It took every ounce of control I had to stop.
Her breath was hot against my ear, her thighs trembling beneath my hands, and her little whimper of please had almost undone me. My body ached to claim her, to take her right there on the counter until she forgot her own name.
But then she whispered the truth.
She'd never...
I froze. The word virgin hit me like a blow I wasn't prepared for.
For a moment, I just stared at her, at the nervous way her lashes lowered, at how she shrank from my gaze like she was ashamed. Shame. For something that wasn't shameful at all.
I lifted her chin, forcing her eyes on me. "Are you a virgin?"
She gave the smallest nod. And suddenly, every reckless thought screeched to a halt.
I kissed her forehead, pulled her skirt down, and stepped back. "Then we'll stop."
The panic in her eyes gutted me. She thought I didn't want her now, that her inexperience was a flaw. If only she knew. If only she could feel the restraint it took not to tear through the paper-thin walls I'd built around myself.
Her voice was small, sad. "You don't want me because I'm inexperienced, right?"
I almost cursed. Instead, I took her hand, guided it down to the hardness straining against my trousers. Her gasp echoed in my chest.
"Trust me, baby," I whispered, voice rougher than I intended. "I'm very interested."
The way her pupils dilated, the way her lips parted—God, I wanted her more than anything. But not like this. Not rushed. Not when she deserved more than being taken apart on a kitchen counter in a haze of need.
So I let go. Slowly. Painfully.
And I reminded myself of the promise I'd made the night this charade began: control.
The drive back to her place was silent, charged, suffocating. My fingers gripped the wheel tight enough to leave marks. I forced my breathing to steady, but my chest still felt like a war zone.
She sat beside me, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, her nervousness rolling off her in waves. And the crazy part? I was just as nervous. Me. Adrian Cole. The man who could negotiate billion-dollar deals without flinching, yet sat in his car battling the urge to pull over and kiss her senseless again.
When we finally pulled up in front of her house, she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door. Something inside me rebelled at letting her go just like that.
"Amara," I said.
She paused, turning back to me.
I leaned in, tugging lightly on her sleeve to draw her closer, and pressed a kiss against her forehead. Soft. Intimate. A promise I wasn't sure I had the right to make.
Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly.
"Goodnight," I murmured.
She nodded quickly, almost too quickly, and slipped out of the car. I watched her walk to her door, every step betraying nerves she tried to mask. But the truth was, I wasn't calm either. My pulse was still racing like I'd run a marathon.
As soon as her door shut behind her, I sat back, ran a hand down my face, and exhaled harshly.
I was in trouble.
That night, lying awake in my bed, her image burned into my mind. The sound of her gasp, the way she whispered, the way she blushed when she admitted something so vulnerable.
And then the moment she smiled after I kissed her forehead, that tiny smile that looked like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
I'd told myself this was all a deal. Fake. Convenient. But somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting it to be fake.
The thought settled heavy in my chest. I wanted Amara. Not just as a distraction, not just as an act to parade around—really wanted her.
And for the first time in years, I didn't care about control. I didn't care about logic. I cared about her.
So I made a decision.
The next time I saw Amara, I wouldn't just play along with this fake-girlfriend lie. I'd make it real.
Three days later, the plan was set. I booked one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, arranged for balloons in soft gold and ivory to decorate our private section, and even had the staff prepare her favorite dessert from the night of our first dinner together.
I'd done business deals that required less planning. But this... this mattered.
When she arrived, dressed in a simple but elegant dress, her eyes widened as she took in the scene. Balloons floated gently above the table, candles flickered, and for once, I wasn't trying to project the cold, untouchable businessman.
I just wanted her to see me.
The dinner was perfect. We laughed, shared bites of food, even teased each other like we'd known each other far longer than we had. My chest warmed every time she smiled at me.
And then, when the plates were cleared, I knew it was time.
I stood, walked around to her side of the table, and offered my hand. She looked at me, curious, but placed her small hand in mine. I helped her up, led her to the center of the decorated space, surrounded by balloons and soft light.
Her eyes searched mine. "Adrian... what is this?"
I took a breath, my usual mask slipping away. For once, I let her see the man beneath the control.
"This isn't fake anymore, Amara," I said quietly. "Not for me."
Her lips parted, and her breath caught.
I reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Be my girlfriend. For real."
Silence stretched between us. Her eyes shimmered, emotions swirling I couldn't quite name. For a moment, I thought she'd smile, throw her arms around me, say yes.
But then her expression shifted. Sadness. Regret.
She shook her head slightly. "I can't."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"You can't?" My voice was low, controlled, but inside, something cracked.
She bit her lip, gaze dropping. "Adrian... I just... I can't."
For a second, the silence was unbearable. The only sound was the soft clink of a balloon ribbon brushing against the table.
I didn't think — I just moved. Closing the space between us, I pulled her into my arms. She stiffened for half a breath, then melted slightly against me, but I felt the tension in her shoulders, the way her body trembled.
She wasn't just refusing me. She was fighting something inside herself. Something that made her look more distraught about saying no than I felt about hearing it.
My chin rested lightly on her hair, and I let my arms hold her firm, steady. "It's okay," I murmured. "You don't have to explain now."
But, I was going to figure out why.
And whatever the reason was, I wasn't going to give up on her.