by Amy Marie
“I live in New York City, sweetheart. There’s no such thing as assured clear distance,” he replies, his full, sensuous lips curling at the corners.
“Oh,” I say, going for Vocabulary Champion of the Year.
But yep. I’ve got nothing left to say.
And he’s still touching me.
He smells good, too. Like expensive spices. Manly. I take another sniff. Hmm, yes, beautiful man.
He quirks a brow, and I realize he’s just noticed my reaction to him.
Great.
Yep.
This day is going splendidly well.
I force a smile. “I haven’t had any coffee yet today.” Which is true because I left it on some table while waiting for my stepsister to show.
“Do I remind you of coffee?” he asks, his sinfully dark eyes glinting dangerously.
“Sort of,” I admit, losing myself in that gaze.
Who is this guy? I wonder.
A model, probably. With the way those cheekbones are cut and that thick layer of ebony lashes, mmm, yes, total model material. But I’ve seen my fair share of good-looking males over the years, and none of them have intrigued me quite like this guy. Maybe because he’s the first one to look at me, not at Kota.
Because I’m dressed up and covered in a mile of makeup.
Right.
Shaking my head, I take a step back, my shoulders instantly mourning the loss of his touch. “Sorry. I was just leaving.”
“Leaving?” he repeats, arching a brow. “I thought we were getting ready to film. You are my betrothed for the day, yes?” His smoldering irises dance along my cleavage and down to my exposed legs in the too-short dress. “You are wearing the wardrobe my marketing team designed for this frivolous activity.”
“Frivolous?” I repeat, frowning.
“Oh, is that insulting?” he muses, smiling. “Hmm, but I see it as an apt description. What with the goal of making the public feel as if they know the real me through a nonsensical commercial featuring my personal life and how technology helped me court the woman of my dreams.” He snorts. “Romanticizing a gadget. It’s brilliant, sure, but utter bullshit. So yes, I call it frivolous.”
Kellen Knight, I realize. This man is Kellen Knight.
And he’s not at all amused by what we’re doing here today.
“To make matters even worse, we’re behind schedule, which means I have to stay here even longer than I’d hoped. And I hear I have you to thank for the delay.” His eyes run over me again, his shoulder hitching. “Well, at least you’ll be nice to look at.”
My lips actually part. “Excuse me?”
“Come along, little actress. We have a commercial to film, and I would like to end this affair as soon as humanly possible.” His arm bumps mine as he struts past me as if he owns the place.
Which, yeah, I suppose he does.
Or, well, he owns the shoot.
But what an ass. “You don’t know anything about me,” I say to his back.
He glances over his shoulder. “And?”
“And… and nothing.” I sigh, deflated. Why bother changing an opinion he’s clearly already formed of me. “I’m not the pretty thing on your arm for the day.”
“Indeed, you are,” he agrees, extending his elbow. “Shall I escort you to the shoot?”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine on my own,” I reply, moving past him and stumbling on the heels.
Because of course that would happen.
I’m a walking klutz and they put me in three-inch stilettos. “Fucking shoes,” I grumble, forcing my legs to continue. “I can’t wait for this day to be over.”
Kellen’s chuckle is a dark caress along my spine.
And I hate that it stirs a trail of goose bumps down my arms.
Why are hot men always assholes?
Blowing a raspberry between my lips, I all but march to where the director is waiting.
“Oh, good. You’re finally ready,” he says.
“Yep. That’s me. The late pretty thing to look at for the billionaire’s arm,” I deadpan.
Which I should not have said at all.
But it stirs another chuckle from the male at my back. “Don’t mind her, Victor. I riled her up on her way here.”
Victor. Right. These two would be friends, what with Kellen owning the company and all.
An arm drapes over my shoulders, pulling me into a solid male side. “What can I say? I prefer my fiancées feisty.”
I growl low in my throat, debating how much trouble I’ll get in for kneeing this dick in the balls.
“Stop playing, Knight,” Victor replies, narrowing his gaze. “You’re not paying me enough to play your couple’s therapy counselor today.”
“That hurts, Vic. I’m truly wounded.” Kellen presses a palm to his heart in a dramatic move that has me snorting in reply.
“Yeah. Really wounded,” I mutter, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.
He winces.
I blink at him innocently. “Sorry, did that hurt? I’m not used to people invading my personal bubble.”
“Are you not from New York?” he asks, a genuine note of curiosity in his tone. “Because we don’t have personal space here.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we start shooting, please? Mr. Fancy Pants is on a schedule to market his latest gadget and already holds me accountable for the late start.” I have no idea what has gotten into me because I never talk to anyone like this. But his comment about me being a pretty thing to look at really set me off.
My looks do not define me.
My skills do.
My designs do.
Not my blonde hair or blue eyes or pushed-up breasts. Which, really, is this dress even necessary? Heaving a sigh, I look up at the murals painted overhead, finally noticing how beautiful this hotel’s conference area is. So colorful, in a classically artistic way. I glance at the gold fixtures and marble floor and really start to analyze the layout of the room.
It’s very pretty.
Elegant, too.
