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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Liam
“You taste like heaven,” I mumbled against her ear, sliding my hands around to cup her ass and bring it tight to my body.
“Hey, hey, my fake boyfriend bought me this dress. Be careful.” Her voice was teasing but light and breathless. I could feel her fingers digging into my hair, bringing her perfect curves closer.
“Why don’t we just skip this whole thing and head back to my place? We already got our photos taken, so the media hounds are happy. Dad is pissed, so Sam’s happy. We could go,” I said. There was nothing more I wanted to do here. I wanted to go home, strip her out of that dress, and make her repeat that noise a hundred more times before sunrise.
“We can’t,” she told me. But I felt her leg rising up to wrap around my thigh, bringing even more of her heat against my crotch. My cock twitched with the overwhelming desire to slide my hands down her thighs and force her to wrap those incredible legs around my waist.
“The things I want to do to you… I wasn’t lying before, and I’m not lying now,” I said against her the lilac-scented skin of her throat.
“I can tell,” she murmured, her hand trailing down the front of my suit. My breath hitched when her fingertips trailed over my belt then slipped lower for just an instant.
“Don’t tease.” My voice was rough. My cock harder than steel in my trousers. I barely resisted the urge to press her down harder, to feel the softness of her thighs around me while I drove her higher.
She leaned in for another kiss. “Who said I’m teasing?” The smooth heat of her tongue slipped in to tangle with mine.
Yes, we absolutely needed to leave.
Now.
“What’s that? Liam?” Her mouth was gone now, followed quickly by her leg. My phone. It was my phone, vibrating persistently against my chest. Cursing wildly, I grabbed the device to hurl it to the darkness behind me. But then, just for a second, I saw the incoming message.
Sam: What the heck is going on? Dad said you aren’t really dating Ashlyn?
Talk about a buzzkill. I slowly untangled our limbs, settling Ashlyn back on her heels as I unlocked the phone and scrambled to answer. There wasn’t really an easy way to explain that I’d decided to fake date my publicity manager but then I’d really fallen in love with her and would rather spend the next three hours getting to know her body than convince some stodgy old dudes that I’m the best choice for Leden.
“Are you alright?” Ashlyn’s small hands smoothed over my lapels.
“Yeah, I think so.” I sighed, brushing a kiss across her forehead. “I need to talk to my sister though. Can we push pause? For like five minutes?”
Her laughter made it bearable to pull away. “Pause,” she whispered, sliding her hand into mine.
***
Ashlyn
Fate was a cruel bitch. I'd said it before, and I’ll say it again. But in this enormous event, full of people dying to kiss the ground he walked on, begging for his attention, Daniel Macklen kept falling straight into my lap.
I’d gone to the bar after Liam rushed to find Sam. And in the two minutes that the bartender had taken to pour me a glass of Pinot, Liam’s father again popped up like an unlucky penny. This time, he leaned against the bar, studying me with eyes that were eerily similar to his son’s silver. Except Liam’s were full of life and more than a little mischief.
Daniel’s were empty, sharp. Dangerous. “What do I get to call you, then? Liam told me all about your little acting gig.”
No, he didn’t. But whatever, jerk. I can play along.
“My family is very traditional, Mr. Macklen, but if you'd rather, I’m sure they’d be okay with me calling you Dad someday.”
Daniel smiled, his flashing white teeth throwing sharp contrast against his tanned face. “Ah, those claws are still out, aren’t they? This seems rather personal to you.”
I raised my brows. Where was he going with this? Was he stupid or just unaware that we were standing in an enormous crowd of people who could ruin our plan? “Clearly. I am his girlfriend after all.” I looked around for Liam. How far had he needed to go just to find Sam?
“I thought you might say something like that. That’s why I came to ask you about your job. I have an opening for a publicist on my campaign.”
“What do you mean, my job? I am an owner at Grove Communications,” I said.
“Ah, I see. He hasn’t told you yet.” That got my attention. I sipped at my wine, trying to ignore the quiver of unease in my belly.
