Fake Fiancée, Bride Forever (Billionaires of Europe Book 8) by Holly Rayner

Author:Holly Rayner [Rayner, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Leah

The journey back to my apartment is a blur. I’m driving, but I keep nearly having to pull over, so distracted am I by Magnus beside me. If I wasn’t so familiar with this route, if I didn’t drive these streets so regularly, there would be no way I could manage this. As it is, I have to keep wrenching my attention back to the road. I check the speedometer, make sure I’m keeping the car in its proper lane, do my best to avoid frequent stops and starts that might give away either my distraction or the nature of it to a passing police officer, should one go by.

Magnus isn’t helping at all. We separated, just momentarily, to get into the car, but since then he hasn’t let go of me. He’s half out of his own seat, leaning across the armrest to gain access to me. His fingers have pulled the shoulder of my top down, and his lips are exploring, slowly and carefully, the line of my collarbone.

My breathing is much too fast, and I feel like I’m back in that purple race car, speeding along the track, adrenaline flooding my system. I keep shifting my foot to the brake, stepping down, making sure the car doesn’t go out of control, and it’s all I can do not to send it jolting along the road. I manage, just barely, to keep it in motion.

“Magnus,” I whisper. “We shouldn’t…”

But he’s paying me no attention, his head dipping lower now to follow the line of my shirt neckline.

I lift up my arm to make room for him to duck below it, and then I grip the steering wheel tightly with both hands. I’m wearing a V-neck today, and Magnus plants soft kisses along the shape of the V. When he gets to the lowest point, I feel an involuntary shiver run through me, and I just hope we arrive quickly.

A part of me can’t believe this is happening at all. Magnus Johansen! Of all people! True, we’re engaged to be married, but none of that is real. It is a charade, a farce. But his hands moving below the hemline of my shirt, exploring the planes of my stomach—that’s real. Nothing in the world has ever been more real. And here I am, driving toward my house, toward the place where my bed is, apparently just to see where this leads. What am I doing?

It occurs to me in the break when his hands are off me, when his lips are off me, when he’s out of the car and hurrying around to the driver’s-side door to pull me out too, that it’s too bad a member of the press isn’t around now to capture this. No one could deny the passion between us if they saw us now.

I use the short break to try to calm my breathing, hoping for reason to prevail while it has a chance to do so. But all too soon—and not nearly

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