Tempting Her Fake Fiance Page 6

  Even that innocent exchange made her heart race. How the hell was she supposed to handle staying in his suite? Focus, Stasia. Friendly conversation. You can talk to anyone—no matter how much they make your panties melt. “You can’t just make me a Shadow, too? I mean, Bailey got to know and walk away.”

  Evan chuckled and held her close, stopping just outside the door. “Because the secret wasn’t about Bailey.”

  His lips pressed against hers as camera flashes went off all around them. Paparazzi, of course. The moment with Bailey might have been real, but this was all staged. Stasia made sure to smile as their mouths parted. Unlike Evan, though, she had to shield her eyes from the glare. As he was drawing her toward the elevators, one of the camera wielders yelled out, “Hey, Stone, why aren’t you having the bellhop take that? Last movie not do as well as predicted?”

  Fingers tightened against Stasia’s for all of a second before he turned around and grinned at the guy. “It’s the adult equivalent of carrying her books. Why the hell would I pay someone else to woo my lady?”

  “And no ring, I see?”

  That voice made Stasia’s blood turn to sludge. The delay with Bailey had allowed someone to call Paul and let him know where they were, assuming he hadn’t been trailing them all along. Or he was staying at the Palazzo, too. Either way, he was here and digging—again.

  Stasia gritted her teeth, desperately searching her mind for a retort she wouldn’t have the nerve to utter, when Evan beat her to the punch. “Ring shopping is one of the things we’re doing this week. I wanted to make sure she had something as amazing as she is, and if we can’t find it here in Vegas, there’s always Beverly Hills. Good night, guys. Stasia and I have some serious catching up to do.”

  A security guard wearing a nondescript black suit and a gold-plated name tag held an elevator for them and blocked it off as soon as they stepped inside. One bonus to staying here would obviously be the security. No one was getting upstairs. Stasia heaved a sigh. “That was fun.”

  “Sorry. Hazards of being with a guy like me.” He swept her ponytail aside and ran a thumb across her cheek. No one was watching now. Was this real? And if this was, what had the kiss outside been? Was this how he’d wooed all the other women in his life? “I promise no more media the rest of the night.”

  No media, no pressure, just spending the night in the suite of a man she found too enticing for words. Sounded like some sort of exquisite torture. She mentally cursed herself for spouting off earlier about his flings. Would it really be so bad to lose herself in the deliciousness of Evan Stone for a week?

  The ding was followed not by a light bulb going off in her head but by the opening of the elevator doors. Evan caught her fingers, but for a second, she froze, unable to get her feet to move from the safety of the elevator. What was she going to do once they were inside his room?

  Because it would be bad. Earlier, when she’d had her head on straight, she’d pointed out the facts that he was an admitted manwhore and she was…a nobody. Worse than that, a nobody who he’d probably be embarrassed to be seen with in all those pictures.

  The pause this time was much longer than the one before he’d kissed her, and the doors threatened to close. “I have to admit, there was a stuntman for the scene where the Time Phantom had to rappel down the elevator shaft to save Kristen Bell’s character. I’m willing to take the risk for you, but I’d rather you just—you know—walk out instead.”

  Her own superhero willing to leap to his potential death to save her from her ex in the lobby? How could she possibly resist? Especially when all the bad guys were waiting for her down there. And more especially when he smiled at her like she was the only woman in his world. It’s a lie, but it’s a pretty lie to live in for a while. Sucking in a fortifying breath, Stasia stepped into the hall.

  “That’s my strong and beautiful girl. Now, let’s get settled in, and I’ll order a bottle of champagne.” He wrapped his arms around her, one hand going to the small of her back as he led her down the hall. The contact made her skin tingle with need, and she wondered if he knew what kind of effect he had when he touched her.

  “Champagne?” she asked as he unlocked and opened the door.

  “We have to celebrate our engagement somehow. Want strawberries, too?”

  The tension eased from her body. It was all part of the act. They had to do something to make it look like they were really up here reuniting after weeks apart. The more she recognized all of this for exactly what it was, the better off she’d be.

