Page 9 of The Wedding Fake
I leaned a little closer, trying to understand better, to get her to open up, but all the action did was shift my hand where it lay forgotten on her knee. It seemed impossible that I’d forgotten I was touching her, because the moment I laid my hand down on her bare skin I’d become hyper-aware of the cool flesh under my fingertips and the way her kneecap curled into my palm. In the minutes since, that touch had grown to feel natural, like my hand belonged on her body. And then I shifted, and my hand shifted with me, moving her skirt up a single inch and leaving a slice of bare thigh under my fingertips. Claire’s legs were long enough that I was still miles away from the sweet spot where they joined, but my body didn’t care. It responded as if I were spreading those thighs apart to reveal her to me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more in that instant.
But Claire was the same woman who’d given me curt and icy hellos for almost a month, just in an effort to keep her distance. Add to that the story she was telling presently, which practically waved around red flags, and it was clear Claire wasn’t interested in an elevator fling with me, so I slipped my hand back into my own lap, letting my raised knees hide the evidence of my sudden surge of desire.
If she looked back on any empirical evidence from our encounter in the elevator, hopefully it would be that I was a good listener, not that I was pretending to listen as part of some long game I was playing.
Her eyes shot down to her leg, then back at me, a line of hurt or confusion—I didn’t know her well enough to be sure—marring her forehead. Her expression—and the implication I was already fucking things up—was enough to cool my desire for the time being, and I twisted to face her, allowing me to see her fully while I stretched out my legs. “First of all,” I said, “I don’t find anything you’ve said stupid. I follow my gut when it comes to women.” There was a pregnant pause in which I thought she might ask what my gut said about her, but when she remained quiet, I continued. “I have to ask, though, do you have feelings for the brother?”
Her nose curled. “For Grant Dupree? No, I have no feelings for him—at least not positive ones. But there’s something about him. I see it with Ethan—that’s my sister’s fiancé. Did I say that already?”
She had, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was she hung up on Grant—or worse, the brother?
“You said he’d break your heart?” I asked cautiously, not sure how to broach the theory that all her protestations may be covering up a serious crush.
She nodded thoughtfully. “I think Grant would spend a year or two gaslighting me,” she began. “He’d wear down my defenses and make me believe I’m the only one. He’d make me think I was being melodramatic or suspicious or jealous, and then—when I grew complacent—then he’d cheat. That’s what men do,” she said firmly, and in an oh shit moment, I realized her red flags had nothing to do with either brother, they were about having been burnt before. “And I think Ethan is doing it to my little sister, but that’s not a suspicion I can share. Not without some proof,” she added.
I frowned. If I stayed quiet I’d be agreeing as if her statement were fact, but if I spoke up, I risked getting into an argument while trapped, which seemed ill-advised. “That’s not what all men do,” I protested gently.
Claire’s cheeks flushed. “Not all, but a lot,” she said quietly, and I knew Claire had revealed more than she’d intended to.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
Claire let out a long, world-weary sigh, her head rolling back, and I wished I knew her well enough to rub her shoulders and help her relax. I imagined her sighing just like that as she dropped her head back against my chest, and the image flooded me with a new kind of desire—not the type that sent all the blood rushing to my dick, but the kind that made my chest ache with an envious sort of longing. It was a decidedly new feeling for me.
“What am I going to do?” she repeated back. “I’m going to learn to say the word ‘Ethan’ without obvious disdain, and then I’m going to go to my baby sister’s wedding and smile really big and hope I’m totally wrong.” She nodded, as if convincing herself.
The desire to touch her—not to fondle her, but to support her—was overwhelming, and I grasped her toes where they sat next to my thigh, demurely clad in a pair of flats. The canvas of the shoe dipped under my gentle squeeze. “I think that’s good. How about Grant?”
She scrunched her eyes closed tightly, as if she might be able to wish away the problem. “I told my family I was seeing someone,” she replied quietly, not opening her eyes.
“But you’re not?” I asked, realizing how much hope I was pinning on the question. It hadn’t come up yet, but God was I hoping to hear she was single.
“Seeing someone?” She chuffed out a dry laugh. “Definitely not. I haven’t even tried since the spring after the first round of vaccines.”
“I’m also in a pandemic dry spell,” I admitted, waving between us. “This is the longest I’ve been alone with a woman since…” I didn’t think I could pin down a date easily, but it’d been months, at least. “Months. Not counting people I share DNA with,” I added with a grin.
Claire smiled back at my joke, but shedidn’t say more. I wasn’t done talking yet, though, not when she’d finally opened up. “Back to what you were saying—at least you figured out how to avoid the set-up with Grant.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding me? Unless I show up with a fiancé of my own I’m not likely to dissuade my family. They’re dead set on this match.”
She shifted, looking like she was about to pull up her knees, then, remembering she was in a skirt, she slid her legs straight out, which inadvertently put my fingers in contact with her bare skin. For a moment I considered pulling back, but I didn’t want to. Her skin was cool silk on a hot summer day, and I wanted more—I wanted all of it. Once it was under my fingertips the temptation to slide my hand up her leg was staggering.
I remained perfectly still, and she made no move to regain her space. “Don’t you have a friend who can go up there and pretend for a week?”
“A friend?” she asked, looking skeptical.
“I don’t know, like a gay guy friend or something?” I suggested.
Claire let loose a belly laugh that was both surprising and delightful. Of course, I was sure the laugh was at my expense, but as she settled her hands on her stomach and leveled her bright green gaze on me, I didn’t give a shit why she was laughing, I just wanted more. “Even if I had a gay best friend—” Here she paused to chuckle again. “I imagine he’d have his own life and wouldn’t be interested in dropping everything for a week to pretend to be some other guy.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
My head cocked, my eyes going wide at her accidental admission. “You already gave your family details about your mystery man?” I asked.
Claire’s face went an unexpected red, dark enough I imagined she probably felt hot to the touch. I shifted my grasp on her leg, scooting a little closer, settling for this tiny contact even though I wanted to run my hands over her flushed face and chest and feel the heat of her skin. “Not much, but if I hadn’t said anything they wouldn’t have believed me,” she answered weakly.
Again, my grasp tightened and I moved forward, shrinking the space between our torsos. I hadn’t lied about listening to my gut, and my gut said her reticence right now was hiding a juicy story. “Tell me.”
“No,” she said with such firm finality that I flinched back, surprised. Unfortunately for Claire, I wasn’t even the tiniest bit dissuaded. My lips twisted into a predatory grin and my hand shifted until I cupped the side of her kneecap. I knew full well the hold was intimate and sexual and dominant, and it made Claire inhale deeply, her chest rising as her eyes shot to the place where we touched. Her leg rolled out the tiniest bit, pressing her knee further into my hand while subtly parting her thighs. I understood it was an invitation, but at that moment I wanted to hear Claire’s secret more than I wanted to be some trapped-in-an-elevator, bucket-list experience for her. “Tell me,” I repeated, my voice a low whisper.
For a moment she stared at me, her chest rising and falling visibly under her thin sundress. My dick pressed my zipper, as if hoping to remind me we were stuck indefinitely.