The Inheritance Test, page 8
“So fix it,” she challenged. “If you think there’s a problem.”
He studied her for a moment. “There’s definitely a problem. You think I only want to kiss you because everyone thinks we’re in a relationship.”
“Yes!”
No. She bumped her forehead against his warm, muscled chest. The real problem was that she’d already used up her mistake allowance for the year—possibly the century. Declan was nothing but risk, a charming, bad boy actor even if he was turning out to be unexpectedly thoughtful. They’d race in a week and then part ways. She wouldn’t see him again, not this all-too-real man who looked at her with concern on his gorgeous face.
“So I like the way you kiss. Sue me.”
He gave her a heated look, laughed...and didn’t kiss her. “I’ve got an idea. Maybe you don’t guess what I want. Maybe I tell you.”
There was a serious note in his voice that she hadn’t heard before.
“What would you tell me?”
Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he tucked her against his larger body. Her arms went around his back. He felt so good. Safe. He felt like everything she’d been missing.
“Might be easier to show you,” he said roughly. A new, delicious kind of silence stretched out between them. This was the last moment of before because, whatever came next, things would change. For better, for worse. For pleasure.
His head lowered toward hers. “Please?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
And then he erased the very small space between them and kissed her. Gently. Slowly. As if he wanted this to last for so much longer than a kiss ever could.
She kissed him back, moaning when he deepened their kiss. He made a rough sound, his fingers sliding into her hair. They kissed until they had to break apart for air. She sucked in one breath, then a second, staring at him, wide-eyed.
His own gaze was heated and far from calm. “Christ, you make me want.”
“Declan,” she whispered, the sound swallowed up by his mouth as he kissed her again.
Guilt and panic flooded her because it was one thing to race with this man, to fight and to sail with him. She could even let him dress her up and dance her around the floor at a Vineyard social event. Those things were easy. It was entirely different to kiss at her front door, to feel as if for this handful of moments he saw her and no one else. This was too real. Too much.
She’d rushed into a relationship too fast with George. Maybe if she’d gone slower, insisted that they take their time, she’d have seen the truth. Sooner. Maybe even from the beginning. George hadn’t loved her and she—well, she’d loved the idea of him more than the man.
But then she wasn’t thinking because Declan braced an arm by her head, leaned in and kissed her more, and her brain stopped functioning. She could only feel. Oh, God. He made her feel so much. His mouth, his big body pressed up against hers, the addictive warmth of him...
At some point they must have come up for air again because she opened her eyes and Declan was leaning into her, one arm still caging her in place, one hand cupping her face. His thumb stroked her cheek. He tasted like ocean, outdoors and male, and he made her want things. She was off-kilter, off-balance.
Freaking out.
She couldn’t do this again. Handsome Prince Charmings didn’t fall for the plain-Jane wallflowers—they faked it to conceal an ulterior agenda.
“There aren’t any photographers here,” she said, then ducked under his arm. “There’s no need to pretend.”
“You really think that was fake?”
She sighed. “You and me... We’re a bad idea. Even if you kiss like a god and I really like it.”
Like you.
“But?” His eyes narrowed.
“But I can’t do this. I can’t be someone I’m not.”
He tugged her back. “I don’t need you to be different.”
“Makeover?” she prompted.
“That was a game,” he growled. “Icing on a cupcake.”
His words were lovely, even if she wasn’t sure that she could believe them. Did she have a trust problem? Yes, yes she did.
He didn’t look away. “I’m not George.”
She opened her door. “I know that.”
“And you’re not Jessie,” he said gently.
“So?”
“We’re Declan and Charlotte.”
She really, really needed to go. “I’m not ready for that,” she said and went inside and closed the door behind her.
Nine
Charlotte still wasn’t ready the next morning. Thanks to Declan’s stylist, she had a brand-new, luxury wardrobe of sustainable cashmere and strict orders to never, ever leave the house in yoga pants again. The stylist had left a tag on one item and Charlotte had just about hyperventilated. Even if brands donated their clothing in exchange for the publicity, she directed a nonprofit and those were crazy prices.
As she came around the house, she mentally reviewed her Saturday to-do list. With the addition of the race events and practices to her usual work week, she was behind. And with no coffee or coffee creamer left in her kitchen, she had zero chance of catching up, so she was a woman on a mission when a man stepped away from the side of the house and blocked her path.
