Raine just flashed him an exasperated look. After all, she knew her expression had been facetious, but hadn’t everything else been okay?
“What? We’re doing our best here.”
“It’s not enough.” Russ frowned and then added, “We need to see you kiss.”
Quentin’s jaw tightened and Raine suspected it was a line he wouldn’t cross. But the bottom line was they needed to do whatever the fuck these assholes wanted and just get it over with. If they did that, then they’d all leave…and then she and Quentin could get back to the real work.
So she let out a heavy sigh. “Just do it.” When Quentin raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Raine felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head in exasperation. “Do it.”
While this entire act might not be easy, Raine wasn’t too worried about it. After all, she’d faked enjoying kissing Mal all the time back when she was sleeping with him—and he’d bought it, especially the couple of times she’d moaned in his mouth just so he’d shut the fuck up. Once or twice since releasing her first album, she’d engaged in real kissing, but she’d been too drunk or high to really remember much about them. And the one or two kisses she’d had before real fame were only memorable because they’d been firsts.
In other words, this would be easy enough to do and then be done with it all.
Quentin’s eyes said it all: I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this. But he touched her cheek, slowly sliding his hand toward the back of her head. In response, Raine tilted her face up to his as her lips parted just slightly. As his face got closer to hers, she closed her eyes, already feeling herself slipping away to a place in her mind she’d always disappeared to where she composed music while Mal did whatever he’d wanted to her body.
But when Quentin’s tongue touched her lips, it brought her back to the present. And, although she could hear the camera snapping and a few words said by the people watching them, they faded into the background of her mind.
Was he really kissing her?
Oh, yes, he was, and Raine’s entire fucking body reacted like it never had before. Her mouth watered and every nerve in her body seemed to wake up, as if every tiny hair follicle was alert, every muscle awake, while her heart thudded in her chest. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe while her knees grew weak. It might have been over eighty degrees Fahrenheit out there, but she suddenly felt like she was on fire.
What the hell was happening?
She couldn’t help responding, her hands tightening against his back, her tongue dancing with his as she lost herself for just a few seconds.
When he finished, Quentin pulled back—and she could see it in his dark eyes too.
Holy fuck. It had been real. And, just after that, his expression changed—and she’d never seen his face so full of regret.
Russ was practically cheering. “Perfect. This will sell it.” And the photographer continued to document every second there in the desert.
And Raine realized something.
Jesus Christ. She wanted Quentin—all of him. Not just for pretend but for real. That kiss had woken her up to every single desire that had been dormant just under the surface of her skin.
But wanting didn’t mean a goddamn thing…because she already knew how the world worked. The world would rip him away from her without a second thought…and there wouldn’t be a thing she could do about it.
Chapter 17
Everyone who’d come for the staged photo shoot finally left, satisfied that they had their fucking story—and Raine was grateful to Quentin when he said to her afterward, “Why don’t we call it a day? I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I have what it takes to work on music right now.”
“Yeah, sounds good. We can get back at it tomorrow.”
And, with that, she’d gone to her room. Oh, she’d tried writing, but it was useless. Her emotions were too far up in the air…and she couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss—not just that it was real…
But that Quentin had seemed to actually be into it—for just a second. The look on his face when they’d parted had confirmed it.
And it wasn’t like other people who wanted her for her fame or what she could do for them—or how they might enjoy controlling her. Quentin’s momentary lapse felt…right.
It didn’t help that she could still feel his lips on hers, the way his tongue had explored her mouth and had awakened her to him.
Deep down, she could admit she’d enjoyed it…but that was all the label’s fault. It wouldn’t have happened if not for those motherfucking assholes. They’d manufactured a situation that she was beginning to think might ruin her working relationship with Quentin.
Finally, she took a shower to get all the makeup off her face and the product out of her hair—and even that stupid stain the woman had applied to her lips managed to fade with vigorous scrubbing. When Raine got out, she at least looked less fake…but she was surprised that her face didn’t reflect the confusion inside. She looked strangely normal. After toweling off, she slipped into the only pair of faded gray sweatpants she’d brought with her and an old plain white t-shirt, wanting to feel some comfort while praying that tomorrow seemed more normal again.
By dinner time, she was hungry—but she still wasn’t ready to face Quentin. It felt far too awkward and talking might feel forced because what the hell would she say to him? Wow, the label went too far. Will their scheme really work? But she didn’t want to talk to him about any of it.
More than that, would she call him on his part in it? On how it had felt so damn real, like they’d been kissing in private away from the camera?
