The Decoy Girlfriend(41)
A prickle of heat roots in his chest. Fuck, this is his fault for not keeping a closer eye on her like he teased he would. He should have paid more attention to who she was with and anticipated some of the sleazier guys trying to make their move.
“Is my lipstick still okay?” She waves a hand at her mouth, pulling him away from his self-recrimination. “No smudging?”
Damn if she isn’t adorable even when she’s using him as her compact mirror.
He pretends to study her. “Mmm, maybe a little.”
“Oh no,” she whispers, looking a little flustered. “This always happens.”
“I’ve got you.” Taft takes the golden opportunity to gently trace the dip in her Cupid’s bow. He doesn’t rush, his thumb brushing slowly but deliberately over sensitive flesh.
Even with her heels, he’s almost a head taller than her. He doesn’t miss the way Freya stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away. The space between their bodies disappears. Nothing about this moment is meant for an audience, and suddenly, Taft hates that they have one.
Freya’s whiskey-colored eyes swallow him whole, her red lips parted in something that looks a lot like wonder.
He has to try not to frown. Has she never been touched this reverently before?
“Are you done?” she asks, words scarcely above a whisper.
Oh, baby, not even close. He honestly can’t imagine a world in which he’d ever have enough of her.
His voice is almost as hoarse as hers when he responds. “Yeah. You’re all set. So, uh, guess he didn’t succeed in charming you away from me, huh?”
Freya draws herself up, looking a little offended. “Gross, no. I don’t fall for dubious charms.”
That seems to satisfy the spiky monster in his chest. “Oh. Well. Good.”
“Fending off unwanted advances is ravenous work.” Somehow, her smile still manages to sparkle. “Accompany me to the hors d’oeuvres table?”
I’d accompany you anywhere perches on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back, pretty sure she doesn’t want to be hit on right now.
“I could eat,” he says, letting her tug him in that direction.
He relishes the feel of her smaller fingers curling around his forearm, and he wonders what would happen if he took her hand in his, instead.
“You know,” she says conversationally, “I can never type ‘hors d’oeuvres’ right on the first try. In the new book I’m working on, I call them ‘canapés’ to get around spelling it.”
Her admission catches him off guard, and he chuckles. “?‘Appetizers’ would be an even easier work-around.”
“Yes, but can I even call myself a writer if I don’t find a prettier word to use when a simple one would suffice?” She stuffs a caramelized mushroom-and-onion tartlet in her mouth, puff pastry crackling. “Oh, and if you see me reaching for anything that has Brie, any kind of baby animal, or goat cheese on it, please stop me. I will projectile vomit.”
Taft smiles. “Consider me warned. And at your service.”
He places extra emphasis on the last word just to make her blush, maintaining eye contact until she’s the first to look away. Color rises from her upper chest, crawling up her neck in a wild-strawberry flush. He desperately desires to follow it to see how far down it goes—he hopes it doesn’t show on his face.
“Speaking of, thanks for playing my white knight earlier.” Freya nibbles a chocolate-dipped mandarin slice sprinkled with coarse sea salt. Her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth just in time to catch a piece of salt.
Taft wishes his hand were there instead. Fuuuuuck.
“Thankfully you understood my SOS,” she continues. “Every time I tried to come up with a reason to leave, he asked me another question. He was super keen to get me on his show.”
Taft clenches his jaw. Yeah, I’ll bet.
“That’s not happening,” he growls, grabbing at a watermelon-and-prosciutto skewer. He holds it like he wants to stab it into someone and he has a damn good idea who.
Freya surprises him by grinning. The anger immediately dissipates when she looks at him like that. She reaches up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Oh, I know. I handled it. Mandi would have been proud.”
He cocks his head, lips pursing in question.
Her grin turns into a devious smirk. “I told him his show wasn’t a good fit for my brand.”
Taft busts out laughing. “That’s cold. And perfect.”
She seems inordinately pleased with herself, tossing her head back in a giggle. “I thought so, too.”
Taft flicks his gaze to her slender neck before he can stop himself. He forces himself to smile like everything is normal and he isn’t about to combust. “A devastating comeback. Do you always go straight for the jugular?”
She winks at him. “Let’s just say writers are really good at finding killer inspiration.”
Pride and arousal awaken, unspooling low in his gut. He savagely stomps them down.
What the hell was Mandi thinking, giving her this dress? Freya-in-emerald-green is his kryptonite in the best-worst way.
He’s never believed in love at first sight, but he suspects he’s been a goner ever since he saw her behind the counter at Books & Brambles, scowling at him behind her big blue glasses.