The Bookworm's Guide to Faking It (The Bookworm's Guide 2)

I was borderline hysterical.

I could feel it.

“I did not sign up for this!”

“Okay, breathe.” He took a few steps toward me and paused, obviously thinking better of it. “Breathe. Seriously.”

“Don’t you tell me to breathe, Sebastian Stone!” I threw another throw pillow at him. “I don’t want to be here!” And another. “I’m only here because you tricked me into it!” And another. “And guilted me into it!” And another. “I am not pretending to be your bit on the side!” And another.

He deftly avoided all my fluffy missiles with not a lot of effort on his part and looked down at them scattered across the floor, bemused.

I threw one last one in his direction and hit him square on the side of the head. “I won’t do it!”

“All right,” he said, snatching the last cushion up and throwing it back at me.

I did not have his ability to dodge it and it hit me.

If I were a dog, I’d have growled.

I might have. I wasn’t sure. There was a pissed off rumble somewhere in my chest, but it might have also been my stomach, so…

“First,” he said, fixing those annoyingly perfect blue eyes on me. “If you’re delusional enough to think that you’d ever be just a bit on the side, then you’re not as smart as I remember.”

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“No. I implied you might be.” He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Do you think you’d ever be a bit on the side for me?”

“I’ll be a bit on the side all right,” I said, gritting my teeth. “The side of the grave I’ve buried your dead ass in.”

His lips tugged to one side. “Holley, if you and I were ever more than friends, you’d be my wife.”

Say what now?

I blinked heavily at him. What the—what was that? What was he saying that for?

Why was he so full of shit?

“You’re starting to piss me off.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Starting? Gee, and here I was thinking you were in a good mood,” he drawled.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Why? Because I told you something you don’t want to hear?” He walked over to me, and the close proximity of him leaning over me made me sink back into the cushions. He gripped the back of the sofa and dropped his head so that his black curls fell over his forehead and ears, almost framing his gorgeous face.

His hair was such a stark contrast to the perfect lines of his face—messy, unruly curls that had a mind of their own, that begged to be teased with a girl’s fingers, compared to sharp, almost sculptured lines of his cheekbones and jaw.

Sebastian Stone was the thing wet dreams were made of.

And my body knew it.

“Go away,” I said, craning my neck back and looking at him. My voice wasn’t quite as firm as I wanted it to be.

He smiled slowly, an unnecessary sexiness creeping into the movement.

One that bugged me.

Because it affected me.

Because while my left hand wanted to slap the smile off his face, my right hand wanted to grab him and do… something else.

Like pull his lips to mine.

He dipped his head a little bit closer. “Holley, I don’t say anything unless I mean it. That’s never changed. So when I tell you that you’d never be a bit on the side, that’s what I mean.”

“Wife is a little far, don’t you think?”

His gaze held mine in a manner so arresting that I never thought I’d be able to look away. “Do you?”

I drew in a deep breath. I had no idea what he was saying, but I did know that this was completely ridiculous. This conversation was weird and confusing and had no place right here, right now, but I had no answer to him.

Me.

I had no answer.

I swallowed, quickly darting my tongue out to wet my lips, then dragged my lower lip through my teeth in a nervous motion that pulled off a bit of dry skin.

My response danced on my tongue. It was a resounding yes, that it was completely ridiculous, but a loud knock at the door interrupted me.

Seb waited for a moment, but when I didn’t answer, he stood with that stupid ass smirk on his face. He turned to the door, leaving me to scramble up to sitting straight when he opened it to reveal room service.

The young woman kept her head down as she wheeled the cart into the room and placed it where Seb asked. She handed him a black, leather wallet that he opened and scanned before signing it with the proffered pen and returning it.

She left as quickly and quietly as she came, clicking the door behind her like it was the door to Fort Knox.

Seb approached the trolley and picked up the cloche on the plate furthest to the right. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup. I assume this is yours.”