  “Of course, but only if they’re chocolate covered.” She edged past him, and her breath caught as she took in his suite. Actor. He can afford this kind of thing. And they’d stupidly stayed in her room for dinner—not to mention sex. This was definitely nicer, but he hadn’t balked at the surroundings at Treasure Island. Once again, she couldn’t help but wonder who the real Evan Stone was. “Nice digs.”

  “The perks of fame.” He tugged the suitcase past the entryway and propped it next to the door to another room. “I’m going to grab my stuff and some blankets for the couch.”

  Stasia was still ogling the room, and its expanse of windows overlooking the Vegas Strip, when his words registered. Turning away from the glow of the neon and the sparkle from shows going on far below, she said, “Now? It’s early still, and what do you mean, get your stuff?”

  “No time like the present. That way, you can get settled.” Her face must have displayed her continued confusion, because he added, “You get the bed, babe.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  He turned around and closed the distance between them. In the space of a breath, she could have been pressed against the length of his body. But he held back—just like he’d promised he would. “How am I being silly? What is it you want?”

  Opening. One so big she could have driven a truck through it. But she couldn’t do it. Even though it was probably what he was used to, what he expected, she wasn’t that brazen. “I…just meant I’d fit on the couch easier than you.”

  “Oh.” He stepped away and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Don’t stress about it. I’ve slept in worse conditions. And no woman of mine is sleeping on the couch while I’m in a king-sized bed in the next room.”

  No woman of mine. Damn. The way he said it sent happy shivers down her spine. Rather than the jealous, controlling possessiveness of her ex, Evan sounded more like…he wanted to protect and cherish her, make sure she needed for nothing. But it was all fake, no matter how it sometimes felt. One minute, Evan was right there like he wanted to sweep her off her feet and take her to the bedroom as if they were living in one of his movies. The next, he was playing knight in shining armor, right down to the sort of chivalry that would leave her sleeping alone.

  Which was real? Hell, which did she want to be real?

  The frantic burst of lust-driven hunger at Treasure Island had been her first sexual foray since Paul. The couple times she’d gone out on dates had been utter disasters that led nowhere close to sex. She’d still been too hurt, too bitter to deal with other men. With Evan, though, she managed to forget about Paul, which was crazy since her ex was the entire reason the two of them were together in the first place, but it was also a very welcome change.

  Maybe that’s why it had been so easy to say yes to him. Why it had felt so fucking good.

  Evan stepped out of the bedroom with a pair of sweatpants and a shaving kit in one hand and a pillow and blankets tucked under the other arm. “I’ll need to use the shower in the morning, but until then, the bedroom’s all yours.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Too bad she wasn’t so sure anymore that she wanted to sleep in that big bed all alone.

  …

  Normally, Evan would have shucked off his clothes as soon as he got in the room and thrown on his sweats, but with the way his body reacted to Stasia, there was no way he could hang out in something less restraining. It didn’t matter if she still seemed more hung up on her ex than she wanted to admi
t. If she touched him, hell, if she looked at him right, he started getting hard.

  What he really needed was a distraction. When she excused herself to get organized in the bathroom, he made up the blankets on the couch. He’d probably end up on the floor, but she didn’t need to know that. At least couch sounded comfortable. Plus, it gave him something to do that didn’t involve resisting the urge to get her to renege on the whole no-sex thing.

  He could be a goddamn gentleman, no matter how badly he wanted her.

  A knock came a few minutes later and, making sure the blankets and pillow weren’t visible, he strode into the entryway and opened the door. The room-service attendant started to roll the cart laden with chilled champagne and a platter of chocolate-covered fruit into the room, but Evan caught him and pushed a generous tip into his hand. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”

  “Are you sure, Mr. Stone? I can set it up for you.”

  “It’s okay. I want to surprise the future missus in the tub. No offense, man, but you aren’t invited.”

