Stefanie London - Faking It / Forbidden Sins

“Why do you say sweet things like that when I’d rather you say something dirty?”

My head snaps toward her. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t go there. Not with you.”

Her face falls and I want to explain. I want to tell her that it’s nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. I want to tell her that it’s because I’m not capable of treating her the way she deserves to be treated. That I can take her to bed, but that will be it, and I don’t know if I can handle the look on her face when I leave after it’s all done.

“It’s…” Fuck. I’m so not good at this. I can walk away from my troubles like a boss, but staying and talking…I suck at it. “You’re hot, okay? It’s nothing to do with that.”

She tilts her head in a way that reminds me of an adorable puppy. “So it’s not because there’s a lack of physical chemistry.”

I laugh. “Hell no. That’s not it at all.”

We’re still standing at the river, and a group of drunk girls totter past giggling and singing. On the water, there’s a cruise boat stuffed full of partygoers. Music floats toward us and so does the sound of laughter and cheering. They’re all so obliviously happy.

“I’m not asking for a ring, Owen.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I already got that.”

“What are you asking for?” I go against my better judgement with that question, but the air is burning up around us and we’re standing close enough that I could capture her lips with mine.

“One night.” Her chest rises and falls with a big breath. “Get it out of our systems. I’d like very much to be able to concentrate on the job and I just…can’t. Not with the tension distracting me.”

One night, no strings, with the girl I’ve crushed on ever since she walked into the first-day induction session at the Victoria Police Academy. It would be so easy to say yes.

“No.” The word comes out a lot weaker than I’d hoped.

“Why?”

“Because the whole one-night thing doesn’t work when you know the person. It’s all fine to say we’ll act like it never happened, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

“What if I wasn’t me?” There’s a darkness to her expression, a simmering heat that pulls me in. “What if I was someone else?”

“What?”

“I’m already playing a role. Hannah Essex.” She wriggles her fingers and my mother’s ring glints in the light. “I can simply change roles and be someone else.”

She wants it that badly? My fingers twitch and my cock is aching for release—I’ve been in a semi-state of excitement for days and this is only making it worse. How long before I break? How long before my willpower is a billion glittering shards?

“Surely you’re not intimidated by a bit of role play?” Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and I’m about ready to fall to my knees in front of her.

“I’m not afraid of role play.” I grit the words out.

“Then I’m going to be in that bar, ordering a drink.” She turns and points to a little hole-in-the-wall place with the ambient glow of low-hanging lights. “If you come find me, we’ll pretend to be other people for the night.”

Bloody hell. “And if I don’t come find you?”

“Then I have my answer.”

She turns and walks across the tree-lined boulevard, pausing at the edge of the bar to shrug out of her coat. Her dress glimmers, like stars winking at me, beckoning me closer. I catch the flash of her toned, bare legs and those shiny silver shoes before she disappears inside.

Hannah

MY HEART IS pounding a million miles a minute as I enter the dimly lit bar. The place is full, but not bursting. A beautiful curved bar in gold and pearl-white wraps around the back two corners of the room. Ornate pendant lights emit a warm glow, and velvet chairs dot the space, where people sit drinking and talking. Most wear suits or pretty dresses—they’ve probably come from seeing a show at the Arts Centre.

When a couple vacate the bar, I claim one of the empty seats.

Will Owen follow me in here? Is he outside stewing over his decision or has he already started walking home? I can’t get his words out of my head.

Nothing will ever stop you, Anderson. You’re a force.

When it comes to work and my career, I’ve worn that label with pride. I’m ambitious and I have the respect of my colleagues and superiors. But the second I shrug out of my blue uniform, I somehow shrug out of my confidence, too.

“What can I get you?” The bartender smiles.

“A French 75, please.” I’m craving something fizzy.

My eyes stray to the door, where a couple walks in. They’re arm in arm and so into one another that the room shoots up a hundred degrees. Is it pathetic that all I want is for someone to look at me like that? I’m an independent, intelligent woman but…

Just once I want to be that girl. The girl who gets the guy, the girl who stops traffic. Is it so bad to want to feel desirable? To feel sexy and coveted and beloved?

The bartender places my drink on a coaster and I pay. Bubbles race to the top of the champagne flute, where a delicate curl of lemon peel sits, curving over the edge of the glass. I stare at it for a moment, hanging in a delicious limbo between fear of rejection and the possibility that I may have something exciting in front of me.

The cocktail is tasty, dry champagne with a hint of sour lemon. As I watch the door, I twist Owen’s mother’s ring. I still haven’t gotten used to wearing it. But for tonight it’s on the wrong finger. I slip it off and transfer it to my other hand.

I turn back to my drink and run my finger over the rim, trying to make it sing like I used to when I was a little kid. I count my breaths in and out, clinging to hope.

Please come to me.

I remember how mortified I was when I found out my diary had been read aloud. I knew Owen had done his best to conceal my identity. But people talked and theorised—we all wanted to be investigators, after all.

Rumours spread. I’d denied it, of course. And then the diary had turned up back in my room seemingly of its own accord. I knew he’d put it there. And part of me had been excited that he knew how I felt. Unfortunately, nothing had come of it.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

I turn toward the deep voice and swallow back the excitement surging through my veins. Owen has a dangerous edge to him. His usually playful smile is nowhere to be found, and his vibrant blue eyes hold me captive. Will he play my game?

“No, please.” I gesture toward the empty seat next to me. “It’s all yours.”

He eases himself onto the bar stool and signals to the bartender. 18-year-old Talisker, neat. I’ve never seen him drink anything but beer. He looks at me while the bartender pours, his expression smouldering and unreadable. The corner of my lips lifts into a smile, inviting him closer. He knows what I want, so now the ball is in his court.

I hold my breath…waiting.

“I’m James,” he says.

My thundering heart almost trips over itself with joy. It’s happening. “Annabel.”

“Are you from around here, Annabel?” An American accent has crept into his voice that’s doing funny things to my insides. Is he drawing on his time in New York?

My mind spins. I don’t have a backstory planned—I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Hell, I have no idea how this role-play thing is supposed to work. Perhaps part of me never thought he’d say yes…

“I’m in town on business.” I sip my drink. “For one night.”

“Just one?” There’s that cheeky twinkle.

“Yes. I’m…” Think, dammit. “A researcher.”