Page 21 of Fake Crown

“Make you miss home?” I ask when I sidle up next to her.

She releases a deep sigh. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Back to our room, or have you got other plans?”

She leans against the low wall when she rotates to face me. “You’re in the wedding party tomorrow, so I shouldn’t tire you out too much.” She snags the edge of my suit jacket, but she doesn’t close the distance between us.

I step between her feet and stare down at her. Her brown eyes, which have sparkled with mischief all day, look soulful in the dim light cast by the hotel. “I’m not too tired yet,” I say.

Her lips twitch, and she cocks her head. “No?” She straightens, and we’re so close that rum and pineapple juice lingers in the air between us.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask, and I ease the strands of her hair caught by the wind back behind her ear.

“Oh, Brent,” she murmurs. “You disappoint me.”

“I value you,” I try.

A wide grin spreads across her face, but it’s followed by a tiny headshake. “No.”

Her insistence on something real causes a twinge of discomfort to lodge in my stomach, but I brush it aside. I suspect everyone values Posey for the easy reason—she can work a crowd like no one I’ve ever met. She doesn’t want the easy answer, and it’s not the one I want to give.

“Your scooter skills are unparalleled,” I say, and I use the voice we’ve been teasing each other with all day. Husky, turned on, as though I can’t wait to rip her clothes off.

“That’s why you value me?” She lets out a giggle.

“I think you’re underestimating how much I enjoy being alive.” I scan her amused face. “How much I enjoy feeling alive with you.” My stomach flips at how honest my admission is.

Surprise enters her dark eyes, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “This isn’t...” She takes a deep breath. “Whatever happens this weekend between us ends on Monday. No need for you to get the wrong idea.”

Instead of letting her obvious unease bother me, I loop a strand of her long hair around my finger. “I don’t form romantic attachments easily. No need to assume that’ll change.”

“Ground rules.” She gives me a sly smile, and she runs her fingertip along my chin. “This ends Monday. No romantic attachments. Anything else is fair game.”

I slide my hand into her hair. “We’ve got a deal.” Then I dip down and capture her lips with mine.

Posey

First kisses have never been my favorite. Too much tongue. Not enough tongue. Hard lips. Limp lips. Kisses where there’s enough slobber to bathe a dog. And teeth. The clash of teeth is the worst. Most of my first kisses don’t lead to a second.

Brent is none of those. From the moment his lips touch mine, we’re in sync. Tasting, teasing, an exquisite amount of pressure, as though we’ve spent weeks practicing with each other. It’s the sort of immediate compatibility romance novels are written about. The thought makes me giggle, and I draw back on a laugh.

“Gotta say,” Brent mutters. “That wasn’t the impression I was hoping for.”

“No, no.” I wave him off and weave his fingers with mine while I tug him toward the hotel entrance. “I’ll tell you when we get to the hotel room, but I swear on Bellerive, it was a good thought.”

“A thought that inspires laughter in the middle of—” he sets his free hand over his heart while he lets me drag him through the lobby to the elevators “—what I considered to be a very good kiss.”

“Only very good?” I cock an eyebrow while we wait for the elevator to appear.

The elevator stops in front of us, and it’s empty. I tug him into the metal box, and I shove him against the wall.

“Only very good?” I ask again before I dig my hands into his hair and meet his lips for another kiss.

That’s when I find out I was wrong on the terrace. First kisses, no matter how good, are no match for the second. Whether my laughter causes it, or our innate sexual chemistry, we devour each other. As though someone in security isn’t watching us make out through the pinhole camera in the corner. We’re hands and lips and murmured nonsensical words.

I shove his jacket off his shoulders, and it falls to the ground with a thud. His fingers find the zipper on the back of my dress, and he draws it down, leaving my back exposed to the air conditioning.

When the elevator signals our floor, Brent snatches up his jacket, and then he scoops me into his arms as though I weigh nothing.