Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Jessica’s POV

Aaron pushed open the heavy double doors to his room, and I was enveloped in a faint but distinctive scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp, clean scent of fresh linen and air conditioning.

The room was vast, an impressive blend of modern luxury and masculine minimalism. From the immaculate dark wood floors to the high, coffered ceiling, everything shone.

It was dominated by a palette of cool, sophisticated colors: snow white walls and upholstery, deep cobalt blue accents in the throw pillows and rug, and flashes of polished silver in the lamp bases and framed artwork.

The whole space looked less lived–in and more prepared, as if it had been sealed until the moment we arrived.

He took my hand, and led me toward the king–sized bed that commanded the center of the room.

A soft, unintended moan of relief escaped me the moment my weight sank into the luxurious softness of the mattress.

My fingers, without permission, instinctively curled into the cool, smooth texture of the silk sheets. It was heaven. I could vividly picture myself melting into this comfort.

Unfortunately, I knew this wasn’t an option. I would have to take the sofa, a clean, white piece of furniture sitting neatly in the corner. We had to share a room to avoid suspicion, but sharing a bed? I knew he wouldn’t.

My mind, inevitably, drifted back to the hallway kiss. A genuine, unguarded smile touched my lips, followed by a sudden, intense rush of heat that forced me to clench my thighs. It felt magical, surreal–like fireworks exploding in my chest.

I’d finally kissed him, the guy I’d been pining over for what felt like forever, the one who’d occupied my dreams and daydreams alike.

Sure, it wasn’t the conventional setting for a first kiss; it was born out of desperation to shut down Fiona’s scheming. But still, the way his lips had moved against mine, the heat of his body… it sent tingles racing through me even now.

That bubble of happiness popped almost as quickly as it formed, eclipsed by the familiar chill of self–doubt.

He didn’t feel it. He’s probably regretting it right now, perhaps even feeling disgusted.

Aaron turned his back to me and disappeared into the walk–in closet. It took every ounce of control I possessed not to burst into tears at that simple, dismissive movement.

I inhaled deeply, then let out a ragged breath. I slid off the bed and shuffled over to the vanity, where a cluster of framed photos sat.

I picked one up, my eyes drawn to the captured moment of a family of four, frozen in time. His mom beamed with infectious cheer, her arm around his little sister, who was mid–laugh, stealing the show with her bright eyes.

Aaron and his dad stood tall beside them, both wearing those plain, stoic expressions that somehow only amplified their handsomeness.

My lips curved into a tiny, painful smile as my gaze lingered on Aaron’s younger face.

Unconsciously, my fingers moved to trace his figure against the smooth glass.

Why does my heart beat so wildly for you, Aaron? I thought, the question a sharp ache in my throat. I’m supposed to hate you–after all the teasing, the bullying back in school. But here I am, hopelessly drawn in.

I was so completely lost in his dark, challenging eyes staring back at me from the photograph that I didn’t register the sound of the closet door opening, or his approach, until his deep voice spoke directly behind me.

“What are you doing, Jess?”

I yelped, a nervous, high–pitched sound, and the heavy frame slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. He moved with a predator’s speed, catching the photo inches before it hit the floor.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my cheeks flaming crimson with embarrassment and shame.

He said nothing, simply placing the photo back down with meticulous care.

Once again, he avoided looking at me. He was about to leave the vanity area, presumably to find something else to busy himself with, but this time, I stopped him.

“Aaron, you can’t avoid me forever,” I said, the tense silence finally broken by my shaky voice.

He froze, his back still toward me. And that refusal to turn, that simple act of evasion, hurt more than any sharp word he could have uttered.

“Look, I’m sorry about the kiss, okay? I just had to do it so our cover wouldn’t blow. Fiona was planning with your cousin to try and make us kiss in front of everyone just to prove we weren’t real… I had to do that.”

He remained motionless, silent. I could feel my heart pounding so hard I was certain he could hear it.

“Our suitcases should be brought in soon,” he finally said, his voice flat, emotionless. And then he walked out.

The moment the door clicked shut, a single, hot tear rolled down my cheek, quickly followed by another.

Why is it so hard for him to love me? Or even just… like me? After all these years, does he still just see me as his old bullying target, a pawn in some game?

I stood under the shower longer than necessary, letting the rising steam mingle with my quiet sorrows, trying to wash away the feeling of inadequacy.

Through the soft, silver light cast by the moon through the massive windows, I spotted his discarded shirt–a simple, charcoal gray tee–on the corner of the couch. I picked it up, and stared it at for a minute.

There was no response from the bed. Then, like a silent shadow, he was suddenly at the couch, grabbing me up with unexpected swiftness.

I yelped at the suddenness.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he grumbled, throwing me effortlessly over his shoulder.

“Aaron!” I squealed, trying to wiggle out of his iron grip, but he was impossibly strong.

He reached the bed and tossed me into the middle. Without a moment’s warning, he followed, hovering over me, his elbows propping him up so his weight didn’t crush me.

My breath hitched. I lay there, rigid as a frightened kitten, staring up at his beautiful face, now just inches away.

The rays of the moonlight spilling onto the sheets did a magnificent job of highlighting his sharp jaw and the intense, soulful depth of his brown eyes.

Our faces were so close that the slightest movement would send us colliding–kissing–again.

He stared at me for a long, intense moment, and I waited for him to speak. Instead, he simply rolled over, landing beside me on his back.

“Did you really think I’d let you sleep on that couch?” His voice was low, and his words felt like they kissed my ear. I couldn’t speak. The words were tangled in a panicked mess in my brain.

“We’ve got an eventful day tomorrow–my cousins have a ton planned. You need to rest. It’s midnight already.”

He shifted slightly, turning his back to me. I just laid there, my heart still trying to escape my ribs after what had just happened.

“Are you really not going to talk about the kiss?” I whispered, the need for clarity overriding my fear. “I know you’re mad at me, but…”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Jess.”

The bluntness was a physical blow.

“It was just a kiss.”