Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(55)

“I can’t get angry at them for something I’ve been guilty of. So let them look. Let them stare. Let them wish they were going home with the most beautiful woman in this bar—in this town—for all I care. I’ve been there. Many times, in fact, when it comes to you. So if anything, I sympathize with them because they can want you, but they’ll never truly have you.”

My stomach, which finally settled down post-Lorenzo last touched me, turns into a giant knot because oh my God. I never expected that kind of response to pour out of his mouth.

Not wanting him to see how much his words affected me, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I don’t know… The blond one is kind of hot.”

A dark look passes over his face. “I’m starting to wonder if you have a thing for blonds.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only because I’m not one.”

I laugh, and he smiles, and for a second I forget about our goal and live in the moment.

I crack a smile. “You can always bleach it.”

“Would doing so when we’re this close to the mayoral debate be cause for alarm?”

“Absolutely. People only dye their hair or change their clothes if something drastic happens.”

His brows scrunch together. “Drastic?”

Shit. “I mean, I’m talking like from lace to leather or—”

“Color to monochrome?”

Somehow I refrain from flinching. “That’s normal.”

“How about no longer wearing bows or flowers in their hair?” He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear before teasing my cheek with the tip of his index finger.

“That could be a sign of maturing.”

“Maybe…but I don’t think that’s what happened.”

My hands clench against my lap—something Lorenzo notices since he refuses to let me have a single inch of distance.

I brush him off with “You’re reaching.”

“And you’re hiding something.”

I glance away, unable to stand the weight of his stare.

“Why’d you change?” he asks softly, talking like I do to scared animals in the shelter. Fitting because I feel like a cornered one.

I stand up. “You know what? I am in the mood to dance.” I pause before adding, “Alone.”




I join a circle of women on the dance floor who I recognize from the running club I was a part of. Lorenzo’s eyes burn a hole into my back as I sway to the music, and I allow myself one single glance over my shoulder to confirm what I already know.

I catch him staring at me while sipping his drink, and I return his burning gaze with a smile before looking away.

With every song, I make more of an effort to push all thoughts of Lorenzo away, only for a pair of familiar hands to find the curve of my waist and pull me backward until I’m separated from the group.

“You’re a tease,” Lorenzo whispers, his voice thick with arousal.

“I’m just dancing,” I say innocently.

“Then go ahead and dance.” He spins me around, his grip punishing as he closes the little gap between our bodies. His thick erection presses into my belly, and my eyes go round.

“I’m waiting,” he taunts, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

One glance into his cloudy eyes full of promise has me shutting my own, and I lose myself in the music—in the feel of Lorenzo’s hands on my hips, matching my rhythm with his own.

His ability to dance was one of the initial things that caught me by surprise on the night we first met. He never mentioned it before, so when he found me on the dance floor, I was shocked to learn that the man behind the neon blue mask managed to find the beat to any song and dance in a way that captivated me.

When his mouth starts to follow a path down my throat, I tremble in his arms.

It’s an uncontrollable response, and one I don’t want him reading into, so before he can see the emotions written across my face, I twist around and press my back against his front.

None of this is real.

Our bodies mold together, moving in perfect synchronicity. One of his hands splays across my stomach and secures me to his front while the other brushes my hair away from my shoulder so he can drop another kiss.

Let them wish they were going home with the most beautiful woman in this bar—in this town—for all I care. I’ve been there. Many times, in fact, when it comes to you.

Is that what he’s doing right now? Or is he simply putting on a show for everyone else around us?

It’s unfair, the way my body reacts to his, so I decide to fight fire with fire and spin around, returning his searing kisses and warm touches with my own until we’re both staring up at each other with our hearts beating in perfect, erratic harmony.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips tingle in anticipation.

It hits me that I want Lorenzo to kiss me—not for appearance’s sake but because I crave to have his mouth pressed to mine again.

And that right there is why I can’t go through with it. Not when the line between real and fake is so blurred, I can’t tell reality apart from fiction.

When he dips his head forward and shuts his eyes, I turn mine at the last second so he ends up kissing my cheek instead.

His eyes snap open, and for once the unwavering control he has over his emotions drops long enough for me to see the sting of rejection in his gaze.