He swallowed down the desire to turn around and take Libby back to her house. As much as he loved his family, it was their fault he’d been put in this situation. If they didn’t put so much pressure on him to be like his brother he wouldn’t feel the need to lie…would he?
He forced himself to think of the wedding, of the years of criticism and scrutiny his aunts and uncles had heaped on him. Of all the things they’d said to his mother under the guise of being “helpful.” He forced himself to think of Sadie, pregnant with his cousin’s child.
The child he’d once dreamed of having.
Bringing a fake girlfriend home might be low, but he wasn’t a cheating son of a bitch like his cousin. Still, he felt like a dick doing this to his family. Especially his ma.
“Let’s go,” he said, holding out his arm to Libby. “It’s showtime.”
She stood taller against him, having changed into a pair of her signature crazy-high heels. As much as he knew his relationship with Libby was fake, he couldn’t help imagining what she’d look like in only those heels. Like dessert and heaven and sex rolled into one, he’d bet.
Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her body pushed against him. She teetered on the unsteady paving of his parents’ front steps. Each bump of her hip sent a shot of heat through him.
He’d spent the afternoon trying not to think about how attractive she was with that mane of red hair and that perky butt encased in faded denim. In all likelihood he’d failed but, judging by some of the looks she’d thrown him, the feeling was mutual.
“You’re asking for trouble in those shoes,” he said, forcing his attention to something safer than Libby’s distracting curves.
“I’m asking for trouble anyway.” She offered him a sly smile as he rang the doorbell. “The shoes are just the cherry on top.”
Paul was about to ask her what kind of trouble she preferred when a thumping noise came from the house followed by footsteps. “You’re not scared of dogs, are you?”
Libby’s eyes widened as she stepped toward the door. “Not really…I don’t think.”
At that moment the front door burst open and the Chapmans’ very large, very excited Great Dane burst forth. He immediately locked onto Libby and jumped up, throwing his paws over her shoulders.
“Oh my God!” She wobbled on her heels, but Paul grabbed her around the waist from behind, preventing her from toppling over and taking the dog with her.
She stumbled back against him, her ass pushing squarely against his groin as she tried to wriggle free from the dog’s grip. If she hadn’t known about his attraction to her before, she would now.
Trust his libido to come back in full force with the one girl who had a “no sex” policy.
“Down, Cavallo!” His mother’s voice rang out over the commotion. “Siediti!”
The dog relinquished, its large tail thumping against the doorframe. Even seated, the top of his head came up to the bottom of Libby’s ribcage. Cavallo sniffed her and then proceeded to wipe a long strip of doggy drool across her jeans.
“I am so sorry,” his mother said, shooing the dog inside. “He gets very excited when we have guests.”
“It’s okay.” Libby blinked, looking down at her jeans and then back up to Paul, stifling a smile. “Excitement is a natural thing.”
Paul tried to subtly adjust the front of his jeans so his hard-on wouldn’t be noticeable, but the quick flick of Libby’s eyes told him he’d been well and truly sprung.
“Ma, this is Libby…my girlfriend.” It couldn’t have come out any more awkward if he’d tried, but the tension would be lost on his mother. Hopefully so would the guilty tone in his voice.
She looked pleased as punch as she held the door open and motioned for them to come inside. “I’m Leone, so lovely to meet you.”
“Sorry to spring this on you. I understand Paul didn’t let you know I was coming.” Libby shot Paul a mock-stern look.
“Not to worry. We always have plenty of food.” His mother smiled warmly and patted Paul on the cheek.
He could practically feel the excitement shimmering off her. “Don’t make this a big deal, Ma,” he said into her ear.
What the hell was he doing? This was his family, his blood. And he was going to parade Libby around like some kind of magician’s trick. A diversion tactic while he tried to make something of himself in the background. Clearly, he hadn’t been thinking. But it was too late now. His ma was trying her hardest not to burst into a huge smile as she closed the door behind them. “Your brother and Gracie are already here, go through to the table. Dinner will be out in a few minutes.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Libby asked. “I feel bad we didn’t bring a bottle of wine or anything with us.”
“Ma won’t let us bring anything to dinner,” Paul said.
“It’s fine, I’m nearly done. You two take a seat and get something to drink.” Her dark eyes shone as she gave one more pointed look at him before she bustled off down the hallway.
“You could have warned me about the dog,” Libby said, looking down at her jeans.
Cavallo milled around, still intent on sniffing out the new person in the house. Libby reached out and tentatively scratched his head, her shoulders relaxing when she realized the big beast wanted a little affection and not a bite of her hand.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“His,” Paul corrected. “Cavallo. It means horse in Italian.”
“Fitting.” She laughed. “You could have warned me about something else, too.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bull.” Her hazel eyes glittered. “I thought we agreed no sex.”
“We agreed not to have it, but there’s not a chance in hell of me not thinking about it.”
A pink flush crawled up her cheeks, and she kept quiet. They spent a few more minutes fussing over the dog, and Paul found a tissue so Libby could clean up her jeans.
