“I’m not an idiot, but how much money you’re spending didn’t hit me until just now.” Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “I can’t afford to pay you back for all this.”
He caught her face in his hands and tried not to laugh at the panicked expression on her face. No other woman he’d ever been with would have cared, much less thought about reimbursing him. “Do you have any idea how much money I made for The Game Maker? Five million dollars—and that’s after my team’s cut. Maybe not a king’s ransom by Hollywood standards, but I can certainly afford to drop this much on you without it hurting.”
“I— Thank you.” She pressed her lips together, letting them roll free slowly.
He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt, but Alice was coming back with the rest of their bags. “I think all that’s left is shoes to wear out with your new dress.”
Stasia had balked a bit at changing into the bright yellow sundress, but when he reminded her of the photographers, she caved. “These shoes don’t work? We’re just going to be walking.”
“Yes, and there are a lovely pair of ballet flats here that will be ideal for it.” Alice led them to the shoes and came out with a pair in Stasia’s size.
“Perfect. Thanks, Alice,” Evan said, pressing a fifty dollar tip into her hand. “Can you have everything sent over to my suite?”
“Of course, Mr. Stone.”
Stasia slipped her foot into the first shoe. “I feel like Cinderella.”
“Sorry,” Evan said with a grin, recalling his earlier thoughts. “I’m not anyone’s fairy godmother. I don’t care how much they offer to pay me for the role.”
Laughing, she lost her balance as she put on the other shoe and fell against his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and she was smiling again when she looked up at him. “So, what are you then?”
He swept her into his arms like he had the night before. “I’m Prince Charming, babe. When are we going to get that through your head?”
“It’s getting there.”
But he could still see a sadness in her eyes. Damn Travers. Fury boiled up inside as he realized again how much control the man had over Stasia. How could she still have feelings for him? It was time to help her see exactly how much more the world had to offer her. And he knew just how to do it.
“Good, because I don’t like to play second fiddle to anyone.” He set her on her feet at the entrance to the store and grinned as he led her deeper into the shops. “So let’s see about making this all look a little more official.”
“What do you mean?” When he didn’t answer right away, she hopped in front of him, walking backward. “I insist on knowing what you’re getting me into, Mr. Stone.”
He gripped her by the waist and lifted her off the ground. She put her hands on his shoulders as she giggled, and he carried her like that until he found the store he was looking for. “What I mean, future Mrs. Stone, is you need a ring.”
Stasia’s laughter faded, and all the blood rushed from her face as she looked at the rows of boxes on display in the window. Apparently, Tiffany Blue was not her favorite color.
Chapter Seven
“It’s a beautiful ring, Evan. That’s not the issue.” Stasia collapsed on the couch back in his hotel suite, pointedly avoiding line of sight with the bags containing thousands of dollars in clothes and shoes. They’d spent the entire afternoon out shopping and wandering through a few resorts. Other than the money thing, it had been fun—except for the ring. She’d tried to tell him when they were looking that it wasn’t her style, but with who-knew-who listening, she’d had to be subtle. Now, it was too late.
Evan knelt in front of her and took her hands. “Then what is? If we’re going to convince anyone this is real, you need a ring. A flashy, expensive ring.” His lips quirked up at the corners. “You can’t tell me your ex won’t see it and have a coronary.”
He would. Paul would spy the ring and flip a gasket. But it wasn’t a ring she’d choose by a long shot. One more sign this wasn’t a real relationship. It was a show. One the press would eat up. For a while this morning, she’d managed to convince herself Evan was doing all of this for her, to build her back up after the years of Paul tearing her down.
Now, she wasn’t so sure. He’d told her the media coverage would help his career, too. With the way he’d behaved so far, she’d just naively thought that had become secondary. After all, that’s what had been happening to her—getting some payback on her cheating ex had started falling behind rediscovering herself…and discovering Evan. But obviously, with him quick to bring up Paul, the original plan clearly had top billing in his brain. “I just don’t like you wasting money on something so frivolous. At the end of the week, what are you going to do with a seventy thousand dollar engagement ring?”
Shrugging, Evan smiled up at her. “Auction it off for charity most likely.” Which would be another publicity coup for him. “You need to stop worrying about the money. I promise none of it is being wasted. The clothes look amazing on you, and all of this is helping me, too, remember? You get revenge on that asshole Travers, and I get back some respectability. My publicist would say it was money well spent.”
Yeah, she remembered all too well, which made her feel…dirty. This wasn’t her. She didn’t deserve his money or being part of his life, not even in the short term. She just didn’t fit, and knowing she required publicist approval only drove it home more. Maybe leaving him behind at the end of the week wouldn’t be so hard after all. “Okay, so now what? I’m all dressed up. We did the shopping thing. What’s the next step in our plan?”
“No next step. I’m still on the make Stasia learn how to have a little fun part.”
“I just got all pretty. Sex will kind of ruin that.” There went the hair and makeup. But, shattered fantasy or not, she wouldn’t say no to him. She’d spent all morning wanting him again.
