“Ah,” I say. “The mom-pressure—my sister and I get that, too. Why are they obsessed with their children’s dating lives?”

“My parents have this epic love story…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, my mom wants that for her sons, and I’m the only unmarried one, so she’s obsessed with my romantic prospects. Talks about it constantly. Makes it awkward at family functions.”

The rush of sympathy I feel surprises me—I understand the pain of feeling uncomfortable around your own mom. “Would it be easier if you had someone with you?”

The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve said.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you offering to come?”

“Of course not,” I say quickly.

“It sounded like you were.” His expression is serious, but there’s laughter dancing in those honey-brown eyes. “Like you’re dying to live out a Fake Dating trope at my parents’ party.”

“Ha,” I scoff, strangely flustered. “Right.”

He leans closer, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You could play the part of a loving girlfriend, hold my hand, dance with me. Help convince everyone I’m not pathetically single. Sounds right up your alley.”

He’s messing with me, of course. But for some inexplicable reason, my mind conjures up an image of being pressed against him on the dance floor, his hand firm against my low back, my cheek resting on his chest. An overwhelming sensation of yearning rushes through me.

I blink; what the hell is wrong with me? He’s scrambled my brain. Rattled me so thoroughly that I’m having fantasies of dancing with him. The ultimate form of sabotage.

Maybe I can flip the tables on him. Throw him off his guard.

“Sure,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes. “We could even try for a steamy kiss in front of everyone, just to really sell it.”

The laughter fades from his expression and his eyes crackle with heat. Suddenly, I can imagine it: his hand coming up to cup my jaw, pulling my mouth to his. We wouldn’t be tentative, not with all these weeks of tension between us—his kiss would be punishing, almost vicious, drawing me closer, then pushing me away, leaving me breathless and aching in front of his entire family.

There’s no way in hell I’d ever do that.

And yet, when he says, “Is that what you want?” in a low, smoky voice—

I hear myself whispering, “Yes.”

He holds my gaze. “Great. It’s in Maine, so we’d have to stay overnight.”

My stomach clenches; this is spiraling out of control. Now I’m seeing images of Ryan, shirtless, tossing me onto a bed, pinning me down, devouring me.

I take a step back, shaking my head. “I was kidding, Ryan.”