The End of Faking It

She flinched. She didn’t want another lover. None. Ever.

‘I’m not interested in being your man whore,’ he snarled. ‘I actually have more self-respect than that.’

‘What are you interested in, then?’ she said, stung to anger by his sudden rejection. ‘You were the one looking at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘You know what,’ she snapped. ‘All simmering sex.’

He just laughed—bitterly.

That pissed her off even more. She pushed back into his space. ‘You were stripping me with your eyes and you know it.’

‘And you were loving it.’

‘So what the hell do you want?’ Why was he going septic on her when they wanted the same thing?

‘I want the real thing—if you even know what that is. Because maybe you’ve been faking all along? You said yourself you usually do. How would I know? You’re so damn good at lying and holding back.’

She gaped for a stunned second. ‘You think I was faking?’ Now she was furious. And really hurt. She’d never felt like that with anyone, never let anyone…not like that.

He filled the room, his arms crossed, watching her with that wide bright gaze that revealed nothing but seemed to be searching through all her internal baggage.

‘I wasn’t faking.’ Jerk. As if that kind of reaction happened every other day? She wouldn’t have practically moved in with him and be making an idiot of herself lying back and letting him do anything, if she didn’t feel as if it were something out of this world. And she wouldn’t be so completely miserable about it being the end of the week if she hadn’t been more than moved by him—in so many more ways than sexual. And she really didn’t want to be getting upset about it this instant. But her eyes were stinging. Angrily she tried to push past him.

But his arms became iron bars that caught and brought her close against his body. ‘I know you weren’t.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What is your problem?’ she mumbled, completely confused now.

His hands smoothed down her back. His hardness softened her.

‘I want to know where I stand with you,’ he said. The gentle words stirred her hair.

‘What do you mean?’ She tilted her head back to read his expression and swallowed to settle her tense nerves. ‘There’s nowhere to stand. We’re having a fling.’

‘Not enough.’

Her heart thudded—beating caution now, rather than anger.

His gaze unwavering, he told her. ‘I want more.’

How more? What more? Anything more was impossible. Tomorrow was Friday. They were almost at farewell point.

As his gaze locked hers the safe feeling she’d had all week started to slip. Why was he messing with the boundaries?

‘You’re leaving here…’ Her breathing shortened. ‘Like on Saturday. This was just for—’

‘Fun,’ he finished for her. ‘Yeah, roger that. But we can still be friends, can’t we?’

Friends? She didn’t have that many of those. Plenty of acquaintances. But not very many friends. And what did friends mean—did he want this to go beyond the week? Because she couldn’t do that—she had to keep this sealed in its short space of time. She had to keep those emotions sealed. She tried to step back but his hands tightened. She broke eye contact. ‘I don’t think we need to complicate this, Carter.’

‘Talking won’t make it complicated.’

He wanted to talk? About what?

‘Can’t you let me into your life just a little bit, Penny?’

‘Will you put some clothes back on?’ She couldn’t think with him like this.

‘Why?’ he answered coolly. ‘I’m not afraid to get naked with you, Penny. I’m willing to bare all.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Carter. This is a one-week fling.’ She pushed away from him—and he let her. ‘You don’t want to talk any more than I do. Why waste that precious time?’

‘When we could be rooting like rabbits?’

‘You like it that way. It’s what you’ve wanted from me from the moment we met.’ She turned on him, hiding her fear with aggression. ‘You’re not interested in me opening up to you in any way other than physical.’

‘Not true.’

‘Totally true. As far are you’re concerned all women are manipulative, conniving cows who’re trying to trap men into marriage.’

‘Many of the women I’ve met are.’

‘Well, I’m not like them.’

‘And that’s one thing we will agree on.’

She blinked. Then shook her head. This conversation was going surreal. Why was her ultimate playboy going serious? ‘Trust me, you don’t want to get to know anything more about me, Carter.’

‘Yes I do.’

Why? What had happened to turn him into Mr Sensitive? She wanted him back as Mr Sophisticated—and never-let-a-woman-stick smooth. ‘You know, from the moment we met you thought the worst of me,’ she provoked. ‘I was a thief, I was “pulling favours” to get a good job…’

He actually coloured. ‘I didn’t really mean—’

‘It must be so hard for you to swallow the fact that your thief is the most conservative man in the damn building.’

‘Yeah, we both know I was wrong. I leapt to a couple of conclusions. You’re nothing like what I first thought.’

She turned away from him. ‘What if the truth was worse?’

‘How worse?’ He sounded surprised.

Way, way worse. But she shook her head and dodged it. ‘You’re as much of a commitment-phobe as I am. Can’t we just have some fun, Carter? We’ve only got a night or two left.’

So many of the women in Carter’s life had been total drama queens—living their lives from one big scene to the next, which they maximised as if they were the stars of their own reality TV shows.

Penny wasn’t into big scenes at all, even though it appeared her life had had its share of real drama. She’d pared it down, trying to live as simply as possible—at least in terms of her relationships. Getting by on the bare minimum.

But she couldn’t deny all of her needs all the time. She needed to be needed—hence her determination to be indispensable in any job she took on. She needed to care for someone—that came out in the way she tended to Mason. She needed physical contact—that came out in the way she sought Carter’s body. But he wanted her to want more from him. More than just sex—even though that had been all he’d offered initially, now he wanted her to want it all. He’d always walked from any woman who wanted too much, so wasn’t it ironic that, now he wanted to give it all, the woman in question was determined not to want it?

Perfectly happy in the past to provide nothing but pleasure, now he wanted to keep her fridge stocked, to make her salmon and salad, to watch her swim every night. He wanted her company, her quiet smiles, her interesting conversation, her compassion. He wanted his kitchen tinged with the scent of cinnamon. He wanted to travel the world with her, explore it the way she did—immersing in a different culture for a while, exploring the arts and politics and being interested. And damn it, there was even that newfound soft secret part of him that wanted to hold her, and to see her holding a tiny, sweet body. The thought of a baby with black-brown eyes and full cream skin made his arms ache.

He wanted everything with her. And he wanted her to have everything. She needed it and he yearned to give it to her—to make her smiles shadow free. To give her some kind of home. He, who’d been happy for so long in his inner-city apartment, was now thinking about a place with a private tennis court and swimming pool and space to play with her.

But he was in trouble. Because although she’d opened her body to him, he had a lot of work ahead of him to get anywhere near her heart.

Carter wasn’t used to wanting things he might not be able to achieve. Carter wasn’t used to failure. And the threat of failure made Carter angry.