He kissed her neck in the spot that set her eyelids fluttering and then drew back. “I had something else in mind, but it means getting out of here for a few hours. You game to try something new?”
That’s right. This week was about leaving the past behind and remembering how to have fun. She was supposed to stop worrying about everything—and that probably meant the plan, too. On the other hand, he’d already said he didn’t care about the money, and he was right about Paul and the giant diamond ring. Time for her to let go and get with the program—a fling with the sweetest, sexiest man on the damn planet…regardless of his real motives.
Evan’s thumbs were tracing circles on the backs of her hands, and a smile flirted with the corners of her mouth as she remembered them doing the same thing lower on her body.
“There’s my girl.” He leaned in and nipped at the side of her neck.
“Yes, I’m here again. Less worry, more enjoyment. So, what’s on the fun-genda?”
“Depends. We should probably get some more camera time, and that means going to a hot spot like Tao. If you want to disappear a little for just us-having-a-good-time, we could hit Coyote Ugly.”
Bar. She could do a bar. And he was offering her a low-key night without all the paparazzi tagging along. Maybe he did care a little. “How are you planning to go incognito to any bar?”
“You’re going to have to trust me on this one. People look for celebrities at certain spots. Others, as long as we don’t make a big deal about who I am, we’ll be able to blend into the crowd—more or less.”
“More or less?”
He stood and grabbed her hands, pulling her up against him. “I can get us in with a baseball cap and oversized jacket. The secrecy will only be temporary, but if we start off in hiding, we control when the reveal happens. Sorry, babe, for this week, you’re going to have to get used to not being anonymous.”
Which meant there would still be pictures, but it wouldn’t be from people trying to sell them to tabloids—or Paul. “Okay, clandestine trip to Coyote Ugly tonight, and then we can do something a little more public tomorrow when I’ve had
another day to adjust to all this.”
Besides, disappearing would probably be easier on a Saturday night with the bigger crowds.
“Good. I made us late reservations at Valentino’s for dinner, and then we can come back to change and head over to New York, New York.” He brushed a kiss over her lips, feather soft and electric enough to make her toes tingle. Then he gently swatted her butt. “Now, go do whatever it is women do before they let men take them to dinner.”
Swanky dinner. Drinks and dancing. The promise of incredible sex after. Evan Stone was simply the world’s best fiancé.
Not my boyfriend. He is not my boyfriend, much less my fiancé. This is all business.
The pep talk didn’t help at all. Evan drew her in like a moth to a flame, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to find herself more than a little singed.
Suddenly, dinner sounded less appealing. Adding in the paparazzi ambush this morning, she almost begged him to order room service instead. She wanted to spend time with him, not the rest of the press—and certainly not with all the women who were constantly ogling him, begging for him to sign pictures or skin, pleading for photos with their favorite superhero. They were too big a reminder of the kind of guy he was—of what this week was—and how she didn’t fit into his world.
She braced her hand on the bathroom door as she stopped.
Manwhore.
Fake engagement.
Media hungry.
And far, far too much fun.
Frowning, Stasia stepped into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. This wasn’t a question of right or wrong. There was nothing wrong with keeping her head or losing it this week. It was more one of which path would she regret least.
Her reflection showed a woman far different than the one she usually saw. This woman was put together with time and effort. More than she was necessarily comfortable spending, but the results were worth it—even if it meant looking like a stranger.
The worry lines were the only thing familiar at the moment—and she didn’t like them at all. Stasia bit her lip, curious. Closing her eyes, she let herself focus on what being with Evan felt like. His body pressed to hers as he traced her lips with his thumb. Sharing stories about their families and favorite things. The way he looked at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. One by one, her muscles unclenched, and she felt a smile curling her lips.
The change when she looked in the mirror this time was miraculous—even bigger than what Michael had done with his hair and makeup techniques. Gone were the lines of stress. Instead, fire danced in her eyes.
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
This was what happiness looked like on her. More than the clothes or the makeup tips or the mind-blowing orgasms, this was the gift of a week spent losing herself in Evan Stone. He was going to remind her how good it felt to live again.
And that was well worth a little pain after the fact.
…
Stasia had been different at dinner—more like she’d been at Skee Ball, when all the drama had stopped clouding her eyes. Tonight, she practically glowed. For a while, he’d debated skipping the bar altogether and spending the entire night tangled up in her.
But this wasn’t about him and his needs, no matter how badly part of him wanted it to be. He had his soul and career to get back on track, and that wouldn’t happen by hiding away with Stasia.
It didn’t matter that she was, quite simply, amazing, beautiful, and ridiculously unaware of it. On top of that, she was smart and talented—after he’d read those initial emails, he’d made a point of reading her work before demanding she get a spot on the press junket. She did her research and never tried to embellish things, but somehow, she made just the facts more enticing than most of the bullshit stories he’d read since hitting Hollywood and discovering firsthand how many entertainment reporters liked to sensationalize everything.
And the sex. Oh God, the sex. She fit him like a damned lambskin glove. Every move excited him and only made him want her more.