“Ms. Palsgrave.” He followed this with a tip of his chin. He wore a dark suit and tie, and although his size put him in lumberjack or football territory, he also seemed qualified to be a club bouncer or a former SEAL.
She smiled her most reliable, I’m-a-trustworthy-person smile at him. “Are you a court bailiff? Because if you are, I already shared everything I know with the district attorney.”
“Not what this is about.” The man’s professional expression didn’t waver. “Mr. Masterson sent me.”
She stared at him.
“I’m security, Ms. Palsgrave. I’m Ryan.”
“I really don’t need a bodyguard.”
He fell into step beside her. “Have you been out front this morning?”
“What’s going on?” When she stopped, he stopped with her.
“Mr. Masterson said he explained that in light of the paparazzi already outside your house last night, he expected there to be more this morning.”
She eyeballed her new companion suspiciously. “Was he right, Ryan? One-hundred-percent, no asterisks right? Because if so, I have complaints.”
This earned her a bark of laughter from Ryan. “He usually is, ma’am. I’d like to review the situation with you and run some options if you intend to leave the property today.”
“Ryan.” She waved her empty travel mug at him. “I’m not a prisoner in my own house. All I want is coffee. I promise that I am supremely boring and anyone who is out there will lose interest fast.”
Ryan tapped his phone screen and brought up a series of photos from in front of the house. She counted one, two, six—no, make that seven guys in jeans and T-shirts with expensive-looking camera gear. They were all staring at the front door with far more interest than it merited.
“Coffee,” she said. “It’s what makes the world go round.”
Okay. So it was really the trifecta of coffee, chocolate and doughnuts, but a man with Ryan’s build probably didn’t acknowledge the existence of sugar.
Ryan tapped something into his phone and hers buzzed.
What kind of coffee do you want? Declan asked.
She ignored the warmth spreading through her and concentrated on her righteous indignation. “Did you tattle on me?”
“My job is to keep you safe.”
Uh-huh. Because she was just surrounded by vicious predators. And also because she was a delicate flower who needed protection. Since that wasn’t a battle she could win, she settled for tormenting her celebrity faux boyfriend. A good man would know how his girlfriend takes her coffee.
The text she received back said, I can buy one of everything, but then it’ll take twice as long. Ryan says you’re desperate and to come and save him.
As if. She snorted, eying her new nemesis, who hadn’t budged from where he blocked her easy access to the outside world.
“You should let him bring you coffee,” Ryan said. “Mr. Masterson has done this before. He knows how to handle the press.”
“Mr. Masterson got caught scaling a balcony in his boxer briefs. How does that make him an expert?”
Ryan shrugged. “It makes him an expert on what not to do. And I wasn’t working that night.”
Right. “Were you working last night?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What kind of coffee do you want then?”
After Ryan had been convinced to place a coffee order, she texted Declan back with their requests. She wasn’t stupid enough to turn down free caffeine delivery, even if she was stupid enough to kiss the man in a very public place.
She received another text that announced, Be there in ten.
And then, proving once again that Declan had mind-reading powers, he sent a picture. Of Gitty’s bakery truck.
I’ll kiss you again if you bring a half dozen, she texted.
Not that she really planned to trade her virtue for muffins, but Gitty’s baked goods were amazing. She and Gitty had been friends since childhood and Gitty’s muffins had only gotten better with time.
“Come on back,” she said to Ryan. “We’ll wait by the pool.”
As soon as she sat down, however, he disappeared back into the shadows. Not that there were many shadows as it was morning, but the man had mad skills. While she waited for Declan, she got on the internet. Last night’s event had drawn lots of coverage, with multiple celebrity gossip sites running pieces on the “clinch” between her and Declan. There were photos, too—photos in which she almost didn’t recognize herself, so his celebrity makeover lessons must have stuck more than she’d thought.
In one shot they were laughing and the lighting somehow made them seem as if they stood in a golden spotlight. The beads of her dress had caught on his arm and the expression on her face—
She looked dazed. Swept off her feet. Drunk on the man holding her in his arms. Was there a twelve-step program for people with addictions to handsome charmers?
“I should have pushed him overboard when I had the chance,” she said to herself. Ryan wisely remained silent.
Her email inbox overflowed with messages from people she hadn’t talked to in years, asking if it was true that she was dating the movie star Declan Masterson. Some wanted introductions, while others pitched scripts. Her fifth-grade teacher had acting aspirations.