His mother’s voice carried through the house, her excited Italian revealing to the others that Paul had brought a girl to dinner. Thankfully, Libby seemed to have no idea what was going on. As if on cue, Gracie poked her head out from the dining room, and a big grin spread across her face. No doubt Des had translated his mother’s pronouncement to her.
“Hello!” She bounded out and gave Paul a quick hug. “Who’s this?”
“Gracie, meet Libby.”
“Welcome,” Gracie said, sticking her hand out.
The girls shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
Gracie motioned for them to come through to the dining room, turning back to wink at Paul when Libby couldn’t see. Des and their father were already seated at the table, both of them subtly raising a brow when Paul ushered Libby inside.
The introductions went round the table with lightning efficiency, and then the food appeared. Over the clattering of cutlery, serving spoons, and appreciative full-mouthed grumbles, Paul watched as Libby drank it all in with wide eyes.
“So, Libby, I had no idea you were dating my brother. How long have you two been going out?” Des asked, though the implication in his question was why is this the first we’ve heard about it.
“Not that long,” Libby replied, reaching for her glass of water and taking a big gulp. “We only made it official recently.”
Gracie leaned forward, her curiosity undisguised. “And how did you meet?”
“Through a friend of a friend.” She nodded as though convincing herself, but she made a show of squeezing Paul’s shoulder affectionately. “We hit it off right away, something about him felt…perfect.”
“That’s so sweet.” Gracie looked to Des. “Remember when we were like that?”
Des nodded. “We’re still like that.”
“Tell us a little about yourself, Libby.” His mother said, gesturing with a forkful of broccoli. “Since my son has told us nothing.”
The excitement in her voice twisted like a knife in his stomach. What would happen whe
n he and Libby “broke up” after the wedding? Would she go back to thinking that he’d failed her? What if she found out he’d been lying the whole time? He couldn’t let that happen.
Having Libby by his side would help for now, but it was only one part of the plan. He needed to figure out the rest of it before he ended up in a worse position than where he started.
Chapter Five
Libby felt every pair of eyes in the room turn to her in the wake of Leone’s question. The clacking of cutlery stopped, and Paul’s entire family waited expectantly.
“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “There’s not much to say. I’m an only child, I was studying medicine, but I’ve put my schooling on hold to work on a business venture. I love to travel.”
Was meeting a prospective partner’s parents always like this? It felt like an awkward job interview and she hated running off the aspects of her life like items on a grocery list. She shifted in her seat, her eyes darting to Paul silently begging him for help.
“Her favorite movie is Die Hard,” Paul added.
“The first one?” Paul’s father, Darren, asked. It was the first thing he’d said all evening.
Libby smiled. “Of course.”
“You know, I don’t know why they made the fourth and fifth ones,” he said, shaking his head. The older man had dark hair with a smattering of gray around the temples, he wore thin wire-rimmed glasses and, though he looked like the stern silent type, his face lit up at the change of conversation. “I didn’t see them.”
Libby’s shoulders relaxed. “You didn’t miss much. I mean, I love Bruce Willis, but you need to know when something has jumped the shark.”
“Exactly!” Darren thumped the table with his fist, making the salt and pepper shakers jump.
The table dissolved into a debate about the prevalence of sequels in action cinema, which lead to an argument about the reboot of Indiana Jones. Libby and Darren were clearly on the same side, while Gracie and Des argued against them.
Paul sat back quietly, tucking into his food though his eyes kept darting over to her. Even silent, his presence radiated, drawing her attention away from everything else…including the dance-in-your-mouth delights that his mother had placed on the table.
Thinking about the way his body had felt pressed up against her would lead to trouble, but how could she forget the hardness of his muscles—and other things—against the curve of her back, and his hands at her waist. He was masculine without being macho, strong without being forceful. The perfect balance.
“If you keep staring at me like that I’ll have to take you home,” he whispered, placing his hand on her thigh under the table.
The rest of the table chatted amongst themselves. Libby scanned the room to see if anyone was watching them. “I’m not staring…and keep your hands to yourself.”
“But we’re supposed to be dating.” His breath warmed her neck, sending a tingle of anticipation skittering down her spine.
“And you like to feel up all your dates with your parents sitting not three feet away?”
“You’re the first one I’ve brought home in a long time, remember? I’ve forgotten how it works.”
She swallowed, ignoring how close his lips were. If she turned her head she’d catch them with her own. “Me, too.”
His hand remained on her thigh, the heat from his palm matching the fire that had started to slow-burn low down in her belly. He traced shapes on her leg, every so often inching his hand farther up her thigh. She could have easily knocked him away, but the insistent throbbing in her sex overrode her desire to be sensible.
“Are you sure you want me to stop?”
His aftershave filled her nostrils as he leaned a little closer, his hand mere inches from where she wanted to be touched. So close and yet the distance seemed unbearable—her body cried out for him to stroke her. To explore her.