  With a knowing nod, the attendant backed into the hall. Evan shut the door and sagged against it. He would’ve loved to bring their treat to a Stasia covered with nothing other than bubbles, but that was sounding more and more like a fantasy scenario.

  Their reality, however, meant getting rid of the help, because the last thing they needed was for an indiscreet hotel worker to leak the truth of the situation to Paul Travers. Considering the question downstairs, Travers would definitely be poking around, too. Maybe if Evan had skipped the photo op with little Bailey, they’d have been able to avoid the press. But she was too cute, and he hated disappointing kids.

  “Babe?” he called, and Stasia popped her head out the door. “Champagne’s here.”

  “You weren’t joking.”

  “I never joke about celebrations.” He wheeled the cart into the living room. “Where do you want it?”

  Her gaze drifted around the room, settling for a second on his makeshift bed before moving on and lingering way too long on the pool table. He grinned. “Really?”

  A flush rose in her cheeks. “Forget it. We can park in front of the TV or something.”

  “Oh, no way. That was the look of a woman who wants to play.” He wanted to play, too—just not pool. At least the game would serve as a handy diversion. He rolled the cart over to the table, pulled out the bottle of champagne, and popped the cork as she walked into the room.

  Stasia gave a little jump as the cork hit the ceiling and shot toward her. Laughing, she picked it up and lobbed it at him. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I aimed the champagne cork at the exact spot on the ceiling to ricochet and hit you?”

  She cocked her head to the side and waved a finger at him. “I’ve researched you, remember? I know all the things you’ve learned for various roles.” She leaned against the pool table, the move thrusting her breasts out. “Which is how I know you’re going to kick my ass if we play. I only partake for fun. You’ve been trained.”

  “Trained to look like I know what I’m doing. It’s different than actually playing well.”

  “Uh huh.”

  This was too enticing a chance to pass up. It might not be sex, but he wanted to at least have a chance to see his beautiful faux-bride in all her glory. He poured two flutes of champagne as she took a strawberry. “Fine. Strip pool. Every ball in, a piece of the opposition’s clothing goes.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she cocked her head to the side. “Are you trying to get me naked, Mr. Stone?”

  Stepping as close as he could without touching her—and God, did he want to touch her—he held out a glass. “Maybe.”

  She ran her tongue along her lips before putting the strawberry between them. It fit perfectly against her mouth. For a long moment, she did nothing but watch him and chew on her treat. Then she finally dropped the stem into the dish and took the champagne. Her hand had trembled the whole time. “You’re on.”

  Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Evan said, “Since you’re worried, I’ll even give you a two-sink handicap.” He toed off his shoes and set them in a line behind the couch.

  “That’s sweet of you.”

  Not as sweet as the taste likely lingering on her lips. If nothing else, he was stealing another kiss before the night was over, but if things went right, maybe there’d be more than that. He wouldn’t push, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to say no, either. Trying to hide his smile, he strolled around the table, gathering the balls. “I’ll rack if you want to break.”

  “That seems unfair for the first game. You can break.”

  Evan liked her too much—the way she looked, the notes of apple in her perfume, and how she did her damnedest to stay in control all the time. More than anything, he wanted to see what she was like when she finally let go, and not just sexually. He wanted to watch her choose to be free. “No. I insist. Consider it a consolation prize for me not having a ring at the ready.”

  Champagne almost sprayed as she snorted a laugh. Once she could breathe again, Stasia shook her head. “That’s so nice.” She took a cue stick from the wall and lined up her shot. “I should warn you, though. I play dirty.” She also scattered the balls across the expanse of the table, sinking a stripe and the white with it. “Rules for scratching?”

  “The stripe still counts as a ball sunk. Just take the cue ball out and your turn’s over.” He yanked his shirt over his head and laid it along the back of the couch, reveling in the fact that once her clothes started disappearing he’d have the chance to hold her skin-to-skin for that kiss. Arching a brow, he turned around and held out a hand for the cue.

