the door open for Libby. “Give me that box, it looks heavy.”

“I can manage.” She offered a stiff smile and tried to shuffle past, but he held out an arm, and she begrudgingly placed the box there.

“What the hell did you pack in here? Bricks?” He balanced it on one side and shut the door with his free hand.

“Lots and lots and lots of vodka.”

“Perfect.” He grinned.

Libby dropped her bag and a folder onto his couch, her eyes darting around the room. Her hands fidgeted with her hair, which had been piled on top of her head. Agitation marred her normally graceful movement.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, setting the box down on top of the coffee table so he could unpack it.

“A little,” she admitted, without meeting his gaze. “I think it’s because I know he’s rejected me once already.”

“So?”

“I’m manipulating him.
We’re
manipulating him.” She dropped down on the couch and knotted her hands in her lap. “Don’t you feel bad about that?”

Yeah, he did. More than he wanted to. But somehow the knowledge that he was helping Libby seemed to override everything else. Besides, Des hadn’t really given her a fair chance. Tonight Libby’s hard work and his ideas would do the talking.

“What would be the difference if we were really dating?” he asked. “And I thought you said you’d do anything to make your business a success.”

He pulled out six bottles of vodka in a variety of flavors. Each had its own colored label sporting the Libby Gal logo. They looked feminine and professional, something he could easily imagine selling out at First. Des had been a fool not to see that.

“Why don’t we make them a cocktail?” he said, carrying the bottles to his bar.

The bar was the area in his house where he felt most comfortable, the creative outlet he craved when everything else turned to shit. He’d built it himself, customized it to exactly what he wanted. The shelves were stocked with his favorite spirits and liquors, a bar fridge contained other ingredients required for cocktail creation, and a wine fridge sat next to it.

“Wow, this is amazing.” Libby ran her hand along the bar’s polished surface. “You’ve got everything here.”

“What can I say, I like to drink.” He shrugged.

“No, you like to
create
.” Her eyes lit up, the anxiousness from earlier draining out of her features as she went behind the bar. “If you just liked to drink you’d have a fridge full of beer like every other man in Australia.”

She turned to the rows of cocktail glasses hanging upside down beside tumblers, highballs, and shot glasses. Her fingertips danced along the stem of a martini glass.

“Which of those is your favorite?” He turned the vodka bottles so they all faced the same way like a rainbow of infused goodness. Lemon myrtle, marshmallow and rose petal, fig and vanilla bean, lavender, basil and orange, strawberry and spearmint.

“The marshmallow and rose petal.” She picked up the bottle with the pink label. “I made this for a friend’s wedding, and it’s what gave me the confidence to start Libby Gal Cocktails.”

He nodded and took the bottle from her, opening it. The scent of fluffy pink candies danced with delicate rose petals, it was definitely
not
the flavor Paul would have chosen but this was about Libby’s tastes, not his.

He grabbed two shot glasses from the bar and filled them to the brim. “Drink.”

“I thought we were supposed to be making cocktails for Gracie and Des.” She took the shot glass and smirked at him.

“
Salute
!” He raised his shot glass.

“What does that mean?”

“To good health.”

She nodded and clinked her glass against his. “
Salute
.”

They downed the vodka and Paul had to admit, as much as it tasted like something that could have been squeezed out of a unicorn, it was tasty. An idea took shape in his mind.

“Okay, so we’re going to make a Bellini.” He grabbed a bottle of Prosecco from the wine fridge. “Grab four of the champagne flutes.”

Libby complied and lined them up in a neat row in front of him. “Bellinis don’t have vodka, do they?”

“Not usually.” He eased the cork out of the bottle with a pop. “But I used to make Absolut Bellinis when I was living in London.”

“You lived in London? I didn’t know that.” She watched him with curious eyes, her arms propped up on the bar’s surface.

“Spent a year there in between some backpacking stretches. I wanted to see the world. That’s how I started working behind a bar—it was the perfect job for me to party and get paid at the same time.” He winked.

She shook her head, smiling as he measured out the vodka into each glass and then followed it with pureed cherries. As the Prosecco was added, the red puree swirled, coloring the wine and mixing in the vodka until the glass graduated from clear to hot pink.

“That looks amazing.”

He placed a cherry in each glass. “Voilà.”

“There’s a story behind this, isn’t there?” She breathed in the scent of the drink. “The cherry goes so well with the rose and marshmallow, why didn’t I think of that?”

The way she looked up at Paul could have knocked him dead on the spot. The admiration shining out of that beautiful face made him want to sweep the drinks to the floor and take her right there on the spot.