She had made a rule. No touching unless necessary. Zane had agreed to that rule. Signed the contract with it written in clean black ink. She had watched him sign it herself. So she had absolutely no explanation for why his hand was at the small of her back right now, or why she hadn't moved away from it yet. "You're staring," he said. Not looking at her. Eyes still on the room full of people ahead of them. "You're touching me," she said back. Same tone. Same forward gaze. A pause. His thumb moved. Just slightly. Just enough to press a little warmer through the fabric of her dress. "Contractual necessity," he said quietly. "We're supposed to look convincing." "There's no one even looking at us right now." Another pause. Longer this time. "No," he said. "There isn't." She looked up at him then. He was already looking down at her. And the thing about Zane Whitmore was that he never let anything show on his face. Not ever. That was the rule of him. But his eyes. His eyes were doing something they were not supposed to be doing. She forgot what she was going to say. His head dipped. Just slightly. Just enough that she could feel his breath against her temple when he spoke. "You're doing it again," he murmured. "Doing what?" "Making it very difficult to remember the terms of our agreement." Her heart did something stupid and inconvenient. She looked back at the room ahead of them and said nothing because there was nothing safe to say and his hand was still at her back and neither of them moved away from the other for the rest of the night.