Victor’s expression doesn’t change. He straightens his 6’3” frame, a picture of poise and potent masculinity, then closes the final stretch of distance between us with measured and deliberate steps. His gaze smolders, heavy with intent and an undeniable authority that wraps around me like a cloak.

Leaning close, his breath warm against my ear, he whispers with a sharp, gravelly authority, “Let’s be clear. I don’t give a fuck about your ex.”

I don’t just hear his words; I feel them reverberating through me, setting off alarms in places I had nearly forgotten could sound off. My toys NEVER stirred up this much of a wildfire of desire, this much of a potent cocktail of frustrating arousal.

So, what do I do? Well, the most rational thing.

I RUN.

Ignoring the stabbing pain from my four-inch heels, I dash past him in a blur, my heart pounding louder than my footsteps.

“Wait!” His voice slices through the cool evening air—low, amused, and with just enough bite to make me irrationally angrier. His strides are long and effortless, and in seconds, he’s beside me. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“I didn’t drive. I took an Uber,” I snap, quickening my pace. The sharp click of my heels echoes off the empty street, matching the frantic rhythm in my chest.

“Then let me take you home.” His tone softens, smooth yet insistent, his presence closing in with every determined step.

“No way! You’ve caused enough trouble, Victor Grey Beard!” My voice bounces off the buildings, a little louder than I intended, but I’m too annoyed to care. “I’ll leave the way I came…without you!”

He stops, brows furrowed, clearly not used to being rejected.

“Kerry, wait!” The plea in his voice is subtle, almost masked by frustration. His fingers brush against mine, feather-light but passionately electric. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you that I’m taking you home. It’s the least I can do for putting you on the spot… although you put me on the spot first.”

I freeze and then cross my arms. “You’re impossible.”

His eyes soften as he steps closer to invade my personal space like he owns it. Gently, he tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long, igniting sparks where there should be none. His warmth seeps into me, betraying my resolve.

“God, you’re beautiful,” He mutters, more to himself than to me, his voice a low rasp that brushes against my skin like velvet. His gaze drops to my lips, and suddenly, the chilly air feels irrelevant. “Please let me take you home, Kerry Kind. I promise to be a gentleman. You asked me to play the part, and I did. So, there’s no way in hell I’m letting my fake girlfriend find her own way home.”

His teasing smirk should annoy me. But it doesn’t.