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“Am not.”
“Are, too,” he retorts, and I’m given another bruising bump to the side from the pain in my ass at my back.
A line of melted pistachio cream dribbles down his forearm before I finally relent. “Fine. Look at the lot behind us.”
Thankfully, he does so without argument.
“Do you see anyone hiding in the bushes?”
The freckles on his nose and cheeks scrunch as he surveys the area. “You mean the people with the cameras? Looks like there’s four of ‘em.”
“Shit,” I mumble.
He changes his tune, searching my face excitedly. “Are you famous or somethin’, lady?”
I all but feel the egotism pulsing from Marcus when he starts, “Actually—”
The back of my hand slaps over his bare chest to silence him.
“Here’s the deal, kid.” Removing my hand from Marcus’s skin, I cram it into my pocket and fish around for what American cash I managed to grab before I left the house. “I’m going to give you ten bucks to distract that crew over there so we can get out of here. Whatever you’ve got to do, just give us five minutes to escape.”
“Let’s add manipulating children to your endless list of skills, why don’t we?” Marcus’s hurried whisper is laced with annoyance, putting those devil lips dangerously close to my ear.
“Will you shut up?” I mutter.
“Make it twenty, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” the kid says, trying to sneak a peek inside the tent.
My fingers waggle at Marcus for more cash.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he complains before clapping the bills in my palm.
After handing it over, I nod. “Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.”
He makes apfftnoise. “Whatever, lady.”
I wait for him to scurry off before grabbing an old, bleached beach towel from the small bamboo stand in the corner.
With a nudge, I offer one of the ends to Marcus, but he shakes his head skeptically.
“This is never going to work.”
I drag my end up, shielding us from view, and give it a wiggle. “Do you have a better idea, vamp?”
He growls before snatching his end and reluctantly stretches it to shoulder level.
“That’s what I thought.”
With the towel held lengthwise and blocking our upper bodies, we sneak around the backside of the tent.
I scan the parking lot for our pint-sized decoy and find him several yards away, jumping up and down in front of the paparazzi while wiggling his butt and sticking his tongue out. When a woman moves to swat at him, he snatches her camera and starts firing off pictures with a shit-eating grin.
“That little devil,” Marcus scoffs, but the look on his face is nothing short of appreciation for the prankster.
My smile matches his as I tug on his arm. “Come on!”
We duck and dive behind palm trees and bushes until we finally find our way back to his car. Beneath the shade of a large palm, we lean against the heated metal, heaving with laughter.
“I’ve got to give it to you,” he says, lolling his head my way. “I didn’t think that was actually going to work.”
