“You have a bedroom voice?”
“I do.” He speaks firmly and lifts an eyebrow.
“Ooh,” I say with genuine interest.
His gaze slides to my lips. “You like that idea?”
“I do. It’s very sexy.” I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue.
He studies them for a moment, and then his gaze comes back to mine. This time, there’s a touch of heat in it. “Do you like your men dominant in bed?” he murmurs.
“Depends. Do you like your women submissive? Because I’m not submissive.”
“No?”
I give a little shake of my head. “I won’t come quietly.”
He exhales, his breath whispering across my lips. “But you will come.” It’s a statement, not a question.
My breath hitches at his double meaning. At the thought of letting this man pleasure me. Of having him give me an orgasm with his fingers, with his tongue.
Someone whistles, and all of a sudden I’m conscious of the crowd and the photographer. “Are we still acting?” I ask, my heart racing.
He blinks. “Of course.”
“Good.” I need to get this over with so I can escape with my marbles intact.
Most of my marbles, anyway.
I take his face in my hands and touch my nose to his gently in a hongi. Our breaths mingle, exchanging theha, or breath of life. He shivers, which surprises me. Maybe he’s not as unaffected as I thought. It warms me through, and I tilt my head a little to the side and lower my mouth to his.
His lips are warm and firm, and a tingle goes through me from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine. I slide my hands into his long, thick hair, and he murmurs something, I’m not sure what, but we exchange a long, luscious embrace that most definitely does not require any acting on my part. I enjoy every second of it—of the electric sensation of his lips touching mine, the smell of his cologne, and the feel of his arms tight around me, easily holding me against his chest.
He doesn’t use his tongue, though. And by the end, I’m very disappointed with that.
When I finally lift my head, the crowd cheers again, and we both laugh as we look over. He’d turned a little, I realize, so we’re side on to the photographer; no doubt he got an excellent shot.
Kingi lowers my legs until my feet touch the floor. I glance at the window of the restaurant and catch a brief glance of Sabrina’s pale face, her mouth open as she watches us. And then Kingi takes my hand and leads me away.
“Do you think that worked?” I ask. My voice comes out as a squeak.
He clears his throat. “I think it did the job.”
“That’s great. Do you think it will be in Korero tomorrow?”
“Almost certainly. I need to call the board and tell them about our arrangement. They might want to meet you. Would you be up for that?”
“Of course,” I say sincerely. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He glances at me, and there’s something strange in his eyes, but he looks away before I can fathom it out.
We don’t speak again on the way back to the car. My heart is still racing though.
I have six months of this. Of being by his side. Of pretending to belong to him. Of kissing him.
But only in public, of course.
It’s only for show.