Page 30 of Heart of Thorns

“What’s the catch?” She steps closer. “You can’t go from calling me a jersey chaser and a stalker?—”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

Her eyebrows shoot up.

“I made a bad assumption based on past experiences. You know what they say when you assume…”

“Right.”

“I made an ass of myself,” I continue. “And, if I’m being honest, I do have a catch.”

She stiffens.

“Date me.”

She chokes. “Excuse me?”

“That came out wrong.” I turn away from her, swiping my palm down my face. “I don’t meanactuallydate me?—”

“You saw my tits and now you want to fuck me?” Her voice is hard.

I laugh. “Jesus. No.”

“You didn’t like them, then?”

My face heats. When’s the last time I got this flustered? I spin to face her again, only to find that she’s within reach. Her chin lifts, her head tipping back to meet my gaze. She’s so fuckingunafraid, it’s a marvel.

“I don’t mean sex. Or a hookup. I mean… I need you to pretend to be in a serious relationship with me.”

There. It’s out in the open.

I wait for the laughter or the immediate denial. That this is a horrible idea, that… I don’t know, nowI’mthe stalker or the creep.

It doesn’t come, so I press onward.

“I help you in here, you help me out there.” I motion toward the door.

“Why?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”

“Yeah, Thorne,why? Why me? Why do you need to find someone to fake date you? Why does it have to be a seriousrelationship? Just—why?” Briar’s gaze could pin me to the fucking wall.

She’s not laughing.

She’s so fucking real right now, it makes me want to reel her in and kiss her.

Which issooutside my comfort zone, it’s not even funny. I don’t kiss.

I fuck girls, usually from behind, and they get a limited amount of touching. Sometimes I tie them to the headboard just to make sure theydon’tcop a feel. Their nails down my back or along my arms… I fight off a shudder at the thought.

“You want the truth?” I ask.

She nods emphatically.

I look away. I can’t believe I’m about to tell her this. Rhys knows, of course, but everyone else who sees me go on dates with rich, thin, plastic girls? They just think that’s my type. And it attracts more of them, like flies to honey, and I can’t escape it.

“My parents want me to find the perfect trophy wife,” I admit. “They come from old money, and that kind of status demands certain things.”