Faking Christmas(36)

“I’ll start with holding your hand.”

A scoff escaped my lips as I brushed nonchalantly at a piece of lint on my sweater.

“And then when that pretty smile of yours starts to feel real, I might pull you in for a hug.”

I stilled. My eyes flicked over to him.

“And if your big eyes keep dropping me hints, begging for more, then maybe I’ll hug you again.”

To my utter horror, the mood between us began to shift. I wanted to look away, but my eyes were locked onto his, trying to decide what he was about. He was just messing with me. He had to be. But the words were infiltrating my mind and wreaking havoc on my central nervous system.

His eyes never left mine. “After the second hug, you’d be more used to the close proximity—and you’d like it, by the way. I’d probably kiss your cheek next.”

I drew in a soft breath, about to tell him to stop when he spoke again.

“And then, I’d move up and down your jawline right about here.” He reached up and drew a long finger across the base of his jaw. Goosebumps scattered all around my skin. My eyes betrayed me and followed his every movement from the bottom of his ear to the point of his chin.

“Kissing every little freckle.”

The sound of the grandfather clock struck loudly, thundering into the room. I jumped, clutching my chest at the sound, before I looked back at Miles. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced away. When he turned back to me, a smile was on his lips. He had been playing me. That was all. Which was a relief. A RELIEF. Dang you, Miles Taylor.

“And then I’d throw up on you,” I said. I was trying to save face, to get him back for what he just did to me and my body. So, why did that statement send a pang of traitorous remorse into my gut?

He jumped down from the counter with the grace of a jungle cat and slowly began walking toward me. I lurched backward into the wall in search of an escape, or at least a little space, but he was nearly upon me before I could move. He stopped a few inches away from touching me, but the heat radiated from him.

“And after all that, if you give me any sort of signal that you want more, well…I’m leaving that open. It just makes good sense. For our cover.”

His eyes bore into mine as he leaned forward, reaching his hand slowly toward me. I couldn’t look away, even as my skin broke out into flames all across my body. Warm fingers brushed my cheek ever so slightly before he grinned and patted it gently, as if I were a toddler, effectively breaking me out of my trance. “So, if you need a no-touching clause, you’re going to have to find a new fake boyfriend.”

My fingers clenched as he walked past me and made himself comfortable on the couch. When his back was turned, I took a few deep breaths. He was only trying to get under my skin. I had forced him into this, and this was him sticking it to me. It wouldn’t matter. We would never get to the point where I would be giving him any sort of signal. The idea was laughable, though the goosebumps were still on my skin, alive and well—a tingling reminder of the power Miles Taylor had with words when he chose to wield them…inappropriately.

He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back on the couch. “So, we’ve established that appropriate touching is acceptable. Next?”

I sat down warily on the loveseat, diagonal from Miles. “That was my main common-sense rule.”

“Didn’t take much to convince you to overturn it.”

“Contracting a violent stomach bug is still on the table for me. Then, none of this would matter.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Nah. I’d be over every morning, acting the part of the concerned boyfriend with chicken soup, and fresh blankets, and Home Alone.”

“Why Home Alone?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “Because it’s the best Christmas movie.”

“Agreed.”

His expression changed slightly. He looked surprised and mildly impressed. “I thought it would be too childish for you.”

I scoffed. “If you’re playing the part of a doting boyfriend, why would you bring over a movie you think I’d hate?”

“I’d help you discover the power of a true classic. We could follow it up with The Terminator. I’m surprised you like Home Alone, though.”

“It’s my favorite Christmas movie.” I didn’t want to give him any more explanation than that, so I didn’t. “Do you have any rules?” I asked. “Beyond trying to ‘get some’ whenever you deem the moment appropriate?”

A boyish smile broke out across his face at that. “Look at you, using words like the youth of ten years ago.”

I held my hands up in a motion like I was about to strangle him, which only succeeded in making him laugh.

“I don’t have any rules. Anything else on your end?”

I pulled my leg underneath me as I sat on the loveseat, wondering exactly how to phrase my demand.

“No commenting on my family. You show up and you play the nice boyfriend, but you don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t act like with them. You’re not allowed to pass judgment.” I trailed off, breaking his gaze for a moment only to bring it back again.

He didn’t move, just sat in the chair, looking at me with a slightly furrowed brow. My request had clearly baffled him. “Is there anything I need to know about your family before we do this?”