“You didn’t let me finish, Mr. Lindström. I was going to say they are too much, but because I feel like a princess, no way am I giving them back.”
He nods. “Sounds like you’re with the program.”
Oh, yes, because I’m loving this program.“I’m glad I look the part and I won’t embarrass you tonight.”
“I wouldn’t know what it’s like to feel like a princess, but Goldilocks, you sure as hell look like one.”
My cheeks warm. I’m sure I’m the color of a tomato right now.
“As for you embarrassing me, that’ll never happen.”
If you only knew the skeletons in my closet…
“I’m getting the sense I’m the third wheel here.” Erik pats Kaz on the shoulder. “I’m going to walk the red carpet and answer reporters asking if my fiancée and I have set a date for our wedding for the one-hundredth time.”
“You popped the question a couple days ago, and they’re foaming at the mouth for more,” Kaz says. “Piranhas.”
“I can’t wait for another retired hockey player to make the headlines.” Erik gives Kaz a pointed look.
“Call my ex-wife. She’s an expert at putting me in the news against my will.”
“I wouldn’t talk to that woman even if she was my only lifeline out of purgatory,” Erik says. “All right, you two, I’ll see you inside.”
We stare at Erik’s retreating back.
I shift my attention to Kaz. “Have you decided on how you’re going to handle the press?”
“We’re going to go with your suggestion. It makes sense, and I won’t come across like I’m a totally different person.”
I nod.
He takes my hand into his. “Let’s get this circus over with.”
Before we step onto the red carpet, an army of photographers shout Kaz’s name.
It’s past twilight, but it’s not dark yet. With the sun setting, the bright lights of a million flashes is blinding.
Kaz wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. This close, his masculine scent tickles my nostrils. I suspect there’s a high concentration of testosterone in his Eau de Pheromone.
I catalogue all the places my body touches his wall of muscles—the fabric of his linen suit scratching the skin of my bare shoulders, my side pressed against his, the heat from his hand burning through my skin.
Between my legs, a foreign sensation tingles that hasn’t made an appearance in longer than I can remember, awakening my lady parts.
He positions us this way and that way. A Hollywood smile stretches my lips, but my fake boyfriend remains true to form. I suggested he makes an effort, but the only thing I got from him was a dubious stare.
What would it take for this grumpy giant to smile?
We move from one group of photographers to the other and even though a number of them have questions about Devlyn’s comments in front of the vegan restaurant, Kaz remains committed to the plan. If he doesn’t comment, no one can spin his words. Since he’s been labeled brooding, might as well run with it. He doesn’t have to be forthcoming, accommodating, or eager to over share.
“Kaz,” a reporter says. “Who’s your date?”
We turn his way so he can take photos.
“What’s your name?”
I turn up my smile by several notches in lieu of an answer.
“Which designer are you wearing, mystery woman?” another reporter says.
