Faking It with the Ex-Navy SEAL

I melt into Colton’s arms like butter on a hot skillet. His lips crash into mine with a ferocity that robs me of air and, quite possibly, common sense. My hands greedily explore the rigid terrain of his chest—hello, rock-hard pectorals—and he lets out a low, primal growl that vibrates against me. The sound goes straight to my lower half like a promise whispered by the devil himself.

“Margo,” he rasps, his voice so gravelly it should come with a warning label. “You’re so damn beautiful. So soft.”

A strangled gasp slips out of me. “Careful,” I murmur. “Say stuff like that and I might start believing it.”

His hands trail up my thighs, strong, commanding—like he just signed the deed to my body and intends to claim the property. He grips my hip with an authority that’s frankly inappropriate unless we’re already married... or doing very married things.

He grinds against me with a slow, sinful roll that makes me see constellations. Not stars. Full-on celestial alignments. Orion’s Belt and then some.

How many nights have I fantasized about this exact moment? About Colton Stone, brother’s-best-friend-turned-walking-sin, pressed against me, inside me, ruining me for all lesser mortals? I want this more than my next breath—and I really enjoy breathing.

His mouth finds my neck and leaves a searing trail like he’s branding me with each kiss. When his hands cup my breasts, I nearly combust. His mouth follows, hot and hungry, drawing a desperate moan from deep within me that I will not be explaining to my therapist.

We break apart, both of us panting like we ran a marathon instead of just committing mild-to-moderate public indecency in a truck.

Colton’s blue eyes bore into mine, wild and stormy and deliciously conflicted. “Tell me to stop,” he growls. “Tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“Don’t you dare stop,” I whisper, dragging my hand slowly—very slowly—along the thick length of him straining beneath his pants. My God, he's hard as a rock. “Or I’ll be forced to do unspeakable things… like finishing without you.”

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Not on my watch.”

He's on me again like a man with a mission —his mouth, his hands, all fire and fury—and I stop thinking entirely. There is only Colton. His taste, his touch, the solid weight of his body pinning me to the seat. The rest of the world can wait.

A Few Hours Earlier

Dammit. Of course my ex had to show up like the Ghost of Relationships Past. At my brother’s wedding, no less. Preston Vandorholt—human red flag in a tux.

I stalk through the crowd like a woman on a mission, which, to be fair, I am. Mission: Make-Psycho-Ex-Go-Away.

That’s when I spot Colton. Tall, brooding, hotter than sin, and—unfortunately—my brother’s best friend. AKA: Completely Off-Limits since 2006.

But desperate times call for hot men and impulsive decisions.

“Colton,” I blurt, breathless and borderline panicked.

He turns, all concerned and chiseled. “Margo? What’s—”

“Play along,” I whisper urgently, already grabbing his lapel. “Just trust me. I’ll explain everything. Eventually.”

He frowns. “Uh... okay?”

With Preston closing in like a horror movie villain, I pull out the drama chops. “YES, I would LOVE to!” I exclaim, loud enough to earn a dozen curious glances.

Then I fling myself at Colton like he’s my long-lost lover instead of my long-standing crush. His body stiffens in surprise... then relaxes—and retaliates.

Oh no.

This wasn’t supposed to feel like the world’s hottest kiss. My knees turn to gelatin. If I had a brain cell still functioning, I’d call the fire department. But alas, I left those behind the moment our lips touched.

Colton pulls back, looking dazed, confused, and slightly impressed.

He grabs my hand—firm, protective, and utterly Colton—and leads me out to the terrace like a man who needs answers.

The cool air slaps some sense into me. Kind of.

“Margo,” he says, voice low and serious, “what the hell just happened?”

“That,” I reply, “was an emergency fake relationship kiss. A very necessary, highly effective diversion tactic. Five stars. Would do again.”

He doesn’t laugh. Not even a chuckle. Just raises an eyebrow like he’s trying to solve the enigma that is me.

“Okay, fine,” I sigh. “You remember my ex? Preston the Persistent? Well, he’s basically turned into a stalker with a fancy cologne addiction. When I saw him slinking around like he owns me, I panicked.”

His expression softens—just a bit. “And kissing me was your solution?”

“In my defense,” I say, “it was a great kiss.”

His mouth twitches. “You always this dramatic?”

“Only when threatened by tuxedoed exes with boundary issues.”

Colton rakes a hand through his hair. “You could’ve told me. I’d have backed you up.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to fill out a formal request form,” I mutter. “It was either kiss you or throw a drink in Preston’s face. This felt less wasteful.”

He studies me for a beat. Then his eyes flick toward the glass doors. “You want me to have a word with him?”

My heart stumbles. “No! I mean… maybe. I don’t know.”

Colton sighs, resigned. “Too late now. He already thinks I’m your boyfriend.”

That word—boyfriend—does unspeakable things to me.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I wasn’t thinking. I just… you were there. And I’ve always trusted you.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Trusted me enough to use me as your human shield, huh?”

“Exactly,” I deadpan. “The best kind of trust.”

Colton chuckles, low and warm. “Alright. I’ll play along. For tonight.”

I blink. “You will?”

His voice drops to that signature sexy growl. “Sure. But if your ex so much as looks at you sideways, he and I are going to have a real friendly chat. Navy SEAL style.”

Be still my treacherous heart.

As he steps closer, heat blooms low in my belly. Tonight, he’s pretending to be mine.

The trick will be convincing myself it’s just pretend.