a fanciful girl. Too fanciful, I suppose.”
He searched her gaze, as if he was looking for something in her character that he’d missed, something he hadn’t seen before. Then, in a near whisper, he said, “I think we should kiss.”
She started. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Kiss.” He repeated, his tone a little huskier, a little more seductive. “We’re going to have to get used to kissing. We’ll be expected to do it at the wedding, at the very least.”
He was right. But with the penetrating look he was giving her, she was getting downright dizzy. She even gripped the underside of the bench, latching on to it with all her might. “You want to do it right now?”
He moved closer. “Now is as good a time as any.”
She filled her lungs with as much oxygen as she could get, preparing herself, trying to stay calm. He leaned into her, and her heart boomeranged to her throat, before it zoomed back to her chest.
Staying calm wasn’t possible.
As soon as his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and asked the heavens to protect her. He invoked a carnal yearning in her, a spell he obviously knew how to cast.
He was good at this.
So very good.
An expert in every way.
The tip of his tongue teased hers, and she moaned like the sinner, the soon-to-be fake bride she’d agreed to become.
He cupped the back of her head and drew her even closer. He played with her hair, splaying his big masculine fingers through it, and she imagined making down and dirty love with him. The sex she refused to have.
Allison knew she was in for a rocky awakening, being tied to this wickedly delicious man. She tightened her hold on the bench. Only now she was using it to stop herself from putting her hands where they didn’t belong. If one little kiss could affect her this way, she was going to have to fight to keep from mauling him—every desperate day that she was his wife.
* * *
Rand wanted to push his tongue deeper into her mouth, to nibble, to bite, gobble Allison right up, but he was holding back, trying to keep their arrangement in perspective. She tasted wholesomely, sensuously sweet, like honey straight from the jar. In his hungry mind, it could’ve been oozing down their bodies in warm, sticky rivulets.
Before his zipper turned tight and he got unbearably hard, he opened his eyes and eased away from her. It was going to be hell restraining his libido around her. But she’d implemented that no-sex clause, and he had no choice except to abide by it. Rand needed a wife to clean up his image and try to save his job, but he knew better than to take advantage of Allison. He probably could’ve gotten one of his high-society lovers to agree to marry him, but he’d chosen Allison instead. And not just because he assumed that she might want a green card. Her sweet nature was part of it, too. He thought that marrying a good girl would help his cause.
Her eyes fluttered open, and he stared at her. Even with the way she’d moaned, with the soft murmurs she’d made, she still struck him as innocent. One tantalizing lip-lock wasn’t going to change his opinion of her.
She was still the same woman who’d been hurt by Rich Lowell, who’d been heartlessly used by him. He didn’t know what that bastard had said or done to con her out of her life savings. To Rand, those circumstances weren’t clear. But this wasn’t the time to ask.
She peeled her fingers away from the underside of the bench, and he realized that she’d been holding on to it the entire time their mouths had been fused together.
“We did it,” he said. “Our first kiss.” He figured that talking about it was better than sitting there in awkward silence.
She seemed to agree. She quickly replied, “Where I come from, kissing is sometimes called shifting. We also say ‘the shift’ or ‘to get the shift.’”
“So I just got the shift?” he quipped, without really expecting her to answer. His gaze was still locked on to hers. He knew other green-eyed people, but he’d never met anyone whose eyes mirrored his in the way hers did. He sometimes got accused of wearing colored contact lenses to enhance his appearance. He doubted anyone would accuse her of that. Everything about her seemed genuine.
She blushed. “In some countries getting the shift refers to sex, but that’s not how we Irish use it. To us, it’s open-mouthed kissing, sort of like getting to first base.”
“Where’d you learn about getting to first base?” Surely, Irish boys didn’t say that when they scored with a girl.
“I picked up most of your slang from watching American movies. The romantic ones are my favorite.”
“Chick flicks.” He should have guessed as much. “You definitely seem like that type.”
She studied him with those matching green eyes. “What inspired you to hatch this plan of yours? When did it occur to you that I might agree to marry you?”
“It was during the last Cattleman’s Club event. I was standing off by myself, stewing about my job. You were there, too, and I overheard you talking to some friends of mine, saying that your visa was getting ready to expire. So later, I looked up your address online and sent you the Mr. X note.”
“I was terribly nervous coming here to meet you,” she confessed, reaching into her skirt pocket and removing a small black object.
He took a closer look and saw that it was a can of pepper spray with a key chain attached. “Was that to use on me?”
She nodded. “In case Mr. X was a nutcase, and he tried to accost me.”
“Maybe I am a nutcase.” Who else, besides a crazy man, would get married to reinvent himself?
“I think I’m one, too.” She returned the pepper spray to her skirt. “So I guess we can be daft together.” She referenced her other pocket, the one that didn’t have the Mace. “I’ve got my ID, my money and a few other essentials tucked away in here. I didn’t bring a purse because I wanted to keep my hands free to fight off Mr. X. I was prepared to scream, too, and alert security if need be.”
“I’m sorry.” He should have known better than to put her in a position that sparked fear. “I should have considered how meeting a stranger might affect you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you acknowledging that.” She dug into her essentials pocket and produced a small tube, which turned out to be lip balm.
When she uncapped it and ran it across her lips, she did it so quickly and efficiently, he suspected that adding moisture to her mouth was a habit. Much too mesmerized, he watched her.
“This is probably going to sound strange,” he said, “but is that honey flavored, by any chance?”
She snapped the cap back on, suddenly aware, it seemed, that his gaze was riveted to her newly waxed lips. “Yes, it is. But why do you ask?”
“Because I tasted it when we were kissing.”
Her skin flushed, her rosy cheeks going rosier.
