“Not that long,” Libby replied, reaching for her glass of water and taking a big gulp. “We only made it official recently.”

Gracie leaned forward, her curiosity undisguised. “And how did you meet?”

“Through a friend of a friend.” She nodded as though convincing herself, but she made a show of squeezing Paul’s shoulder affectionately. “We hit it off right away, something about him felt…perfect.”

“That’s so sweet.” Gracie looked to Des. “Remember when we were like that?”

Des nodded. “We’re still like that.”

“Tell us a little about yourself, Libby.” His mother said, gesturing with a forkful of broccoli. “Since my son has told us nothing.”

The excitement in her voice twisted like a knife in his stomach. What would happen when he and Libby “broke up” after the wedding? Would she go back to thinking that he’d failed her? What if she found out he’d been lying the whole time? He couldn’t let that happen.

Having Libby by his side would help for now, but it was only one part of the plan. He needed to figure out the rest of it before he ended up in a worse position than where he started.

Chapter Five

Libby felt every pair of eyes in the room turn to her in the wake of Leone’s question. The clacking of cutlery stopped, and Paul’s entire family waited expectantly.

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “There’s not much to say. I’m an only child, I was studying medicine, but I’ve put my schooling on hold to work on a business venture. I love to travel.”

Was meeting a prospective partner’s parents always like this? It felt like an awkward job interview and she hated running off the aspects of her life like items on a grocery list. She shifted in her seat, her eyes darting to Paul silently begging him for help.

“Her favorite movie is Die Hard,” Paul added.

“The first one?” Paul’s father, Darren, asked. It was the first thing he’d said all evening.

Libby smiled. “Of course.”

“You know, I don’t know why they made the fourth and fifth ones,” he said, shaking his head. The older man had dark hair with a smattering of gray around the temples, he wore thin wire-rimmed glasses and, though he looked like the stern silent type, his face lit up at the change of conversation. “I didn’t see them.”

Libby’s shoulders relaxed. “You didn’t miss much. I mean, I love Bruce Willis, but you need to know when something has jumped the shark.”

“Exactly!” Darren thumped the table with his fist, making the salt and pepper shakers jump.

The table dissolved into a debate about the prevalence of sequels in action cinema, which lead to an argument about the reboot of Indiana Jones. Libby and Darren were clearly on the same side, while Gracie and Des argued against them.

Paul sat back quietly, tucking into his food though his eyes kept darting over to her. Even silent, his presence radiated, drawing her attention away from everything else…including the dance-in-your-mouth delights that his mother had placed on the table.

Thinking about the way his body had felt pressed up against her would lead to trouble, but how could she forget the hardness of his muscles—and other things—against the curve of her back, and his hands at her waist. He was masculine without being macho, strong without being forceful. The perfect balance.

“If you keep staring at me like that I’ll have to take you home,” he whispered, placing his hand on her thigh under the table.

The rest of the table chatted amongst themselves. Libby scanned the room to see if anyone was watching them. “I’m not staring…and keep your hands to yourself.”

“But we’re supposed to be dating.” His breath warmed her neck, sending a tingle of anticipation skittering down her spine.

“And you like to feel up all your dates with your parents sitting not three feet away?”

“You’re the first one I’ve brought home in a long time, remember? I’ve forgotten how it works.”

She swallowed, ignoring how close his lips were. If she turned her head she’d catch them with her own. “Me, too.”

His hand remained on her thigh, the heat from his palm matching the fire that had started to slow-burn low down in her belly. He traced shapes on her leg, every so often inching his hand farther up her thigh. She could have easily knocked him away, but the insistent throbbing in her sex overrode her desire to be sensible.

“Are you sure you want me to stop?”

His aftershave filled her nostrils as he leaned a little closer, his hand mere inches from where she wanted to be touched. So close and yet the distance seemed unbearable—her body cried out for him to stroke her. To explore her.

She cleared her throat as she noticed that the conversation had died down at the table. Interlacing her fingers with Paul’s, she drew his hand away, relieved and devastated at the same time.

“We should clear the dishes,” she said to Paul, loudly enough that he wouldn’t be able to back out of it.

Without waiting for his agreement, she pushed up from her chair and collected the empty plates.

“You don’t need to do that,” Leone said, reaching out to stop her.

“Please, it’s the least I can do. You accommodated me without any notice at all, I’d like to help.” She sent Paul’s mother her most charming smile, and the older woman sat back down, a pleased expression on her face.

Okay, so maybe she was better with families than she first thought.

Although it was clear that the Chapmans were nothing like her own family. The conversation was filled with in-jokes, playful teasing, and all the love she’d wished for as a little kid. In only one evening she could see herself being part of this family, being accepted and loved and cherished.

All the more reason to make sure you remember the point of this “relationship.” It’s business and you’re lying to these people, which means you can’t get involved.

Paul followed her, stacking the empty plates and bowls as expertly as he did at the bar. “You’re such a girl scout,” he said as they walked into the kitchen, a smirk tugging at his full lips.

They opened the dishwasher and began to rinse and load the crockery. “I was raised to have manners.”

The kitchen was small, and they stood next to each other, working together as though they’d done it a thousand times before. Their rhythms matched as if on some basal level they understood the other person’s movements and habits. Paul reached past Libby to grab a plate, brushing her ribcage with his knuckles.

“Hands off,” she admonished, though she was starting to mean it less and less.

“You seemed to enjoy it when I had my hands on you before.” His eyes swept over her, his lips wearing that predatory smile again.

The same smile she knew would feature in her dreams if she didn’t shut this attraction down now. “And how could you tell that?”

“You got this look on your face.” He leaned closer to her. “Your eyes got all wide and I could feel your thighs clenching.”

Her face flushed hard and fast. “You could not.”

“Could so. You wanted me to keep going.”

She grappled for a protest but none came to her lips. He was right. “Regardless, we have an agreement.”

“That’s the best you can do?” He laughed, cocky and as sure of himself as a guy who was used to charming women out of their pants. “Are you telling me you’re not attracted to me?”

It was no use lying, she wasn’t the best at hiding her feelings anyway. “I didn’t say that, but it’s beside the point.”

“Why?”

She looked behind her to make sure they were alone. “Because this is a business arrangement, nothing more. I don’t want things to get messy.”

Messy was an understatement. She didn’t want to get used and discarded for a newer model the way she had back in university. The way her father had done to her mother years before that.