Chapter 3

3

BARON

H eather Cain is out on a date with me.

I let that sink in, even though my brain refuses to comprehend the fact that she's sitting right across from me and frowning like I just drowned her cat. She doesn't like cats, by the way. She's a dog person through and through.

"If you're going to look at me like that, Heather, we might as well call it off. You can't convince anyone you're besotted with me when your face says otherwise."

She smooths her expression and blinks. "Besotted? What are you? A Victorian duke out to look for a new wife after poisoning the last?"

I smile and stab a slice of steak with my fork. "Your brain likes to jump to worst-case scenarios. That's not healthy."

"I've been through several worst-case scenarios at home that my default is to think of them first."

Maybe it's her words or the sadness in her tone when she says it, but guilt and anger pierce through me. It was no secret that she and Corinne weren't close despite being twins, but I had no idea the truth was way worse. I also didn't make it easy for her at school.

"Let's get this out of the way, Heather." She perks up at the seriousness in my voice. "I'm sorry for all the things I did to you. There was no malice or bad intentions behind them, I promise you."

"Then why did you do them?"

Well damn.

It's time to come clean. Otherwise, this whole pretend dating is not going to work. And I want it to work so badly that it becomes real. That we become real. Once the truth is laid bare, I hope she can forgive me. I don't expect her to understand because I didn't understand it myself back then.

Only when I graduated college did I realize how I wasted so many years making her hate me instead of the other way around.

"Heather, I just wanted you to notice me. I didn't know how else to do it."

Her mouth parts slightly, her forehead creasing in confusion or disbelief or both. "W-what?"

Man, confessing is not as easy as movies make it out to be. I don't know how many times I've practiced telling her, but at this moment, my mind goes blank. All the well-rehearsed lines—some romantic, some downright cringe—fly out the window, and what I'm left with is the most basic truth lodged in my throat.

"Baron, don't go silent on me. What do you mean?"

"Ah, fuck it." Gripping the edges of the table, my knuckles white, I stare at Heather with everything in me, hoping, praying she doesn't think I'm pranking her. That this is the real deal. The real me. "I like you, Heather. Always have. It was stupid and immature, bullying you so you'd notice me, but I would have flown under your radar had I not done it."

Heather's drink is arrested halfway to her mouth, and she gives me an incredulous stare, her jaw hanging open. She clears her throat before she speaks. "You wouldn't have."

"What?"

"Flown under my radar."

Her voice is so soft and quiet that I strain to hear it. I understand her words, but I refuse to believe it. I've pranked her for years, so if she does the same, I won't even be surprised. "Why not?"

She traces the rim of her wine glass with her finger. "Because you're the hottest guy in school? Not to mention you're funny. Humor and good looks are a deadly combo, especially if you weren't an ass."

I give her my most flirtatious smile. "Hottest, huh?"

She lifts one shoulder. "Not my words. That's what everyone said."

"But did you agree?"

"You are not cornering me like this, and I did say you were an ass, so that cancels it out."

That's the thing with Heather. She doesn't know how to lie, and if she does, she does it so badly. The truth is always on her face. She's an open book, and that makes her a breath of fresh air from everyone else who's fake and pretentious.

I let her be … this time. "Fine. Will you dance with me?"

Heather scrunches her nose like the very idea is disgusting and preposterous. "Why?"

"We need to practice. You said it's a masquerade ball, right? I'd really hate for you to spend five minutes just stepping on my toes."

"Oh, I will step on them just for shits and giggles." She rolls her eyes and drops her napkin on the table. "You know how to waltz?"

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "My sister forced me to learn them for her 18th birthday." I stand and extend a hand to her. "Now, will you do me the honor of giving me this dance?"

"If you insist." She places her small hand in mine, and a jolt goes through my body. I make a pathetic attempt to dial back the desire coursing through me, but her skin against mine doesn't help.

