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“Would you just shut up,” he murmurs. “For once.”
“We can’t do this. They’ll be looking for us, and our contracts specifically state—”
He plants a hard kiss against my mouth. “Fuck the contracts. Fuck the show. Just for tonight, let me show you the other side of dating someone famous. The good side.”
The elevator comes to a stop, and he walks backward to pull me onto our floor, but doesn’t break eye contact.
“You in?” he asks.
There’s only one answer, really. Not when Gage Barrett asks you to spend the night with him in the fanciest hotel you’ve ever seen.
But when I nod and smile, when I feel my stomach flutter at his answering smile, I realize I’ve got it wrong.
I’m not here with Gage Barrett because he’s Gage Barrett.
I’m here because he’s him—he’s funny and sweet and cocky, and…
Oh, damn it. Damn it, Ellie.
I’m here because I’m a little bit in love with him.
Ellie
I can’t help the groan as I lower myself into the bath. “Are you kidding me?”
Heaven. That’s where Gage has transported me to. I slowly sink until I’m chin deep in the gardenia-scented bubbles that feel like champagne and silk against my skin.
Of all the things I’ve missed while on this godforsaken farce of a show, bubble baths are at the top of the list.
Well, I mean…in addition to that, I miss privacy. My own space. Dignity. My cat. (Did I mention I have a cat? His name is Rosé, but for the record I thought he was a she when I named him. He’s staying with my mom.)
Anyway, where was I?
Right. Bubble baths and how much I love them. Look, I know that’s a pampered-princess thing, but they were a luxury I didn’t even discover until I was twenty-five and moved into my own place for the first time. My mom’s lived in the same house since I was born, and though it technically has a tub, said tub is small, stained, and chipped. Even if the drain would cooperate for a bath, I wouldn’t have wanted to climb in.
So yeah, I’m a late bloomer when it comes to baths, but once I discovered them…oh, baby. There’s just nothing like them.
This, though? This is the bath to ruin all future baths.
The bubbles alone probably cost more than my secondhand Honda, and the tub is three times the size of the one in my apartment. Knowing that an unobstructed view of the Pacific awaits on the other side of the door just completes the paradise.
As does the fact that I’m here with Gage…
My eyes fly open at a knock at the door. Surely he doesn’t—
“Gage!” I shriek as the door opens and he strolls in. He’s ditched the hat altogether, but he’s still wearing the swim trunks and rumpled T-shirt, looking far better in them than he has any right to.
I hurriedly check the situation of my bubbles to make sure everything’s covered, scowling as he grins.
“Some privacy,” I say with as much dignity as I can in my naked, reclining state.
“Hard choices await, Wright. You can have your privacy, or”—he holds up one of the long-stemmed champagne flutes—“you can have the champagne.”
“Unless, of course, you hand me the champagne and then leave. Voilà—I can have both.”
He shakes his head and gives me a sham sad face. “Sorry. I’m afraid the champagne and I come as a unit.”
Oh, come on, who are we fooling? We all know I’m going to say yes to the champagne.
