She growled. “Look here, you. The men I’ve kissed have been perfectly satisfied.”

I had no doubt about that. But I wasn’t about to let that show. “Put your money where your mouth is, Tinker Bell.”

Sparks lit her eyes—it might have been the firelight. Didn’t matter, she was hopping mad now. “You smug—” With another growl, she reached for me, hauling my head down.

Sweet Mary, she got down to business, sweeping my mouth open with the thrust of her greedy tongue, her lips nipping and caressing. She went at me like she was starved for it. White-hot heat roared through me like wildfire.

With a groan, I let go, kissing her like I wanted, canting my head to get closer, deeper. I licked into her sweet-tart mouth, totally lost to her. Our lips parted and met over and over, each time a little more desperate, a little more hungry.

Parker’s hands slid into my hair, grabbing at the strands hard enough to hurt. I wanted it harder. When she arched against me, pressing those firm tits into my chest, I swept her up and set her on my lap.

She keened, whimpering as though she might actively cry if she didn’t get closer. She was driving me out of my mind with the way she sucked at my mouth, sliding her tongue over mine.

Cradling her head in my hands, I let her have what she wanted. Shit, I’d give her anything right about now. Our kiss became sloppy, bruising. Parker rocked her hips against my hard dick, and I was the one whimpering.

“Hell yes,” I panted against her mouth. “Give it to me.”

The second I’d uttered the words she froze. And I knew I’d broken the spell she’d fallen under. Fuck. No, no, no. Don’t stop. But she was already lurching back, her eyes wide in shock and horror.

I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to make her stay, but she scrambled off my lap as though it were on fire. When she got a few feet from me, she simply stared, panting faintly.

I tried not to look at her breasts trembling under her blouse. They’d felt so good pressed against me. The silence felt like condemnation. What to say? I had no fucking idea. She’d knocked me on my ass.

Parker proved yet again to be the steadier one.

“I’m sorry.” She licked those swollen lips. “I… uh…haven’t done this before. Faking it. Was, uh, that okay?”

Faking. It.

Right. That’s what we’d been doing. She looked at me with a plea in her eyes, and I knew she needed me to make this okay. She didn’t want the reality; she needed the lie.

I ran a hand over my mouth, trying to wipe away the feel of her. Jesus, my hand was shaking. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

Parker sagged in relief. And I gave her my standard bullshit smile, letting her know we were back on script. But in my head, the truth rang clear as a bell. We were anything but cool.

Ten

Parker

“Okay, is everyone happy with the teams?” Jackson asked, glancing between the two groups he’d created with a random generator app on his phone.

I stood at Rhys’s side and ignored the smirk Creepy Pete gave me. We were on opposing teams, and he had Jackson on his. And gossipy Evan. Pete was also the only one who had brought his own paintball gun.

“It’s more powerful than the guns they supply here,” he’d said when Evan asked about it, puffing up his chest as he did so.

“Someone’s overcompensating for something, huh?” Rhys had winked at me, and I’d almost choked trying to stifle my laughter.

Now we were ready to play. Ten staff members plus their partners had shown up for paintball. The grounds were a forty-minute drive west of Boston, and to say it had been the most awkward forty-minute ride was an understatement. I’d rented an electric car to take me and Rhys to paintball and those babies were so quiet, they only enhanced the silence between me and my fake boyfriend.

So, I rambled. I rambled the entire way to distract myself from the memory of Rhys’s mouth, from his hands on me, and the delicious feel of his strong body against mine.

The kiss on our fake date had gotten out of hand.

Understatement.

My toes curled in my sneakers at the mere memory.

Rhys had offered to give me a ride home after we pretended like our kiss hadn’t been explosive and hot and pretty much the best kiss of my life.

Guilt suffused me.

It might have been epic for me, but I had to remind myself that it was probably nothing new to Rhys. He’d most likely had a million kisses with similar physical effect. It was a sexual kiss.

I’d had better romantic kisses.

I had.

Struggling to remember a specific one made me feel like hell.

My only recourse was to forget the night in Rhys’s awesome loft or die of self-flagellation.

“Let’s do this.” Jackson grinned at us, buzzing with energy. His fiancée, Camille, stood at his side, somehow still glamorous in her army fatigues. She and Jackson had taken dressing appropriately seriously. They both wore a light khaki T-shirt under a matching camouflage shirt and pants, and Camille had tied her shirt in a knot at her waist.

Except for Pete, who not only wore camouflage but a chest guard too, the rest of us dressed in comfortable green or khaki clothing to help us blend with the woodland. When Rhys and I arrived, we’d changed into our paintball clothes so as not to get paint on the seats of my rental car on our way home.

Upon advice from my colleague Stuart, I wore layers. Despite the nice weather, I had on yoga pants beneath loose-fitting cargo pants, and a long-sleeved T-shirt beneath a button-down shirt.

Rhys had come out of the changing rooms in a long-sleeved Henley and cargo pants, the muscles of his biceps flexing with every movement. He stood among my colleagues like Thor surrounded by fans at a comic book convention.

Our team included me, Rhys, my colleagues Stuart, Michael, Xander, and Ben, plus their respective partners, David, Freda, Laura, and Ben’s friend Nick because his wife was pregnant and couldn’t play. My colleagues and their partners could not have looked more overjoyed to be on Rhys’s team.

It was hard not to roll my eyes.

“Walkie-talkies.” Jackson handed me a bag and kept another for himself. “To communicate with your team. And your flag.” Ben took the bright red flag from our boss; Jackson held onto a bright yellow one. “First team to capture the other’s flag wins. We’ll split up. Yellow team goes east, red team west. We’ll both choose a team leader and where to hide the flag.” He grinned cockily. “May the best team win.”

“Yeah!” Yellow team shouted, following it up with lighthearted ribbing that my teammates responded to. Rhys and I stayed silent, although he smirked in amusement, listening to what must’ve sounded like tame banter compared to the insults he’d exchanged with opponents in the ring.

“Let’s go,” Rhys instructed our team as the yellow team departed.

We followed him and took off through the woods to the west side of the compound. The paintball face mask and visor were a little uncomfortable, and the gun was a foreign object in my hands.

“I vote Rhys as team leader,” Stuart said as we came to a stop. “Any objections?”

Xander chuckled. “None at all.”