by Lili Valente
“Except for you,” she says, gazing down at her hand as it threads through Luke’s golden fur. “Won’t you miss your privacy?”
“No, Zoey, I won’t miss my privacy. I like having you around.”
She looks up, her lips curving. “Yeah?”
“Yes. So pack your things. You’re coming home with me tonight. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“You’re awfully bossy for someone who isn’t my boss anymore,” she teases as she stands. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay with not calling the shots?”
“Totally fine with it,” I promise her, unable to keep myself from adding, “At work, anyway.”
Something sparks in her eyes, curiosity mixed with excitement that sends a bolt of awareness zipping right below my belt. “So you’re saying you want to call the shots off the clock, during Operation Fake Fiancé?”
“Something like that,” I say, my gaze burning into hers.
Her lips part and a hungry expression flickers across her features—making her look so different than the sweet, innocent Zoey I thought I knew so well—and for a second, I’m positive she’s going to make a move.
And fuck if the thought of Zoey reaching for me, taking what she wants, isn’t sexy as hell. I’m instantly harder, thicker, ready to give her everything she wants and more, but before the tension building between us can reach the breaking point, a deep voice calls from outside, “Tristan, you up there? It’s Deacon.”
I momentarily consider hiding out until my big brother goes away, but Luke is already breaking into joyous barks and dashing for the ruined door.
“There you are, Luke,” Deacon says from the bottom of the steps. “Where’s your daddy?”
Cursing silently, I take a step back. “I better see what’s up. Deacon wouldn’t drive all the way out here without a good reason.”
Zoey nods, running a hand over her ponytail. “Of course. I’ll just…clean up and lock up as best I can and be down in a few.”
Hating to leave her even for a few minutes—proving I’m definitely developing something more serious than a crush—I force myself to turn and hurry down the stairs.
Deacon looks up, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the morning sun. “Luke broke down Zoey’s door again, I see.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I’m going to get a security door in there this time. Something strong enough even a lovesick dog fueled by fantasies of delicious socks can’t break through.”
Deacon grunts, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges. “Or you could try the hardcore obedience school over in Bennett Valley. I hear they work wonders with cases like Luke. It’s like military school for dogs. Whip the mischief right out of him.”
“Like the Air Force whipped it out of you?” I cast my brother a pointed look, making him laugh.
“Well, it might at least mellow Luke out a bit.” He nods toward the parking lot. “Speaking of mellowing out, that’s why I’m here. Dad asked me to stop by on my way into Healdsburg to pick up a load of wine barrels for Emma. He finally figured out what’s wrong with your psycho cow.”
“Moo-donna isn’t psycho,” I say, coming to her defense. “She just doesn’t like Dylan’s attitude. He’s the only one she’s ever bitten. She can tell he doesn’t like her, and she’s letting him know the feeling’s mutual.”
Deacon shoves his hands in his jean pockets, following me across the yard to the paddock, where our small herd of rescue horses is eagerly awaiting their morning grain. I circle around the fence toward the shed, figuring I might as well make myself useful while bringing Deacon around to my way of seeing things.
“That may be so,” he says as I work the combination lock, “but she’s been cranky with Dad lately, too. Off her feed, bellowing a lot, and just generally miserable to live with. I told Dad she reminded me of Christy when she was pregnant with the twins, so he got the vet out to check and…sure ’nuff.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, pulling the lock open. “How?”
“Well, I thought you were past needing that talk, but when a boy cow and a girl cow have a special sleepover, sometimes—”
“Ha, ha, jackass. I meant that Moo-donna is always on our property and we don’t have any bulls. Kind of hard to have a special sleepover without a male in the picture.”
“Apparently she got loose sometime last spring and went for a little walkabout. Dad ended up finding her a few miles down the bike trail in someone else’s pasture, so he figured no harm, no foul and it would be best not to tell you that he’d nearly lost your pet. But apparently Moo-donna enjoyed a night of passion while she was free and now you’re going to have two new mouths to feed.”
