Page 41 of Blue Line

I do as he says, glaring at him as I stand up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He makes his way over to me, and before I can stop him, he’s running his thumb over my bottom lip. I suck in a breath. What the hell is going on?

He inspects his thumb. “You were drooling too.”

He holds it up—it’s clearly dry—and I smack him on the chest. Bad idea, because as I pull my hand away, he yanks me into him and wraps his arms around me.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing how you react when I touch you.”

“Weston.” I shove at his chest.

“Hadley Jane, we’re about to go meet my agent. We’re supposed to be engaged, which means we should be comfortable touching each other.”

“Fine.” I relax into him. “Is this better?”

“Yes,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling my ear.

I lean my head against his shoulder. Another bad idea because now all I can smell is him—a hint of sweat and something that smells like rain, probably his deodorant or body wash. We stand like that for another minute or two until eventually, he releases me, and I move away from him.

He smirks, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Again.

“I’m gonna get changed now.”

His voice comes out gruff, and I’m glad I’m not the only one affected by our hug.

“Put your ring on, fiancée,” he says before turning and sauntering out of the room, my eyes never straying from his ass, which looks especially great in the black shorts he’s wearing.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say to John when we’re seated in his office an hour later.

The man, who I’d guess is in his late thirties or early forties, grins at me before focusing his attention on Weston.

“I like her already, Wes.”

“You like everyone,” Weston mumbles. He puts a hand on my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do, but I can’t help myself.

“So, let’s get down to business.” John sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers and eyeing us. “Slumberly Apparel wants you both in their winter holiday marketing. Wearing matching pajamas and opening gifts in front of the Christmas tree. It sounds a little corny, but what do I know?”

Weston leans forward in his chair, glancing over at me before turning his attention back to his agent. “What kind of pajamas?”

“Here.” John riffles through the pile of papers on his desk before holding one out. “They sent this with a few pictures.”

Weston takes the sheet and peers down at it. I lean closer to him, and he shifts so I can see. The pajamas are cute. Matching flannel bottoms and tops in reds and greens. A pair of boy shorts and an oversized shirt. Nothing that gives me pause.

“I’m fine with these,” I say.

“If she’s fine with them, so am I,” Weston adds.

“Good. I’ll talk to them and see when they want to do the shoot. I know they were talking about pretty soon, within the next month. What do your schedules look like?” He tilts his head, looking first at me and then at Weston.

“We’re pretty wide open,” Weston says, and I nod in agreement.

“Perfect. Here’s what they’re offering for compensation. Plus, you get to keep the clothes.” John picks up another piece of paper and slides it across the desk. “They have an option to also include you in their Valentine’s marketing. That amount is the number at the bottom.”

My eyes just about bug out of my head when I see the figure, and I cough to hide the shocked squeak that comes out. Weston nudges me, and I shake my head.

“This is great,” Weston says, pushing the paper back across the desk.