Chapter 65

Her gaze dipped to Nick's mouth. Yet, she couldn’t exorcise that damn kiss from her mind. That wet, lush, raw tangling of lips, tongues and sighs that haunted her this morning and had chased her into her dreams last night. It’d shocked her then, and now, how quickly she’d surrendered to that undertow of lust, letting it drag her under until she forgot all about clubs, people and thoughts of “what the hell am I doing?” That kiss had shamed the ones that had come before it and ruined the ones that would follow. Arousal slid through her like melted butter—warm, soft, utterly delicious...and so fucking bad for you.

But while her world had been rocked, apparently Nick hadn’t even suffered a 0.5 on the Richter scale. It shouldn’t bother her; because it meant that he really didn't have a crush on her as she'd thought after she found out the truth about Emma. Still, maybe if she could erase from her head how she’d clung to him, whimpered into his mouth then walked away aching and wet while he stood there unmoved, maybe she could extinguish the humiliation in her belly.

Stop being silly. She shook her head, raising her glass for a deep, long sip. Of course, he’d been unaffected. She was nothing but a friend to him. Which was fine, because she wanted Stoner, not Nick.

Are you su— Oh, shut up. Wine. Wine, wine, wine.

“No,” she said, finally answering his question. “I’m not having second thoughts. Why would you think that?”

His eyes roamed over her, and with liquid courage warming her veins, she met that intense scrutiny.

“Michelle, I don’t—”

The doorbell rang, and she swallowed her sigh of relief. “Pizza’s here. Are you staying?”

“Have I ever turned down free pizza?” Before she could answer or head toward the front door, he held up a hand. “I got it. You want to get plates and pour me some of that wine? Especially since you’re staring at that bottle like a lion about to chase down a gazelle.”

Ass.

He wasn’t wrong, though.

A few moments later, he returned with a large, grease-spotted pizza box, and the orgasmic scents of oregano, cheese and crisp dough stained the air. Her stomach growled, and Nick, arching an eyebrow, didn’t even have the grace to pretend he didn’t catch it.

“Oh, shut up.” She set plates and napkins on the coffee table. “Put it here, and I’ll get the wine.”

For the next forty minutes, they ate pizza, drank wine and watched the first episode of Bridgerton. That familiar, easy comfort they’d always shared returned, and by the time Simon and Daphne enacted their fake-relationship arrangement, she was glad Nick had shown up at her door. She’d missed evenings like this with him.

“If Daphne hadn’t taken the duke up on his offer, I would’ve,” Nick said with a shake of his head. “Simon is fine.”

She snickered, then picked up the remains of their dinner and carried them into the kitchen. When she returned, Nick was standing, ready to go. Was it weird that she missed him already?

“I gotta go,” he said.

Michelle nodded, “Sure. Thanks for stopping by. It was really nice having you around, Nick,”

There was silence. Her feet moved before she gave them permission, and in just a few steps, she stood in front of him...then she wrapped him in her arms. She pressed against him, holding his frame, relaying without words that she had him…. How she felt about him.

He said nothing, but his arms tightened around her. She tipped back her head, but as her gaze met his, the words on her tongue died there. His eyes burned as if lit with a flame, and the thought of being consumed by that bright fire flitted though her head.

He lifted a hand and he touched her. Brushed his fingertips over her jaw, her temple, her cheek. Her pulse drummed in a frantic, primal beat, and its throb echoed in her head and her throat, and between her legs. Anticipation. It dripped into her like an IV, straight into her veins. Anticipation and...want. Pure want.

Move. Step away. End this.

All wonderful, wise advice that her mind hurled at her. But she ignored it all. Because something had taken hold of her —something achy, hot and wholly inappropriate for a best friend.

“Nick,” she whispered.

Again, no answer, but his fingertips ghosted over the curve of her bottom lip. Nerve endings she hadn’t known existed lit up and danced in glee. On a shuddering breath, she closed her eyes, tilted her head— The sudden, shrill ring of her phone pierced the room. Funny, she mused, flinching. It hadn’t seemed jarring until this moment. Until she’d been about to quietly beg her friend for his mouth.

Thrusting her fingers in her hair, she whipped around, searching for her phone. Or she used that as a handy excuse. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, but for a different reason now. Jesus, what had she been about to do?

What was she thinking? You weren’t. That’s the problem. She didn’t see any point in arguing with herself this time.

Not when she happened to be right. She would’ve kissed Nick. Again. And this time, she wouldn’t have the excuse of a pretense.

Spying the bottom half of her phone peeking out from under a couch cushion, she skirted the coffee table—and Nick— and dove for it. Without bothering to glance at the caller ID, she swiped at the screen and answered.

“Hello.” Dammit. She sounded breathless even to her own ears.

“Hey, Michelle . This is Stoner.”

Shock doused her in a frigid wave. And right underneath lurked guilt. Unbidden, her gaze shifted to Nick. “Hi, Stoner. How’re you?”

A random person would’ve missed the subtle change in him. But, knowing him as well as she did, she caught the tension that stiffened his powerful body. Noted the slight flattening of his sensual mouth. Noticed the taut skin over his cheekbones, causing the dusting of cinnamon freckles to stand out in stark relief.

“I’m fine. Better now that I have you on the phone.” His blatant flattery should’ve had warmth cascading through her, but instead she struggled to even concentrate on the conversation. All of her attention was laser-focused on the silent, brooding man several feet away from her. “Are you busy?”