I appreciate his honesty. The truth in his words. And maybe the underlying whatever it is that he’s not speaking. I hear his admission—that he’s a player—but that’s not what I see and I want to understand the why behind it.

But that’s for another time. For when I can sit and tell myself I’m trying to justify why I want this man when I swore off wanting men.

Bite the bullet, Hendrix.

“That would make it difficult to carry out our pretend marriage if we weren’t talking.”

He huffs a laugh. “True.”

“I mean, if you want press, I’m sure the icy glares from the newly wedded wife from across the room at one of the functions we’re scheduled to go to would do it.”

“No doubt.”

“But I don’t exactly think that’s what Nathaniel and your agent were going for when they set this up.”

“Definitely not,” he says as his own thumb begins to rub back and forth over my thigh.

I hesitate, then push. “But wouldn’t it make it just as difficult if we avoided each other at home, but had to be all lovey-dovey in public and . . .”

“Why would we avoid each other at home?” he asks.

I take a deep breath and pray I’m not wrong in how I’m reading him or his comments because if I am, this is going to be morbidly embarrassing. “Because we both felt the same way. Because we both wanted to test these waters. Because the wanting goes both ways.”

Silence.

Jase sits up, shifting into a seated position, studying me across the dim light. His blue eyes darken, something heavy settling between us.

His tongue darts out between his lips as my pulse begins to race. “Ask me what you’re going to ask me, Hendrix.”

My throat is dry. “We already completed our first task in Operation Live-A-Little . . .”

“Hmm.”

“And it seems I didn’t promise your brother anything.”

His jaw tightens. “Ask me.” His voice is raw, almost desperate.

I’ll let you get used to the idea, Cookie. Pretty sure you’re a look before you leap type of girl whereas I just leap.

I swallow. “What if I don’t need to get used to the idea? What if I feel the same way that you do?”

He freezes.

I swear the air gets thinner, the space between us charged with heat. Need. Not that we’d admit that out loud.

“Why?” His voice is barely a whisper with more gravel than honey this time, and it tugs on parts of me deep down.

Because I want to feel beautiful and wanted and sexy. Because you make me step outside myself and see someone different from what I see and I love how that feels.

“No reason.”