I huff with laughter. “No way. Twins?”
Deacon grins. “Must be something in the water over there at the farm. Christy and I were living with Dad when she got pregnant with the boys, too, and there’s not a history of twins in either of our families.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that demotion, after all,” I joke as I open the shed door, stepping into the cool interior to grab the grain bucket. “If I’m going to be buying feed for three once the kids are weaned.”
Deacon follows me inside, grabbing the spare bucket. “What do you mean? When were you demoted?”
“I demoted myself last night so there wouldn’t be a professional conflict of interest with Zoey and I pretending to be together. Now she’s in charge, and I’m taking orders.”
He grunts. “Really? And how’s that going so far, Mr. Control Freak?”
“I’m only a control freak when I doubt the leadership of the person in charge.” I step back out into the morning sun, headed for the troughs, where the horses are already gathered expectantly, used to the morning routine by now. “I don’t doubt Zoey’s abilities for a second. She could run this entire place by herself if she had to. She’s worth two of me.”
“I doubt that,” Deacon says, “but I’ve always enjoyed your humble side, baby brother. It’s a nice contrast to the two cocky turds who came before you.”
I grin. “Dylan isn’t cocky, he just puts on an act when he’s nervous.”
“True, but Rafe has always thought very well of himself.”
“He has,” I agree. “I don’t know how Carrie puts up with him.”
“Carrie thinks well of herself, too. They’re a perfect pair.”
“Morning, Deacon,” Zoey calls out, waving a hand from the other side of the pen.
“Morning,” he calls back.
“I got the door pieced together as best I could, Tristan,” Zoey says, “and put the old bookcase in front of it that we used to block Luke’s access last time. Do you want me to put him in a kennel to keep him out of trouble? Or let him out into the dog run with the others for morning exercise?”
“You can let him out into the dog run,” I say. “He’s playing well with the rest of them now that the bulldog with the bad attitude got adopted last week. But remember, you’re the boss. You don’t have to ask for my two cents before you make a call.”
She rolls her eyes. “I do when it’s your dog, you crazy person. See you inside. Bye, Deacon. Have a good one.”
Deacon waves goodbye, a shit-eating grin on his face that makes my lips twist.
“What?” I demand as I fill the shorter trough. “What’s the grin about?”
“Speaking of perfect matches…” He dumps his grain into the next trough over. “You two are both such solid, generous, hard-working people. Can’t really imagine a better fit, honestly. The only thing that bothers me is why I didn’t see it the first time I met the girl. Or why it took you three years to kiss her.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “I’m not talking about this anymore with you.”
But is he really ridiculous, when he’s echoing thoughts that have been dancing through my head non-stop since last night?
I don’t know, but I don’t regret asking Zoey to move in with me for a second, even if it will be hell keeping things friendly while exposed to
her sexy self all day at work and all evening after hours.
Hell, but what a sweet vision, and one I’m looking forward to far more than I should.
Chapter 8
Zoey
He only asked me to move in because it’s practical.
My door is broken, his place is close to work, and having me in residence gives Project Fake Fiancé additional street cred. After all, if Tristan and I were really desperately in love and planning a spring wedding, we’d surely already be living together. Bear and I moved into his off-campus apartment three months after we started dating, and we never even got close to “I do.”
That’s all this is—a practical choice.
But as I follow Tristan up the front steps and through his front door, my heart is pounding and my stomach feels like someone set up a wind farm in there.
Seven days…
I’ll be staying with Tristan for at least the next seven days—the absolute earliest the hardware store said they would be able to deliver and install the extra-heavy-duty new door—and I’m way more excited about that than I should be.
Oh, the trouble we could get into in seven days…
Lots and lots of trouble, I’m thinking. Especially if the suspicion that’s been tickling my brain all day is founded.
