Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Forty-Five

Eliza

My pulse is already pumping too fastas I exit the building. But when I step onto the sidewalk and find myself face to face with sharply chiseled cheekbones, smoldering granite eyes and a six-foot-plus body outfitted in a black button down and custom-tailored pants, my blood starts galloping through my veins.

Liam is leaned against a sleek red sports car, feet crossed at the ankles and arms folded across his strong chest.

Holy smokes!

The corner of his mouth slowly arrows up with mischief. It’s disarming. “Hey, you..."

Pushing through the crowd toward him, I can't help but mirror his grin. "Hey, you..."

Liam drapes his biceps around my waist and my arms drape over his shoulders. I sink into his deep kiss like quicksand.

"What was that for ?" I ask, breathless and light-headed when we pull apart. It feels so good that we can do this publicly now. We don't have to hide any more.

"A variety of reasons," he tells me, playfully.

"Which are?" I push, as hungry for his compliments as I am for his hands and his mouth all over me.

"Well, firstly, you look delicious." His lips meet mine again. "And you smell delicious." Another kiss. "And I miss being inside you so much it's driving me crazy."

Hearing those words makes me shiver. My heart squeezes violently, too. I scold the dumb bitch to stay out of it. Don’t go falling in love, Eliza. This is a sex-thing. With a temporary lover. Just flirt. Just play. There’s no room to get feelings involved.

“Well, aren't you Prince Charming, tonight." I laugh.

His hands smooth over my hips. "What's it gonna take to lure you back to my lair, Wifey?"

I shrug a shoulder. "I'm embarrassingly easy when it comes to you, Hubby. Just promise me some dick and I'm all yours."

Liam's laugh comes out as a roar that draws attention from various passersby. "I promise you all the dick. All of it."

"I'm totally into this!" I grin face-wide.

I expect him to lead me into the building behind me and take me up to his penthouse. Instead, he opens the passenger side door of his car.

"Where are we going?" I ask disappointed, as I climb inside. "I thought you were taking me to your lair."

He gets in behind the wheel. "We're going to the house," he says as he merges onto the Strip.

"Oh..." I blink.

"You seem surprised."

"It's just, I thought you never slept there. Now, two nights in a row?"

He shrugs. "More square-footage. And more flat surfaces to fuck you on."

I throw my skull against the headrest and laugh. "I take back that thing I said about you being Prince Charming."

He pins me with a look across the cabin. "Be real, Eliza, you don't want Prince Charming when you could have me instead."

My spine goes liquid at the heat in his low voice. In my panties, it’s mayhem. Pure mayhem.

Liam enjoys having this effect on me. I can tell by the smugness burning in his eyes.

But he also wants to be genuine with me. He grabs my hand in his. "In all seriousness, I want you at my house. I like how it feels when you're there. Everything feels better when you're around."

Our fingers lace together as we cut through the lush, winding greenery leading to Liam's secluded home. My emotions inflate, swelling inside my heart. No man has ever made me feel like this. Being with Liam feels perfectly right.

He cuts his engine on the semi-circle driveway, right in front of the ostentatious fountain. The house is a magnificent structure looming over a manicured lawn. He wasn't joking about the square footage. The place is huge.

"So..." I begin. "About those flat surfaces you want to fuck me on. Where would you like to begin?"

Walking beside me, he grins. "Hmm..." he strokes his chin like a villain. "How about the dining room table? I want to fuck you under the light of the chandelier while imagining the spectre of Varner and his wife choking on their couscous salad when they see how hard I'm giving it to you."

I’m laughing as we walk up the steps to the front door. "You are a sick man, Liam Kline.”

The second we get through the front door, we’re kissing. Our hands are all over each other as we stumble through the halls.

But when we get to the dining room, the table is already occupied.

A cotton-haired old lady with a terrifying frown. A woman—probably in her fifties—wearing a similar expression. Two twenty-something dude bros who’ve got to be twins.

The old woman folds her arms tightly across her chest. “Liam Apollo Leonidas Kline—I am so angry with you!”