  “Stop acting like this is some big thing, superstar. I’ve seen you shirtless more than once.” She handed over the cue stick, but the way she drank her champagne, tipping the flute up until all of it ran down her throat, said she wasn’t so unaffected after all. Her breathing was far too steady to be natural. But holy hell, he liked the way she talked to him. She never pandered to his stardom or acted in awe of it. Stasia poked at it for all she was worth. The change from his usual dates was beyond refreshing. She picked up another strawberry, toying with it by the stem. “You’re up.”

  In more ways than one, if he wasn’t careful. He shook off his thoughts. She wasn’t a date or a girlfriend. She was a business partner. A sexy-ass business partner, but that was it. After examining the table, he lined up a shot and sank the one ball. Stasia smiled at him but didn’t say a word as she took off one of her flats and placed it next to his shoes. She kept a close watch as he put two more solids in pockets before missing on the five.

  “Nice shots.” She toed off her other shoe and then reached behind her back. After some maneuvering with one arm, and then the other, she drew her bra from beneath her shirt.

  As enticing as the scrap of lace looked next to his T-shirt, Evan wondered why she went for the bra rather than her own shirt. After all, it would have covered as much as a bikini. “Isn’t that kind of cheating?”

  She grabbed the cue stick and smiled. “I can take it off without having to remove other clothes first. It counts.”

  Rapidly regretting the handicap, he settled in and watched her get into position. Her rounded ass was close enough to cradle in his hands as she leaned over the table.

  “Hey, hotshot?”

  Embarrassed that she’d caught him ogling, he glanced up, but she was still eyeing the table. “Yeah.”

  “Pants in three…two…” She drew back, and a second later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a ball thunking into a pocket.

  What the…? And now, she did turn around to watch him. He popped the button on his jeans and shoved them to the floor. At least his erection had calmed down at some point. Though with the hungry look in her eyes…

  “Wait a minute. I get being confident in a shot, but you knew that was going in.”

  She shrugged, a tiny smile curling the corners of her lips as she poured more champagne.

  “You knew.
” Stepping out of his pants, he closed the distance separating them. “What was that about how I was going to kick your ass?”

  “Hey, I told you to break. You gave me a free shot.” She took a long, slow drink, but eventually, the width of her smile made her lower the flute. “I figured the game was the perfect opportunity to practice those acting skills I’m going to need in order to make it through this week. And I warned you that I don’t play fair.”

  “In that case, neither do I.”

  The grin faltered for a second before locking firmly back in place. “Nothing’s fair in love and war, is that it?”

  “For now. Still your turn.” She lined up her next shot, and Evan eased up behind her. Sliding his fingers along her arms, he held her, and his muscles moved the cue back and forth as he nuzzled her neck. “You know, if you’re worried about the outcome at all, you can call the game.”

  The breathing that had been so very even earlier shifted now, coming in quiet gasps as if she were drowning in him and searching for air. “Where would the challenge be in that? Besides, I missed the movie you were naked in.”

  “It was high art. Best work I’ve ever done.” His lips found the side of her neck, kissing and nibbling toward her ear.

  Her breath caught, and her arms melted against his. “Really? Maybe you could show me a reenactment.”

  “Well, it would start a little like this…” He pulled his right hand back, fingertips drifting over her skin and eliciting a shiver from her. Down her side until he reached the hem of her shirt. Her breath quickened as he slipped beneath the thin cotton, his touch inching up toward her bare breasts.

  She spun from his embrace, her face a mask of panic and embarrassment. “I…I… You were right. We need to call the game for too much champagne.” She backed away, nodding as she went. “Good night, Evan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  There weren’t any words he could form to stop her. He’d agreed to no more sex, and then he’d gone and pushed. Jesus, he was an ass. Stasia had shut the door between them before Evan managed to fully come to his senses. His erection had roared back to life the minute he’d touched her, and every response she’d made had seemed encouraging. It didn’t matter, though. He’d broken his word, and that was unacceptable. Glancing down at the bulge in his underwear, he sighed. “That worked so much better in fiction.”