“No one is going to mention Clare to you.”
“That’s probably true,” she said with a slow nod. “It would be a bit tacky and unkind.”
His eyes probed hers for several beats of time and then he looked away, as if wiping clean the slate of their conversation. When he turned back, there was determination in his eyes. “We should dance.”
“Should we?”
He scraped back his chair, coming to stand beside her, extending his hand. “Yes.”
His brief, to-the-point answers did something funny to her equilibrium. When she stood, she was breathless, her lips parted, her eyes clinging to his. She had to remember: this was just work.
“It’s the best way to get seen, I suppose,” she agreed with a businesslike nod.
His frown was just a quick shift of his lips. “Exactly.”
The dance floor wasn’t pumping, but there were enough people for Skye to join Matthieu without feeling self-conscious. And once he drew her into his arms, it was impossible to feel anything besides an all-consuming awareness of him—his body, his warmth and strength, and all the ways his nearness set her bloodstream on fire.
His body moved slowly at first, embracing hers, controlling the pace of their dancing, keeping it slow and unspeakably intimate. Her hand on his shoulder was purely for bracing, but every now and again, the enormous diamond ring caught her attention and she knew others would be seeing it too. She should have been pleased. After all, that was the point of this evening, but the fact this was a lie felt, at times, like a blade sinking through her gut.
So she forced herself to remember what this was all in aid of: the farm in Australia she was desperate to own. The life she’d planned for ever since she was a heartbroken little girl, leaving behind the outback life and moving to the big smoke of the city. When she put feet back on dry land in Australia, she wouldn’t think about Matthieu again. This would all be a very distant memory, her future the only thing that mattered. Matthieu had no place in that.
Reconnecting to her own dreams was a form of reassurance she’d needed. It relaxed her, and gave her the strength to continue with this charade. Until he stopped dancing and slowed almost to a stop, so she lifted her gaze to his face, her eyes tracing the jagged lines of his symmetrical features.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” The words were so soft she thought she might have misheard him, but a moment later, he dropped his head lower, his intent clear. “It’s important to sell this.”
He was right, of course. If they wanted people to know they were a couple, then a kiss was nothing. She’d been conscious of other couples kissing all evening. But not them. Not here. Her pulse screamed in her veins, thundering through her, but her lips parted on a soft sigh of surrender. She told herself the drumming in her chest was nervousness, and a desire to do a good job, but she couldn’t ignore the strain of her heart, thumping hard into her ribs, over and over, wishing, wanting, needing him with every beat that passed.
Still, he didn’t kiss her, and she waited impatiently, a part of her withering with each second she languished, until his finger pressed to her chin, lifting her face to his, and their eyes locked. “Okay?”
Something in the region of her heart shifted. Waiting for her to agree, even though she’d already agreed to the entire sham relationship, was a courtesy that made her whole body feel warm and good, that made her feel safe with him. “Oui,” she offered a weak smile, her body on tenterhooks.
He returned the smile, his own not weak but dazzling for its beauty and authenticity, for the confidence that ran through him, and then he was dropping his head fully, his mouth claiming hers in a way that was, for Skye, utterly explosive. She whimpered low in her throat, wondering at the senses storming her system, her body reverberating with a magnetism she couldn’t resist. Her lips parted without her command, allowing his tongue to dip into her mouth, to duel with hers, the subtle pressure of the kiss pushing her head back, into his waiting hand. Fingers splayed wide cradled her there, tangled with her dark hair, pressing her forward, into the kiss, into him.
Around them, the deep, bass-heavy music throbbed, like a ceaseless beat to the crescendo they were building to. Skye felt as though she wanted to burst out of her skin, or perhaps that she was doing so without her desire nor forethought, only that she could no longer contain her blood and flesh and needs. She was jumpy and hot, every part of her alive, and the only solution to be closer to him. Her body pressed forward, so they were glued together; one hand snaked around his waist, her fingertips brushing his muscled back and side, the other lifting to his chest and staying there, clinging to him, feeling his heat and virility. Pressed against him, she was aware of his planes and angles, his strength and dominance, but most of all she was aware of his desire for her, the hardness pressed against her an unmistakable sign that this kiss was doing things to him as well, making him want something they’d both agreed wouldn’t happen.
That’s not what this was about.
And yet his other hand moved to her hip then lifted higher, his touch light at first, until it reached the flesh at the top of her ribcage and his thumb fanned out, stroking the underside of her breast so fast she had no time to react, no time to prepare, and then it was over. She swallowed a groan, because she wanted his hand to go back there, to touch her intimately, without the impediment of clothes and people swirling around them.
People.
Everywhere.
Watching.
Skye never courted attention, she’d never welcomed it, so why couldn’t she pull away from him and draw this to an end? Why was she holding onto him for dear life?
“Matthieu…” She’d loved his name the first time she’d said it, but hearing it now, garbled by their kiss and her own desire, was a strong aphrodisiac. But what had she been planning to say? She was drowning and she was asking him for a lifeline, but what did that entail? More of this? Or less? To stop, or keep going?
He heard it though, and he pulled away. Not completely—not enough to make it look as though they were anything but a smitten couple. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath warm as he expelled it, in and out, trying to get hold of himself. His eyes scanned her face, probing her, reading her, seeing—she suspected—far too much. She blinked, looking anywhere but at him, and then cleared her throat, as if to push him away. She needed space. To think, and deal with the myriad sensations he’d evoked in her with just a kiss.
“That should do it, cherie.”
Her stomach twisted.
“The news of this will be everywhere within minutes. It probably already is.” He brought her closer, so his mouth was at her ear, to all the world it looking like an intimate hug. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
“You’re paying me to, remember?” She reminded him quickly, because she needed to deny everything she’d just experienced, even to him. She needed him to know that had just been play-acting, as they’d agreed. Only the thought of that hollowed her out in the middle of her chest. She was confused and lost and being here with him was making it impossible to think straight. She pulled away gently, keeping a smile pressed to her face even when her insides were strangely cold, her heart quivering. “Do you think we’ve done enough?”
Again, with those eyes! Scanning, reading, wondering. She bit down on her lower lip, waiting for his response.
“Would you like to go home?”
And for the first time since arriving overseas, that was exactly what Skye wanted. She had the strangest urge to turn tail and run—not to his elegant French home surrounded by embassies and luxury shops, but to her real home in Australia, where the birds and sky and whispering trees were all as familiar to her as were the patterns of lines on her own hand.
“Yeah,” she swallowed quickly. “I think we should.”