“Earth to Ms. Arm Candy,” Kellen says, waving a hand before my eyes. “We’re starting in the corner. You do know how to dance, right?”
He did not just call me Ms. Arm Candy.
“Yes, Mr. Asshat, I do. Shall I demonstrate by stepping on your feet?” I ask sweetly.
His eyebrows jump up. “Wow, you are a pleasant little actress, aren’t you?” Sarcasm is thick in his tone.
“Not an actress,” I mutter. Which is probably half my problem. I don’t know how to fake being nice when I meet someone so disagreeable. That is my stepsister’s skill, not mine.
Kellen grabs me by the elbow to take me into the corner where we’re meant to dance, and I can feel the animosity radiating from him.
Which, yeah, is totally warranted.
I’ve not been very kind to him. In my defense, he’s not been all that kind to me. But two wrongs don’t make a right and all that.
Nibbling my lower lip, I glance up at him and sigh. “I’m sorry. I’d blame coffee again, but it’s really just today. It’s not gone at all how I’d planned.” Which is the understatement of the century. I’d planned to spend all afternoon sketching while Kota worked. And now I’m here doing her job for her.
Kellen’s hands fall to my hips as he pulls me closer. Victor yells a demand in the background for me to wrap my arms around the billionaire’s neck and to stare at him with love in my eyes.
As if someone can turn on such emotion.
I go for a demure smile instead, trying to at least pretend to like the guy.
Kellen chuckles. “You’re looking at me like you’re plotting my murder.”
“Maybe I am,” I reply, fluttering my lashes.
“I’d probably deserve it,” he says, drawing me into him even more before splaying a palm against my exposed lower back. “This commercial is being forced down my throat. I was an ass for taking that out on you. I apologize.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. “Did Mr. Fancy Pants ju
st say ‘sorry’?” I feign shock. “Something tells me that doesn’t happen often.”
He scoffs. “It doesn’t. So count your lucky stars that I even tried.”
“What a line.” I smirk. “Next you’ll be telling me I’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.”
“I believe I already commented on your favorable appearance.”
“Favorable appearance,” I repeat, laughing. “Wow. You’re quite the wooer, Mr. Knight.”
“Wooer? Who woes these days?”
“Not nearly enough men,” I admit. “They all just want to pay for a drink and invite you to bed. No more hard work. No romance. Just boring old seduction.”
“If you think seduction is boring, then the males you’ve been with are doing it wrong.”
A giggle bubbles from my mouth, and I let it go because the man is right. “They really are.”
“All right, we’re rolling in three, two…” The smack of a clapperboard follows Victor’s voice.
It dawns on me almost immediately that I have no idea what I’m doing, as I haven’t looked at the script.
And I freeze.
Subtle pressure against my spine draws my focus up to Kellen’s curious gaze. “You’re acting like this is your first time in front of a camera.”
“Isn’t it yours?” I counter.
He laughs outright and shakes his head. “Darling, Midnight Enterprises has been using my good looks for years to sell our products. They seem to think the public adoration helps our name.” He lifts a shoulder before spinning me into a twirl that nearly has me falling on my ass, but he catches me just in time to save me from utter disgrace.
“At least you’re modest about it,” I say.
His resulting chuckle ignites a flutter of butterflies in my lower belly. “Modesty doesn’t work in my world. Arrogance is what earns respect.”
“That explains a lot.”
He winks and whirls me around again, this time catching me in a dip that brushes my hair along the ground. My heart hammers in my chest as he pulls me slowly upward, our torsos and hips practically glued together. His lips brush the corner of my mouth before trailing to my ear. “That’s proper seduction, little actress.”
I shiver against him just as Victor calls, “Cut!” and whisks us to another area of the room to dance again.
Then he calls for a wardrobe change, and I’m fitted into a gown that molds to my curves all the way to the floor, with my hair and makeup touched up, too.
Kellen is in a suit that resembles the first one, only this time it’s all-black and compliments my ebony dress.
He whirls me around like before, making little comments along the way.
When I ask how this is related to his latest gadget, he laughs. “Now you’re starting to understand why I despise marketing. Nothing about pretending to be in love has anything to do with a phone.”
But I figure out the importance during the next shoot, where I’m in a pair of jeans and a sweater, smiling down at a brand-new Glass Sliver. It’s a phone with the latest technology inside, a sleek, glass-like screen, and little blue icons all over the interface.
I’m supposed to be pretending to text Kellen and blushing at whatever he sends back, when a real message pops up on the screen.
This would be far more interesting if we were sexting. —K
I snort. Yeah, then this would be a porn, not a commercial, I type back at him.
Now that’s a film I might enjoy. He adds a bunch of inappropriate emojis that have my cheeks heating.
This isn’t very professional, Mr. Knight.
Neither is bantering with the boss, Ms. Arm Candy.
I roll my eyes. I prefer Cyn.
I prefer Kellen.
Fine.
Fine.
“Cut!” Victor announces, drawing me back to the task at hand.
We’ve been at this for hours, and I’m really hoping we might be done.
“All right, three scenes left,” Victor continues, making my heart leap for joy. “First up, the kiss.”
And there goes my relief at being close to finished.
