Page 14 of The Temporary Fiancée
“That’s terrible,” I say softly.
She looks up at me, and there’s a moment’s hesitancy in her green eyes. She downs the rest of her drink. “Well, yeah. Itis what it is.” There’s reluctance in her voice, as if she regrets telling me everything. “I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you at a party.”
It bothers me deeply that she’s struggling, working herself ragged just to survive. I know I could help her, but I also know that she wouldn’t accept the money. She’s not one to take charity. In the time that I’ve known Olivia—and it’s been a long time—I’ve known her to be firmly independent.
But I can offer her something besides charity.
I reach over to brush her hair back, and she lets out a quick breath, surprised—but she doesn’t pull away as I tuck the loose strands behind her ear.
I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, but I never would’ve made a move before. We know each other. It’s too complicated, and that’s not my style.
Tonight, though, I can’t stop myself. Maybe it’s the tequila, or the muffled sounds of the party inside, or the conversation we’ve been having. Maybe it’s just the warm glow of the lights above, the way they shine in her eyes.
My fingers slide along her jaw, and I tilt her chin up gently. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind. And maybe I can distract you from those troubles for a little while.”
Chapter 4
Olivia
My pulse surges,making me feel dizzy. Reed is looking at me like he never has before—like he wants to devour me. I can barely believe this is happening.
“Would you like that?” he asks, his voice low. “A distraction?”
Without even thinking about it, I find myself nodding. “Yes,” I say weakly. “I—yes, I would.”
He leans down, his hand cupping my cheek, and kisses me.
Like all good things—like our conversation, and the evening itself, and the symphony of crickets that surrounds us—it starts slow. Then it deepens, like the dark sky above, and I feel it everywhere. I want to fall into this kiss and stay there, hiding from all of my worries.
It feels like years before we finally break apart. He stares at me, inches from my face, his thumb softly caressing my jaw.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he murmurs. “I can only be so distracting on a public patio.” There’s a glint of humor and heat in his eyes as he speaks, and I shiver—that feels like a promise that I’m eager for him to fulfill.
But at the same time, I’m certain that the absolute worst thing I could do right now is sleep with Reed Eastwood. Therational part of my brain is having a total fit at the moment, desperately trying to rein me in.
You’re going to regret it more than you’ve ever regretted anything. Your life is already such a mess right now—why add this to all of your other problems?
I really do need that distraction, though. I need to relax, for once, and just enjoy myself. The stress is going to drive me crazy if I don’t. I’m drunk, and I’m so tired of leaving things the way they are.
Plus, ever since Reed came crashing back into my life, that old childhood crush that I always tried to deny has been creeping to the surface. Reed looks better than ever. He’s dressed to the nines, his brown eyes are deep and sensual, and he smells faintly of an earthy cologne—sandalwood, or something.
I swallow my doubts and nod.
He kisses me again, quicker this time, and takes my hand. He leads me to the edge of the patio. We slip through the bushes into the parking lot. Silently, I’m grateful that he didn’t take me back through the party. If Riley saw us leaving together, I’d never hear the end of it.
“Are you going to call a driver?” I tease. “Did your chauffeur bring you here?”
“Nope,” he replies. He approaches a cherry red sports car, reaching into his pocket. The car’s lights flash.
We climb in, and as we pull out of the parking lot, the sexual tension in the car is almost unbearable. The city slides by around us, a blur outside of the windows. All I can think about is Reed, mere feet away from me.
As he drives, his right hand drifts over to my bare thigh. His fingertips glide over my skin. I catch my breath, resisting the urge to squirm in my seat.
I give him directions to my apartment—he wants to go to my place rather than his. Something about avoiding the paparazzi. Ican’t imagine having to live like that, and never even considered that, behind all of Reed’s tabloid exploits, there was a reporter who was essentially stalking him.
It almost makes me feel for him. Sure, he’s a player, but nobody deserves to be scrutinized like that.
We pull up outside of my apartment building, and Reed walks me upstairs. As we go, I become painfully aware of the stains on the floor in the hallway, the flickering light on the landing. I unlock my door, gritting my teeth in embarrassment at my little shoebox of an apartment.
