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I expected for there to be a lot of interest around our first sighting. What I hadn’t realized was the sheer number of reporters who’d turn out to get a picture of us. Now, I step in front of her, wanting to shield her from the crowd of paparazzi gathered outside the double doors of the store.
"Whoa, all of them are here for us?" She peers around me.
"It would seem that way." I shift to the side once more, trying to block her from the sight of the journalists. Which is crazy. She’s a figure of interest. One of the top-selling pop-stars in the world. She’s going to be performing in front of people soon.
When I asked her to join me in LA, I knew it was only a matter of time before the world would want a part of her. I knew it, and I encouraged her to embrace her future. Hell, I’m the one who introduced her to Harry. So why do I want to wrap her up in cotton wool, and hide her away? And fuck her, and keep her high on endorphins, and never allow anyone else to set their gaze on her? I knew this was coming when I asked her to pose as my fake fiancée in front of the press. I knew I'd hate sharing her with anyone else when I asked her to be my sub, but the extent to which this would be tested by her fame is not something I considered.
Did I make a mistake asking her to be such an integral part of my life? Did I fool myself into thinking I can keep an emotional distance from her—enough to allow the world to be part of her life, too?
Clearly, I didn’t analyze this enough. I didn’t conceptualize the enormity of what I wanted. It’s only now, hearing the excited cries from the throng of reporters and seeing the distant flashes going off, that I realize, once again, I’ve landed her in the eye of media attention.
And that was the entire reason for this charade. To turn the spotlight on the two of us so it can benefit the film and her career, but goddamn, if I don’t want to call it all off and take her home and never let her leave. Which is crazy. This is the life I chose. This is what she deserves for her talent. I have no right to deprive her of this chance to resurrect her career. This is the right thing to do, to allow her to explore the heights of fame, and the influence and power it brings with it. To step aside and let her shine. I bunch my fists at my sides, force my muscles to relax, then angle my body enough so I don’t block her from view. But goddamn, I can’t allow her to be seen completely. I can’t. I hold out my hand.
I sense her stiffen. The seconds stretch, then slowly, she places her much smaller palm in mine. A shiver of relief courses through me. I link my fingers with hers. Outside the double doors, Rick stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Finn. Rick looks at me over his shoulder. I nod, then lead Solene through the doors, and the flashes go off. She inches closer to me, and I wrap my arm about her, drawing her into my side. Rick and Finn bracket us on either side as the journalists fire off questions:
"Are you two together, Declan?"
"Solene, are you no longer with your bodyguard?"
"Solene, did you pretend to be with your bodyguard to throw us off track?"
"Declan, is the two of you getting together a publicity stunt?"
I throw up my hand, and the crowd quiets. Then I twine my fingers with those of her left hand. I slide my other hand into my pocket and brush my fingers across the device. Next to me, she gasps, and I see her shiver.
She turns to me, but before she can speak, I lower my head and close my mouth over hers. I draw off her breath, draw in the words she was about to throw at me, tilt my head, and deepen the kiss until she melts into me. I pull her close and kiss her for a second longer, aware of the flashbulbs going off around us. Then, I tear my mouth from hers and survey her flushed features. She raises her heavy eyelids, a mixture of lust and anger swirling in hers. Just how I like her. Defiant enough, yet ready enough to fall apart under my ministrations. I step back, then lift her palm, and more flashes go off. They bounce off the diamonds on the ring, until the entire space around us seems to be haloed in light. I hold up my hand again, and they fall silent once more.
"Does that look like a publicity stunt?" I snap.
The questions start up again:
"When did you get engaged?"
"How did he propose, Solene?"
"When’s the wedding date?"
Fucking hell. There’s no satisfying this crowd, is there? At a glance from me, Finn and Rick push back the journalists. A path clears, and once more, I wrap my arm about Solene, hold her close, and shield her as much as possible as I guide her toward the waiting car.
Rick holds the door to the passenger side open. She slides in, followed by me. Rick throws himself into the seat next to the driver, and Finn, who’s taken the driver’s seat, steps on the accelerator and sets off even before Rick’s door is completely shut. The noise fades. We leave them behind, and Finn steers the car forward. Silence descends.
Solene’s hand is still in mine. Her palm is sweaty, her breathing erratic. I turn to find she’s staring straight forward, a dazed look on her face.
"You okay?" I murmur.
She nods, then shakes her head. "I don’t know, to be honest." She raises her hand to her hair, her fingers trembling.
"It’s okay, baby, I’d never let them get to you."
She laughs a little. "Somehow, I believe you. I knew they’d be interested in pictures of the two of us. Hell, I’ve faced crowds of twenty thousand during my tour, but they were at a distance. There was always a separation between them and me. With the paparazzi though—" She shudders. "They’re so close. It’s like they want to crawl into your skin and get a piece of you."
"Hey, look at me."
She tips up her chin, and our gazes lock.
"I’ll never let them hurt you. I’ll always be there to protect you, I promise."
She half smiles. "I do believe you. Not sure why, but I do. Especially after that stunt you pulled back there."