Damn. I'm acting like a hormonal virgin. Lusting after her from afar is one thing, but touching her like this is another. How the hell am I supposed to go back to my boring, mediocre life if I already know how it is to be by her side?

As my fingers graze her palm and her eyes meet mine, something long buried deep inside me rushes to the surface. I knew I had a massive crush on Heather and was obsessed with her. But leading her to the polished wooden floor in the middle of the restaurant, I realize something terrifying—I might have mistaken love for lust.

Heather faces me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. I hold her hand in mine while the other hand goes to the small of her back. Such a simple gesture. Could've been innocent. Something couples or even non-couples do to dance.

But she might as well have set me on fire.

She's so close I can smell her perfume—some kind of light vanilla. There may have been others on the dance floor, but it's as if we've stepped into another world—a world where only she and I exist.

Heather is only a few inches shorter than me at 5'10, and she likes wearing heels, so as we sway to the music, we're almost at eye level.

For the life of me, I cannot look away. For years, I've only traced her profile with my sight, contenting myself with glimpses or long stares if no one else is looking. But up close, it's like Heather has reached inside my chest and wrapped her hands around my heart, squeezing it, making it beat for her and only her.

She's saying something, but I cannot hear anything except for the frantic beating of my heart, my palms sweating, blood rushing down my cock. It's all too much. My thoughts tumble over one another, but when she taps a finger on my jaw, everything snaps back into focus, my gaze sharpening on her.

"Where were you just now, Baron?"

It takes me a while to respond because I am so fucking out of my depth here. I admit I wanted to seduce her, make her see me as more than someone she hates, and basically help convince her of the possibility of us actually dating. Not just faking it.

But somewhere between striking a deal with her and feeling her this close to me, something has rearranged inside me. Whatever I felt for her before intensifies, and it's like watching myself roll down the hill unable to stop. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to.

"Baron, stop staring at me like you want to eat me!" she hisses.

I spot the exact moment she realizes what she said because she snaps her eyes shut and groans. "God, no. Quit it, Baron."

"I'm not even saying or doing anything."

"I see it in your eyes. I know what you're thinking."

"Ah. Tell me."

"No."

"Come on, Heather. You never backed down from going toe to toe with me before. Don't do it now."

Her eyes flare because if there's one thing about Heather, it's that she hates being called a coward—even in a roundabout way.

I pull her closer to me, and she sucks in a sharp breath, no doubt feeling the electricity zapping through the air. The tension between us is like a living, breathing thing, and I can almost taste it on my tongue.

I want to tease her like usual, but I can't find the words to do so when her eyes turn glassy and she swipes her tongue along her bottom lip.

I want to suck that tongue and devour her right here and right now in front of everyone. I want to see what that dirty mouth can do aside from trading barbs with me. I want to see her come apart in my arms.

The music ends, and we're the only ones left on the dance floor. My hands stay where they are, and she does the same. Once we return to our table, this spell we're under will undoubtedly break. And fuck, I've waited all my life for this one shot with Heather. I'll be damned if I let it slip away.

My hand skims her back—up, up, up until I can wrap it around the back of her neck. Her breathing becomes uneven, her gaze dropping to my mouth, and I can feel myself devolving into a feral version of myself. A beast whose only purpose in life is to stake a claim over his woman.

Just as I'm about to ghost over her full lips, a sudden, sharp sound shatters our moment. We both register the noise at the same time—the unmistakable sound of glass breaking echoing behind us.

We turn to look at the commotion, and well, it's just someone who accidentally sent his wine glass crashing to the floor, the staff moving swiftly to clean up the mess.

Everyone goes back to their meals, but the damage has been done. We can no longer go back to almost kissing.

Goddammit.

Disappointment crashes through me, but I tamp it down.

Heather didn't fake her reaction to my touch. She was more than ready to let me kiss her. She didn't say no. She didn't push me away. More importantly, her grip on my shoulder tightened when I got closer.

I'm going to have to settle for that right now.