Gianna sat across the round café table from Gage, bringing her tongue across the top layer of her Triple Decker, feeling self-conscious as at least a dozen pairs of eyes darted glances her way. Gage had already signed four autographs for giddy girls who deemed themselves lucky to have had an ice cream craving at the same time he did. They lingered, watching his every move, and not until he’d finally given them a wave and a “See ya” did they dash back to their own table, cell phones in hand, typing as fast as their thumbs would allow.
“Geesh, is it always like this?” Gianna asked.
“This is nothing,” Gage said. “Sometimes I have to run for my life.”
“You’re joking, right?”
He shook his handsome head, his eyes twinkling. “The forty-year-olds are worse than these kids. They want a piece of me I’m not willin’ to give.”
“Like what?” She took another lick of her cone. The Triple Decker consisted of three scoops of your favorite flavors along with toppings for each layer. She was demolishing rocky road with raspberry topping at the moment, with a scoop of French vanilla topped with chocolate sprinkles and a scoop of mocha fudge, swimming in nuts, just waiting for her. Ice cream was the guiltiest of guilty pleasures and her weak spot.
“They try to rip off my clothes. And touch places they have no business touching.”
“Really, they do that?” She was appalled. Even though celebrities expected to be adored by their fans, and wanted to be, there were limits. No one had a right to abuse those boundaries.
“Concerts are the worst. The venues provide security teams, but every once in a while someone gets by them. It’s why I need a bodyguard sometimes.”
“So where is he now?”
“He gets time off when I’m home in Juliet. Like I said, the townsfolk aren’t out for my blood. They let me live my life, pretty much.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“That’s all gonna change on the Fourth. Regan’s got all the local news reporters coming. That’s when things will heat up.” His gaze slid down to her mouth as she licked her cone. “You’re sure enjoying that.”
The look in his eyes made her edgy. “My favorite.”
“I remember.”
“You’re a party poop for not getting the Triple.”
Unfazed, he licked at his all-chocolate cone, one scoop. No toppings. “Sometimes more is not better.”
She wound her tongue around the last of her rocky road. “Oh, but when it’s better, it’s way better.”
“Hold on a sec,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Let’s get a picture of this. Our first date.”
“Probably smart to document it.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That’s what I was going for.”
His head came close to hers, enough so that she could smell his scent—something expensive, oozing with masculinity. “Smile,” he told her.
She did, and he snapped the photo.
“That’s perfect,” he said, glancing at the picture, grinning like a fool.
“Let me see it.”
He handed her the phone. She glimpsed her image and gasped. “You!”
In the photo, Gianna was smiling, but her mouth was smudged all over with raspberry sauce. She looked like a ten-year-old kid, and right now, she felt like one, too. She grabbed a napkin, wiped her mouth, then crumpled it up and tossed it at him. “You never change.”
He caught the napkin on a chuckle. “That’s what you get for calling me, of all people, a party poop.”
“So you’re saying I started it?”
“If the shoe fits, Cinderella.”
She felt like Cinderella, playing dress-up with the handsome prince. But unlike Cinderella, she’d be happy when the ball ended, so she could go back to being her own pumpkin self again.
She deleted the picture, then caught a few photos of him with his band. Some were taken while he was onstage, lights beaming down, his hat shadowing his face and beads of sweat dripping down. She imagined his fans standing up, singing along with him, knowing the words to all his songs.
This was what he was trying to hang on to. This was what he was trying to protect. He wasn’t just a newbie country singer with a few hits. He was a brand all his own and carried the weight of countless behind-the-scenes crew members on his shoulders, as well as many other vendors and producers and musicians.
She gave him back his phone, sobered now. “It’s not about the money, is it, Gage? That’s not why we’re doing this.”
He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. “It never was.”
He was rich in his own right. His family was one of the wealthiest in all of Texas. But she couldn’t imagine Gage working in an office, going over ledgers and spreadsheets. Gage had a freer spirit than that. He was talented and loved what he did for a living. He wanted to be the one to decide when his career ended, not the other way around. In a sense, he was fighting for that right. To decide his own future. And as silly as having a fake fiancée seemed, she understood why he was invested in this ruse.
“I know,” she said.
“Gianna, sometimes you get me better than anyone else.”
“Is that why you always picked on me?”
He shrugged, thinking on it. “You were the one person I couldn’t fool. Sorta pissed me off, if I’m being honest.”
He infuriated her at times, but she never let him see it. “Now we’re grown-ups and we can forget playing those silly gotcha games. We have a goal in mind and we should stick to it, Gage.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Nothing about this is fun for me.”
His smile waned, and the joy in his expression disappeared.
She wouldn’t rub it in too much, but she was doing him a big favor. And she wanted it to go smoothly, without any bumps in the road. Putting up with the insufferable Gage Tremaine for the summer wasn’t her idea of a good time.
They finished their cones, and Gage offered his hand when it was time to leave. He held on firmly and then kissed her cheek, a subtle little peck, but one that told all the roving eyes in the ice cream shop that she was his and vice versa.
And that peck came as a complete surprise. Her face tingled where his lips had touched her skin. That subtle touch and the way he’d looked at her when she’d opened the guesthouse door worried her. Because she’d felt something spark and sizzle inside her. For a moment.
Gianna held a secret close to her heart, one that ensured she wouldn’t fall for Gage. It was something she’d never told another soul. Something that made her avoid men like Gage Tremaine. All she would ever have with Gage was a fake engagement. Period.
There was no doubt Gage was an appealing man. But she didn’t want to notice. She didn’t want to be charmed. She supposed that at some point Gage would actually have to kiss her in front of an audience.
And she dreaded it.
Copyright © 2021 by Charlene Swink
Love Harlequin romance?
DISCOVER.
Be the first to find out about promotions, news and exclusive content!
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Instagram.com/HarlequinBooks
Pinterest.com/HarlequinBooks
ReaderService.com
EXPLORE.
Sign up for the Harlequin e-newsletter and download a free book from any series at
TryHarlequin.com
CONNECT.
Join our Harlequin community to share your thoughts and connect with other romance readers!
Facebook.com/groups/HarlequinConnection
ISBN-13: 9780369708113
Blind Date with the Spare Heir
Copyright © 2021 by Yahrah Yisrael
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reprodu
ced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
Harlequin Enterprises ULC
22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.Harlequin.com
Blind Date with the Spare Heir Page 20
