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“Better,” I said once the last button had been done. “Now tuck.” “You sound like a wife already,” he protested mildly, but did as I said and tucked the ends of his shirt into his jeans. Of course this necessitated an unbuttoning of his fly, which revealed he was wearing white cotton briefs whose front seams were being tested by a muscle of a different kind, which looked huge and ready for business. I made a peep like a startled baby bird and whipped my head around so fast I nearly broke my own neck. Confronted with my reflection in the mirror, there was no denying the obvious: I was turned on as all get-out. My pupils were huge, my color was high, and my bosom was heaving like a bodice-ripper cover model’s. Dear Lord. I was sexually attracted to my fake fiancé. “Everything all right in
- Writer
