Fiancée for Rent by Elizabeth Grey

Chapter 12

Kylie

Liam's body pinned mine to the snow-covered earth. I remained breathless from lust and from fear. As we'd spent more and more time together, I began to see how complicated the man I'd soon marry could be. Gorgeous. Rich. Talented. Those terms painted only the surface of the picture of Liam Hendrix. After our talk yesterday, I'd gotten a glimpse at the lonely little boy who craved his parents’ love, of the wounded man who'd taken affection wherever he could get it.

Yet, out riding horses today, I'd witnessed an indefinable side to him. A man who could fill out a pair of jeans with his solid, muscular ass then gaze in wonder at the countryside, get teary eyes over a horse taking an apple from his hand and then curse the same horse when his ass hurts from too much riding.

I couldn't put the whole of him together, and still, I grew more dismayed at the need to, the desire to want to know him more. He pulled me toward him and pushed me away more times than I could keep track.

"Get off of me, I can't breathe," I wheezed loud enough to cut through his laughing like a little boy. "You're supposed to hit me with a snowball, not your body."

"But you kept moving," he scoffed as he pushed up but not too far away from me, his dark eyes sparkling, offset by his cold, reddened cheeks and snow-crusted scruff.

"You're picture perfect in the snow, too," I said before I caught myself, realizing my misstep, and tried to explain it away since anyone with eyes would think him beautiful. "Sorry, stating the obvious. Just jealous. I want to know when you don't look good. Sweaty from exercise. Fresh out of bed. Snow in your emerging beard. You are one gorgeous man. Too good for the likes of me."

He gazed back at me, eyes dark and wide. "You're not so bad yourself in your natural element there, farm girl. I like you in those fancy gowns just as much as in flannel and caps."

I looked away, rising too quickly, and found myself in his strong embrace when I stumbled.

"Whoa. Easy, girl. Did I hit you too hard? I just got caught up in the moment. I was joking. I'm sorry."

His breath bathed my ear, the smell of my mom's cocoa coffee on his breath tickling my nose.

"That hit was a joke? You took us both to the ground."

"I tripped in a hole. I only meant to shove snow in your face, but..."

"Again, not how a snowball fight works!"

"Okay. Okay. I'm just glad neither of those brothers of yours was around to see it. But seriously, are you okay? I didn't mean for us to hit the ground."

"I'm fine. I can take a hit. Hearty farm stock and all. Now get off me."

I'd tried to keep my voice light, but the rush to get out of his arms grew too frantic as tension coiled in my core, rising to a frenzied need I thought had long ago died off.

He stepped away, his eyelids heavy, smile turned to grimace. I didn’t have time to try to figure him out. I had to save myself. Today, we'd touched too much. He'd looked at me too many times in that way men do. As wounded as I suspected him to be, I couldn't, wouldn't drive myself mad trying to figure out the why of it. Lust sure, but we both had flirted too much when alone, out of my family’s earshot. We enjoyed each other's company, too. Well, I did, at least, and he seemed to go right along. I felt like the attraction was mutual, but that would only hurt our goal.

"Let's go in. I want another cup of that hot chocolate coffee concoction your mother makes. Maybe even with marshmallows this time. Can you make that when we get back home to Los Angeles?"

"I’ll see if I can remember the recipe. One packet of hot chocolate mix. One cup of dark roast coffee. Though, the splash of our farm’s cream makes such a difference. Kind of complicated, though. Maybe I should have my mom write it down."

"Maybe you should, smart-ass," he said as he threw his arm around me and pulled me toward him for a brief second to walk side by side, a maneuver we'd managed and marketed in our public displays of affection for the press, my family, whoever may be watching.

Our lips poised inches from each other when I turned to him. I debated with myself about whether I'd give in to the kiss he surely contemplated, the way he stared at my lips like he did the cocoa, but before I could wage an inner war, he practically pushed me away.

"Cocoa Coffee. Come on. We don't have all day."

"That's where you’re wrong rock star," I shouted to his fast departing back, going with the name and flippant tone my brothers used to address him since we'd arrived. "Farm time isn't the same as city time. While we get a lot done in a day, we don't rush through any of it."

"It's all amazing," he said, a foot between us now, no contact, just like the damned contract said. "I can't thank you enough for sharing it with me. Fake relationship or not, being a part of your family has been amazing. Though I swear your brothers truly hate me."

"They don't," I countered.

"Whatever you say. Anyway, this has been one of the best family holidays."

"I'm glad," I said, winded but caught up.

With that, he put his arm around me again to walk into the house as a loving couple. And while I knew it was part of the show, I couldn't in that moment resist the urge to make it all real. I grabbed my necklace, but heavy, wet gloves and scarves prevented the natural inclination.

"Enough with the PDA. They get it," I said, then looked away from his dark eyes, the way his mouth had fallen open as if I'd struck him.

No physical intimacy. Marriage for six months. Divorce. Movie produced. Don't mess up!