“Instead of just crazy,” I quip, my heart skipping a beat when Nash grins in response.
“Right. Instead of just crazy.”
Shit. That grin, that warm, playful grin I used to bask in on a daily basis, back when Nash and I were falling for each other. It would be enough to make a girl weak in the knees even if she hadn’t had four beers.
Which I have.
My bones are wobbly even before he eases closer, his arm going around my waist, making my pulse spike.
“What are you doing?” I breathe, my heart racing as he draws me fully against him, until I’m in intimate contact with every muscled inch of the powerful, sexy-as-hell man he’s become.
“Acting like this is the real deal,” he murmurs in his panty-melting voice, making my nipples tighten inside my bra.
“So we’re doing this?” I brace my hands on his chest. “Starting now?”
“Starting right now,” he says, and then he kisses me.
For a moment, I’m frozen by the shock of it, of feeling lips against mine for the first time in nearly a year. And not just any lips, but Nash Geary’s lips, the best lips I’ve encountered in my entire life.
I’ve tried to rewrite history, to convince myself he wasn’t all that special—I was simply young and too inexperienced to know good from great—but as our mouths begin to move, my tower of lies crumbles to the ground at Nash’s feet.
Because holy moly, this man can kiss.
His tongue strokes against mine, laying claim to my mouth as his big hand cups the back of my head, pulling me closer. With a moan, I twine my arms around his neck, melting into him as he kisses me senseless, our lips making sweet, easy love like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
Like we made out just this morning, not years ago.
My tongue remembers exactly how to dance with his, while my fingers find the spot at the back of his neck that makes his breath catch when I drag my nails across his skin. Within seconds, my heart is slamming against my ribs like an animal desperate to escape a cage, longing to get closer to the thing it craves.
Closer to Nash.
By the time he pulls away, I’m breathing hard, tingling all over, and aching in places I’d almost forgotten were there.
Liam and I stopped sleeping together around the sixth month of my pregnancy. I’d assume he was worried about the baby, but then I’d found out about the affair. Not long after, the last of my lust for my ex had faded away.
Even after Felicity was born, when we were still trying to make it work, I couldn’t bring myself to be vulnerable with him. No matter how much I craved physical affection, sleeping with my ex didn’t feel safe anymore.
Which means it’s been over a year since I’ve been naked with anyone else in the room.
Over a year. The realization boggles my mind.
How could I have cut off that part of myself, so completely, for so long? At the moment—still pressed close to Nash, with my body purring and every beat of my heart begging for more—it’s unfathomable.
And utterly terrifying.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to live with Nash, day in and day out, while pretending to be in love with him when we’re in public, without wanting a heck of a lot more than kisses for someone else’s benefit. I already want more. I’m already imagining Nash guiding me back onto his bed, his comforting weight heavy on top of me as we take kissing to the next level, to those places we started to explore as kids, and beyond.
“That was…pretty incredible.” He watches me through hooded eyes, looking so damned fine it’s almost impossible to keep from pulling him into another kiss.
But if I do, then he’ll know.
He’ll know that this part isn’t an act for me. That I actually want him. Then the balance of power will tip in his direction, and he’ll have the upper hand for however many months we end up pretending to be married.
And I’m sick of the man in my life having the upper hand, of waiting and hoping and praying he’ll want me the same way I want him and being disappointed again and again. I’m tired of feeling like a weak, helpless fool. I can’t live like that again.
I refuse to end up under another man’s thumb, especially not Nash’s. He broke my heart once, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting him do it again.
So I say, “You were okay,” before brushing my hair from my face with what I hope is an easy sigh.
“Okay?” Nash’s eyes cool as he steps back.
“Yeah. Okay,” I say, grateful for the inches between us. “A little stiff, but I get it. You’re out of practice. We can work on it.”