Maybe Travers just had a really tiny dick or didn’t know what to do with an uninhibited, sexy woman. At least then, things would make some small degree of sense.
Except for the fact that she still seemed so caught up in him. Evan couldn’t wrap his head around that. Travers was a tool. Yet, here Stasia was, months out from the divorce, and still hung up on him. Maybe not entirely, but enough that Evan had already learned to tell the difference between when her ex was on her mind and when he wasn’t.
At the end of the day, it didn’t matter, though. He and Stasia weren’t destined to end up together. It’d never work—even if she might be what he wanted, she clearly had her own goals and dreams. So did he. His family and their needs came before his own selfish desires. Besides, how long would it be before she turned from his perfect match into someone like Paige—using him to get to his friends and bigger stories? He’d rather not find out. So, in the short term, Travers’s loss was Evan’s gain and, whether or not he had to focus on getting Stasia her revenge, he was going to enjoy the hell out of every moment he got to spend with her.
To that end, they had a bar to get to. He donned the beat-up jacket and tugged his baseball cap lower. Not a great disguise but, since he’d made sure to call a few minutes ago and let the manager know to expect them, they’d be able to walk right in. Once they were inside, he didn’t care. It wasn’t like the bar patrons were going to have photographers on speed dial. And they would have to wait in line, anyway.
Of course, none of that would matter if they never made it to New York, New York in the first place.
What was taking her so long?
When Stasia stepped out of the bedroom, he took a step backward.
I’ve died and gone to sinner’s heaven.
She tugged at the skirt of her mini dress. “Are you sure this is the one I tried on? I swear it was longer at the store.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s the one.” The dress hugged every one of her delicious curves and stopped just a couple inches below her ass. The deep V in the front showed off the swell of her breasts in a way that had his jeans too tight already.
“I’m really not sure about this. I feel like a hooker.”
“It’s Vegas, babe. If you can’t wear something sexy here, where can you wear it?” Before she fidgeted all the way into a new outfit, he took her hand. “I promise you can strip it off the second we get back here, but a cab’s downstairs waiting on us. We’re sneaking out the back this time.”
They made it out of the hotel without any trouble. But as soon as they hit the escalator at New York, New York, someone going the other way twisted around, and Evan heard the murmurs start. Shit. He’d hoped to make it into the bar first.
The instant they reached the mezzanine, he ushered Stasia toward the end of the hall, bypassing the roped-off line. At the door, the bouncer eyeballed them as if ready to send them packing, but then Evan handed him a fifty. “I spoke to Rick, your manager, earlier. He said we could walk in.”
“What’s the name?” the guy growled, crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest.
Evan hated posturing, but he hated the idea of lingering more. “John McLane.”
“And your lady friend?”
“Natasha Romanoff.” He tried to ignore the way Stasia rolled her eyes as he gave her fake name.
The bouncer frowned, but clearly, he didn’t want to risk trouble with his boss. After pausing a few seconds longer, he let them in. People in line bitched, but Evan knew this sort of thing wasn’t uncommon in Vegas. The same ones complaining would be wondering soon enough who had breezed through ahead of them.
The place was wall-to-wall people with barely enough room to maneuver their way to the bar. Shot girls danced on the stage in their short shorts and midriff shirts. In the past, he’d have planted himself in front of them, but not tonight. He had promised Stasia a good time, and she was all the woman he needed. When they made it to the bar, he yelled, “What do you wa
nt?”
“To forget how short this skirt is.”
Laughing, he ordered a Corona and a margarita from the packed bar and handed her drink over. “Are you going to let me take advantage of you when we get back to our room?”
When he said our room, she let out what might have been a moan of pleasure with the way she melted against him, but with all the noise, he wasn’t sure. “It’s hardly taking advantage if I want you to do it.”
Grinning, he nipped at her earlobe. Not a mention of her ex since they’d left the hotel. “Good. I wanted to make sure before I got you all drunk and relaxed.”
She blinked at him and then tipped back her margarita, draining the plastic cup. “Perfect.”
The change of attitude threw him for a second, but then people shifted, and Stasia’s body wound up pressed tight to his. With her heels on, he barely had to dip his head to taste the sweetness of her lips. One kiss and he was hungry for more. Then the music amped up, and the grinding started in earnest. Their hips rubbed against each other, creating the kind of friction better suited to time alone. Her breath feathered over his neck, and the darkness in her eyes told him he wasn’t hiding a damn thing from her this time—she had to feel every inch of the erection pressed against her.
His hands slid down to grip her ass and press her even tighter to him. “I want you so bad right now.”
“Then why are we even here?” She pressed her lips to his neck, and he moaned into her hair.
He didn’t have a good answer, not when all he could think about was burying himself in her. “Then let’s get to being seen out. And as soon as we are, I’m taking you back to our room.”
“What?” She snorted. “All that wasted time? I’m surprised you’re not planning to grab a room here so we can avoid the drive.”
Now, she was talking. “That’s one of the best ideas I’ve heard all day.”
Her laughter vibrated against his neck. “I was kidding.”
Tempting Her Fake Fiance Page 9