She cleared her throat as she noticed that the conversation had died down at the table. Interlacing her fingers with Paul’s, she drew his hand away, relieved and devastated at the same time.
“We should clear the dishes,” she said to Paul, loudly enough that he wouldn’t be able to back out of it.
Without waiting for his agreement, she pushed up from her chair and collected the empty plates.
“You don’t need to do that,” Leone said, reaching out to stop her.
“Please, it’s the least I can do. You accommodated me without any notice at all, I’d like to help.” She sent Paul’s mother her most charming smile, and the older woman sat back down, a pleased expression on her face.
Okay, so maybe she was better with families than she first thought.
Although it was clear that the Chapmans were nothing like her own family. The conversation was filled with in-jokes, playful teasing, and all the love she’d wished for as a little kid. In only one evening she could see herself being part of this family, being accepted and loved and cherished.
All the more reason to make sure you remember the point of this “relationship.” It’s business and you’re lying to these people, which means you can’t get involved.
Paul followed her, stacking the empty plates and bowls as expertly as he did at the bar. “You’re such a girl scout,” he said as they walked into the kitchen, a smirk tugging at his full lips.
They opened the dishwasher and began to rinse and load the crockery. “I was raised to have manners.”
The kitchen was small, and they stood next to each other, working together as though they’d done it a thousand times before. Their rhythms matched as if on some basal level they understood the other person’s movements and habits. Paul reached past Libby to grab a plate, brushing her ribcage with his knuckles.
“Hands off,” she admonished, though she was starting to mean it less and less.
“You seemed to enjoy it when I had my hands on you before.” His eyes swept over her, his lips wearing that predatory smile again.
The same smile she knew would feature in her dreams if she didn’t shut this attraction down now. “And how could you tell that?”
“You got this look on your face.” He leaned closer to her. “Your eyes got all wide and I could feel your thighs clenching.”
Her face flushed hard and fast. “You could not.”
“Could so. You wanted me to keep going.”
She grappled for a protest but none came to her lips. He was right. “Regardless, we have an agreement.”
“That’s the best you can do?” He laughed, cocky and as sure of himself as a guy who was used to charming women out of their pants. “Are you telling me you’re not attracted to me?”
It was no use lying, she wasn’t the best at hiding her feelings anyway. “I didn’t say that, but it’s beside the point.”
“Why?”
She looked behind her to make sure they were alone. “Because this is a business arrangement, nothing more. I don’t want things to get messy.”
Messy was an understatement. She didn’t want to get used and discarded for a newer model the way she had back in university. The way her father had done to her mother years before that.
History would repeat itself if she wasn’t careful, and Paul would only be able to use her if she let him. But she wouldn’t. Their arrangement gave her something precious—an opportunity, a chance—and she would otherwise keep him at a distance.
“But getting messy is so much fun.” He reached out to her and pulled her to him, his hips flat against her belly as he wedged her against the kitchen bench. “Besides, they’re spying on us.”
“Who?”
“My family.” He inclined his head back toward the kitchen door with a movement so subtle she felt as though they were spies communicating undercover. “We should sell it; we don’t want them thinking this is just business.”
His hands touched her hips, his fingers tracing the line at the top of her jeans just under her shirt. The throbbing started up again, insistent. Demanding.
“They don’t thin
k that,” she protested, but her hands came up to his chest as if controlled by a puppet master tugging her strings.
His muscles were hard beneath her palms, and she had to stop herself from rubbing against him. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a flash of red. Gracie.
“Okay, maybe they are watching us.”
“Ready to play the part?” One hand came up to cup the angle of her jaw. “Let’s see what kind of actress you are.”
“This is purely for show,” she said, the breath rushing out of her lungs as his face hovered close to hers.
“Of course.” His lips brushed the space next to the corner of her mouth, so close and yet the distance felt like pure, unadulterated torture. “You won’t enjoy this at all.”
“I won’t.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
He angled her head, coming down over her in a way that was completely possessive and in control. As his lips parted hers, she sighed against him, her body losing the ability to hold itself upright. Every nerve ending in her body sparkled like New Year’s fireworks, and her fists curled into his T-shirt.
The moment his tongue touched hers her mind went blank, the taste of wine on his lips and the scent of his skin driving her to a point of desperation. His fingers thrust into her hair, pulling her head back so he could take more, demand more. Taste more.
Unable to stop herself, Libby pressed her hips against him, gently rubbing up and down until a wonderfully guttural sound came from the back of his throat. He was hard beneath her hands, the muscles in his chest perfectly shaped. The press of his thighs against hers enough to spark wild images in her mind.
“You seem fairly invested,” he murmured against her lips, pulling away from the kiss with a dark fire in his eyes, “for someone who’s not enjoying herself.”
“Just playing the part.” The crack in her voice betrayed just how much she’d wanted that kiss to continue.
“Right.” A cocky smile passed over his lips as he nudged her legs apart with his thigh.
Pretend It's Love Page 5