Either I’m completely losing it, or Tristan was flirting with me this morning. After his brother left, we got too busy for banter—our volunteers arrived, and we were slammed with adoption meetings and unexpected drop-offs—but the vibe when we were alone together was definitely not purely friendly. Like when he said he was fine with me being in charge and then added, at work, in a voice so sexy I could no longer be held responsible for the state of my panties, for example.
I seriously thought I was going to faint. Faint, or pounce on him and beg him to boss away. Boss me up, boss me down, boss me flat onto my back and hold me down hard while he does absolutely anything he wants to my body.
Oh, the wicked imaginings those two little words sent flooding through my mind. All day long, I’ve had graphic, stomach-flutter-inducing fantasies about Tristan locking his fingers around my wrists, Tristan fisting his hand in my hair, Tristan taking charge and taking me in a way that leaves no doubt that he wants me every bit as much as I want him.
That’s the core of the fantasy, after all, the thrill of imagining what it would be like to know Tristan wants me so much he’s powerless to resist, no matter how hard he might try to be a gentleman.
“Ready to see your room?” Tristan casts a friendly glance at me over his shoulder as he drops his keys and wallet in a dish by the door, clearly having no idea I’ve been daydreaming for hours about getting him naked.
I force an equally not-sex-starved expression onto my face and nod. “Sure. That would be great.”
“I’ll need to get some sheets from the cupboard, but otherwise everything should be ready for you.” Tristan leads the way down the hall, opening a door on the left, revealing the room I didn’t get a peek into yesterday. Immediately, my eyes begin to tingle pleasantly from the combination of soft yellow walls and a bright floral bedspread featuring giant peonies in various shades of orange, red, and yellow.
“It’s gorgeous.” I step inside, dragging my roller suitcase behind me. Luke jumps over the purple hard shell in his excitement to beat Tristan and me inside and begins gamboling back and forth around the bed. He’s clearly thrilled to have me here, and I can’t help wishing his master was equally easy to read.
But Tristan’s got his “just friends” face on, again, making me wonder if I imagined that moment of heat and connection in my apartment.
It’s possible, I guess…
The thought is enough to dim my excitement a watt or two.
“Are you sure?” Tristan asks, his brow furrowing. “I have another bedspread in the closet if this one is too loud. I like it, but Kim’s mom said it gave her a headache. When she came to visit, we had to swap it out for something calmer.”
I shake my head and wave a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s great, I love it. Really. It’s not too loud at all.” I scrunch my nose. “So, what’s it like? Living in the house you used to share with your fiancée? Is that weird at all?”
Tristan shrugs. “A little bit weird. At first. But now I don’t think about it much. Kim and I were together when I bought the house, but she didn’t move in until a year later. So in a way, I guess it’s always felt more like mine than ours. I do miss her mom, though. Karen did her share of complaining, but she also made the most incredible chicken pot pie.”
I nod, unable to resist adding in a smug voice, “Oh, I’m sure it was great pot pie. But I can betcha I can do better. And it’ll be a vegetarian version that harms no living thing aside from some succulent late summer veggies.”
“Oh yeah?” A challenging smile flashes across his face. “Is that so?”
“It’s absolutely so.” I drum my fingertips together in front of my face, evil genius style. “In addition to creating perfectly sweaty socks, irresistible to all dogkind, I’m also an accomplished home cook.”
Tristan bites his lip and shakes his head, faking a turned-on moan that I desperately wish was the real thing. “Well, damn, girl, I’ve got leftover roasted vegetables in the fridge and flour in the pantry. Let’s see you work some magic.”
“That’s nice, but I’m going to need cornmeal,” I say, laughing when he lets out an over-the-top gasp of surprise. “Yes, I use cornmeal. And if we can find some okra still lingering on a shelf somewhere, I’m going to take those bad boys along for the vegetarian pot pie ride.”
Tristan nods firmly. “To the store, then. I’ll grab bags, you make your list, and I’ll meet you at the front door in five.”
I salute him as he crosses to the door. “Yes, sir.”
