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Page 40 of The Perfect Deception

“I was right?”

She swal­lowed and plunged ahead. “I’m not your girl­friend, not re­ally. We have an ar­range­ment.” So get­ting in­volved in his work pol­i­tics was point­less.

“An ar­range­ment?”

“I’m help­ing you get back in your fa­ther’s good graces and you’re es­cort­ing me to my re­union. We might en­joy each other’s com­pany, we might have even gone out on a date, but we shouldn’t make this into any­thing more than that.”

“Dina—” He looked stricken.

“No, Adam. I’m not your type, and frankly, you’re not mine, ei­ther.” God for­give her for ly­ing. “I over­re­acted.”

“You over­re­acted?”

She nod­ded, glad he was fi­nally un­der­stand­ing. “I’m sorry your friends are be­hav­ing the way they are. You’re prob­a­bly right, though. In­tro­duc­ing me to them would only have hurt your rep­u­ta­tion with them.” She didn’t need to delve any fur­ther into his dif­fi­cul­ties at work.

He frowned and looked at his hands.

“I’m glad we got this straight­ened out,” she said, as she rose and led him to­ward the door. Say­ing the words, re­mind­ing them both of their agree­ment, was use­ful. It made things clearer, like draw­ing a map or an org chart.

He fol­lowed her. “Ev­ery­thing will be fine, Adam. I don’t usu­ally over­re­act, and I won’t do it again.”

He had his “lit­tle boy lost” look and it was all she could do not to re­act to it. She needed him to leave be­fore she wrapped him in her arms. Open­ing her front door, she waited for him to step back over the thresh­old. It took him a while, but when he did, she leaned against the door­frame.

“We should grab lunch again some­time,” she added.

“Lunch?”

Friends ate lunch to­gether, right? “I prom­ise I won’t walk out on you,” she said. Smile, she told her­self.

“Walk out on me?”

She raised the cor­ners of her mouth, and it lasted while he turned and walked down the hall­way, af­ter she closed the door, and un­til she sat on the sofa he’d re­cently va­cated.

Her stom­ach flut­tered at his scent that re­mained in the fab­ric of her sofa and a shiver of de­sire ran up her spine. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

She’d done it. She’d re­stored their equi­lib­rium. They were just friends.

Adam climbed into his car and shut the door be­fore open­ing it and slam­ming it again, so hard the car shook. He pounded his hands on the steer­ing wheel, the force send­ing shock­waves up his arms and jar­ring his teeth. His nos­trils flared as he blew air in and out, in an at­tempt to get his rau­cous breath­ing un­der con­trol.

What the hell just hap­pened?

She wanted to be friends.

The only kind of “friend” he wanted to be with her had “boy” at­tached to it. No, that wasn’t true. He did en­joy her friend­ship. It added depth to their re­la­tion­ship and pre­vented it from be­ing a purely phys­i­cal at­trac­tion. Be­cause he loved talk­ing to her, hear­ing her opin­ions, shar­ing him­self with her.

But the phys­i­cal part was also im­por­tant to him. He was be­com­ing more at­tracted to her. So far, they’d only kissed, but that one kiss, that un­be­liev­able kiss, haunted him. His lips still burned where they’d touched hers, his in­sides still turned to jelly when he thought about it. In fact, he’d been hop­ing there would have been more kiss­ing in her apart­ment once he’d apol­o­gized for his gaffe.

But she’d fo­cused on their ar­range­ment and her over­re­ac­tion, and here he was pulling away from the curb into rush hour traf­fic.

She thought he was dat­ing her only to im­press his fa­ther. If he were one hun­dred per­cent hon­est with him­self, he’d ac­knowl­edge the par­tial truth in that state­ment. But the more time he spent time with her, when he wasn’t roy­ally screw­ing things up with her, the more he wanted to move be­yond their ar­range­ment.

His head was an­other mat­ter. It was still fo­cused on not mak­ing a fool of him­self, of main­tain­ing the right rep­u­ta­tion, of spin­ning the right mes­sage.

But lis­ten­ing to his head was prob­a­bly what had got­ten him into this mess in the first place. As un­be­liev­able as it might sound, it was time to fol­low his heart.

Dina’s phone rang late that night.

“Dina, it’s Adam.”




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