The kiss?
Right. Of course. Because we’re supposed to be falling in love and using a phone as a way to secure that relationship.
Could this commercial be any cheesier?
Blowing out a breath, I return to the costume-fitting area.
One kiss, I tell myself. I can do that. Easy peasy. Just pucker up, finish the scenes, and go home.
Right.
Yep.
This is totally acceptable and easily done.
Until I look at the outfit they expect me to wear.
A black teddy with a silky little robe.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I whisper to myself.
“Sex sells,” Kellen replies directly against my ear before brushing past me to go change into his own outfit. Something I have no doubt will be far less revealing than my wardrobe. He winks at me over his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see it on you, Cyn.”
God, the way he says that makes me think of my name’s homophone—sin. Which is how Cyn is always pronounced, but from his mouth, it sounds truly sensual.
His smile is just as wicked.
A devious billionaire prince, I decide. That’s what this man is.
Thank goodness I only have to deal with him today. Because any longer, and I would be in some real trouble.
Chapter 2
Kellen
Finally, something useful to do with her mouth. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the refreshing banter, but I’ve been staring at her lips all afternoon. They’re perfectly round and plump and begging for my attention.
Okay, maybe not begging so much as spewing insults, but she wants me to kiss her. They all do. That’s not arrogant. It’s reality.
I’m Kellen Knight. New York City’s most eligible bachelor. Self-made billionaire. Heir to the Knight empire. People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.
They’re just labels. A narrative the tabloids created to make the public think they know me. According to them, I’m a filthy-rich, womanizing, commitment-phobic asshole who beds every actress and model with A-list credentials and an available vagina.
Brain optional.
Lies.
I prefer them not to have a brain at all.
It makes kicking them out of my bed a hell of a lot easier when they can’t form a proper rebuttal.
That’s what makes the fact that I want to kiss her so out of character for me. Sure, it’s in the script, but I wasn’t particularly looking forward to this scene before now.
Before Cyn.
I try to peer around the corner as an overly handsy girl rubs oil all over my chest. From the breathy moans she’s doing a shitty job of concealing, I know she’s getting off on it, but she could be Victor, for as much as it does for me. My thoughts are elsewhere.
Like on the busty girl with the pink cheeks clutching a short black robe around herself as if it isn’t completely see-through. As if my eyes aren’t glued to the sinful piece of black lingerie hugging her petite body underneath it.
Sinful.
Sin.
Cyn.
What a bad name for such a good girl.
That’s what she is despite the window dressing. Good. Sweet. Corruptible. Production could dress her up in barbed wire and metal spikes, and she’d still ooze purity. I’ve always steered clear of girls like her. Not because I’m not up for a challenge, but because they all think they can tame me. As if sticking my dick in their virginal pussies will somehow siphon morality into me.
It won’t.
But Cyn is strangely different. She doesn’t fit into any mold. Outwardly, she looks like the kind of girl I’d take home for a night of dirty sex. I famously have a penchant for blue-eyed blondes.
Just ask People magazine.
I’m pretty sure that’s why my marketing team insisted on a brunette. Which clearly didn’t happen. Not that I’m complaining.
Yet the girl does
n’t have a drop of a model’s poise or the poker face of an actress. She’s intimidated by me but refuses to fall at my feet. It’s been a long time since anyone did anything other than kiss my ass. I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or intrigued.
One thing I know for sure—she’s not supposed to be here. It’s obvious by the way she’s chewing her lip off and how her eyes keep glancing at the door. Plus, she walks in heels like a newborn baby deer on ice. I knew it the minute I saw her, and if I weren’t such a bastard, I would’ve called this whole thing off.
But then she opened her mouth and challenged me.
Now I’m going to return the favor.
“If you’re done being felt up, we’re ready for you over here, Kellen.”
I smirk. Victor has been a part of Midnight Enterprises long before I added the KK to it. He knew me before I made a name for myself—one that wasn’t attached to Knight. He’s an asshole, but he’s a straight shooter.
Which is why he was one of the few who kept his job when I took over.
Swatting the handsy oil girl away, I make my way toward the set, pausing in front of him. “If you ever want to get rid of those blue balls, you could always get in front of the camera instead of behind it.”
He frowns, his eye twitching as he clutches his precious clipboard. “Why the hell do I put up with you?”
“Because I pay you an obscene amount of money.”
Victor makes a low sound in his throat, but I’ve already forgotten him.
I may have also forgotten my name.
Because in a flurry of movement, people clear out, leaving Cyn standing right in front of me. She’s shifting from foot to foot, still tugging on her robe, her cheeks stained an even deeper shade of pink, offering me a timid smile.
There’s a voice somewhere in the back of my mind telling me to leave her alone. Warning me to keep it professional. Urging me to be a gentleman. I listen to it for all of half a second before shutting it down.
I’m capable of leaving a woman alone. I’m always professional.
But I’m sure as hell no gentleman.
“Time’s money,” Victor calls out from behind me. “I need both of you on set.”
Cyn’s bottom lip slides between her teeth as she glances toward the mound of pillows piled in front of a fake fireplace like it’s the entrance to hell.