He pauses in the doorway, turning back to me with a heated look in his eyes. “See? Sleepovers are fun, right?”
I nod, trying not to let all the ways I’d like to sleepover—and under—him show on my face. “They are.”
“And it’s going to get even better. After dinner, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise?” I ask, eyes narrowing as Luke comes to lean against my side, clearly ready to assist me in making my list of ingredients or unpacking my socks or anything else I might need help with.
Tristan’s brows bob up and down. “The surprising kind. You’ll find out after dinner. But I’ll give you a hint—it involves role-playing and will absolutely get us ready to rock our first public appearance as a couple tomorrow night.”
“Sounds good,” I say, but that’s only half true.
The role-playing part definitely sounds interesting, but I’m not sure how I feel about more “practicing” to be a couple. More than ever, I want to know what it would be like to be the woman in Tristan’s life for real. To be the person who ambles across the square to the health food store with him, gets messy with him in the kitchen making supper, and hears his appreciative, oh-so-satisfied moans of delight as he devours my latest home chef experiment and goes back for seconds.
And, of course, to make him moan for other reasons, too…
* * *
As we clean up after dinner, bumping into each other in the galley-style kitchen as we hand-wash pots and load the dishwasher, every innocent brush of his arm against mine sets off a mini-supernova of desire.
I don’t know if it’s the delicious meal, the sexy Motown music playing on the stereo, or memories of yesterday’s kiss that assault my senses every time I allow my gaze to slide down to Tristan’s lips, but by the time we’re finished tidying up, I’m in a seriously overstimulated state.
Or under-stimulated…
That’s all this is—a completely natural reaction to being thrust into constant contact with my sexy boss after three years of sensual deprivation. I’m like a bear fresh out of hibernation, lean and hungry and intoxicated by the scent of every fresh spring berry popping out on the vine. I am a bear, Tristan is an innocent moun
tain blackberry, and I should definitely go straight to bed—alone—do not role-play, do not engage in couple practice, do not risk revealing how much I want this fantasy to become a reality.
But when Tristan takes my hand and nods toward the living room, where he’s started the first fire of autumn in the fireplace, I can’t help but follow. I usually consider myself a level-headed, self-disciplined woman, but this man makes me want to throw caution to the wind and reach for what I want, what I need, with both hands.
Chapter 9
Tristan
“What’s all this?” Zoey stops dead at the edge of the living room, eyes going wide as she spots the impromptu picnic I set up in front of the fireplace. It’s not much—just one of my mom’s old quilts spread out on the floor with dessert waiting in the middle—but the flickering firelight makes the setting more romantic than I anticipated.
But that’s perfect. The concert in the square tomorrow night will be romantic, too—best to put our faking-it skills to the test in a similar environment.
“I thought we could combine business and pleasure,” I say, squeezing her hand, enjoying holding it more than I probably should. “Dessert and couple practice.”
“Oh. Wow. Well, that cheesecake looks amazing, but honestly, I’m so stuffed I don’t think I could eat another bite.”
“Me, either. But I don’t regret going back for seconds. You knocked Mrs. Kahn’s lame-o pot pie out of the park.” Releasing her hand, I start for the blanket. “So I’ll pop the cake back in the fridge and be right back. Make yourself comfortable and start thinking about all the annoying shit I do that pisses you off.”
Zoey huffs softly in surprise. “That pisses me off?”
“The things that really make you want to wrap your fingers around my throat and squeeze,” I toss over my shoulder as I ferry dessert back to the kitchen.
When I return, Zoey is settled on the quilt with her shoes off and her legs tucked beneath her. The firelight catches her hair, bringing out streaks of red I haven’t noticed before, and her face glows in the pink and orange light. She looks like something out of a painting, so beautiful it’s almost heartbreaking. Looking at her now, as I settle onto the blanket beside her, I can’t think of a single thing I would change about this woman, let alone anything about her that drives me crazy.