A buzz of sound rose up from the front of the house. People shouting and calling things, among them Declan’s name. She tried not to listen to the questions too hard because they were all variants on last night’s horribly embarrassing interrogation. A few long minutes later, her father’s housekeeper showed Declan out to the pool. He held a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand and a bakery box in the other.
He passed her a coffee, then offered her the box. She tore it open because, as last night’s pictures proved, she’d already misplaced her dignity. Gitty’s muffins were the ambrosia of breakfast baked goods and Declan had been true to his word. He’d brought her six muffins—and a caramel brownie.
“I’m considering accepting his apology,” she told the muffins. “Even if you brought your evil twin, Mr. Brownie, with you.” She picked a muffin out and bit in. Oh, God. Had she moaned out loud?
Declan laughed. She totally had.
“Why a brownie?” she asked around a mouthful of muffin.
“Muffins are just cake masquerading as a health food.” He smiled wickedly. “So why not just eat cake?”
She looked in the box. “But you brought me muffins and a brownie.”
He held up a paper bag she hadn’t spotted, probably because he’d kept it hidden. “I’m saving the cake to bribe you with.”
He handed a coffee to Ryan and then sat down opposite her, hands wrapped around his own cup.
“So,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. Was the press coverage that bad that he felt the need to ease into it?
Or did he just feel guilty because he’d been the one to dip her into that clinch and he was the movie star? “How bad is it really, on a scale of one to catastrophic?”
“It depends on how you look at it. And I do mean you. Not me, not Ryan, not your dad or anyone else. The story is great for the race. It gets eyes on our race cause, people are donating and it’s reading as romantic.”
“The story being how your famous self swept a local girl off her feet in a whirlwind Hollywood romance?”
He winced. “Yeah. That part. Honestly, they’d like it even better if one of us was royalty and had a castle.”
“Can’t help you there,” she said. “We’re short on castles in New England.”
He eyed her cautiously. “It will mean attention. The reporters will run what they can and dig into your life. It’s not as if you’ve done anything newsworthy or embarrassing, so the digging won’t get them far. At the end of the day, we’re just two people who shared a dance and maybe a little more. They’ll run the pictures from last night on a loop while they try to get something more interesting. As long as we both keep our clothes on and don’t do anything stupid—”
“Like climb a balcony naked,” Ryan interjected.
“—it will be fine,” he finished.
She had a feeling that her having dated a soon-to-be-indicted embezzler probably wasn’t going to fly under the radar. Should she break the district attorney’s demand for secrecy and tell Declan? Not yet, she decided. Not until after she’d made a phone call and asked if she could.
“Actors and actresses date outside the industry,” Ryan offered. “It’s actually not uncommon at all. People like who they like and as long as you two don’t do anything new to draw attention, things will calm down.”
She studied him. “How do people live with that kind of scrutiny? And I mean, how do they really live with it? Can you even go out and buy toilet paper like a normal person?”
Declan shrugged. “It’s one of the price tags on getting the chance to do a job I love and that matters to a whole lot of people. Plus, it doesn’t always happen overnight like this. You sort of get eased into it and don’t realize it’s happening until you make a midnight run to the convenience store and get snapped in your pajamas. Ryan’s the best and he knows how to shut things down when interest in my girlfriend gets out of hand.”
“Fake girlfriend,” she said. “And how much does Ryan cost?”
“That doesn’t sound like a no.” He nodded to Ryan and the bodyguard strolled away. Apparently like all men they spoke a secret language. “And I’ve got the cost covered. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“I’m new in this fishbowl. Be gentle.”
He grinned. “I can do that.”
She was not going to think about that. “But is it always this bad?”
“Not usually,” he admitted. “But there’s an upside.” He held out his phone so she could see it. The race organizers had set up a set of cutesy thermometers, one for each boat. As donations came in, the thermometers filled. Declan and Charlotte’s thermometer was completely full now, when she knew for a fact that it had only been half-full yesterday afternoon. Last night’s kiss-and-flirt strategy had borne fruit.
“Tell me what you want to do,” Declan said. “I know it’s a lot to ask, living with paparazzi. If you want to pull the plug, we can.”
“You’d quit the race?”
His eyes held hers. “If that’s what you want, yes. I’ll quit. It’s your call. I can put out a statement. We can find you a new partner.”
“Why did you agree to participate?”
“J.J. asked me to do it,” he said. “It mattered a whole lot to him and making him happy had some upsides for me.”
Right. She sucked in a breath. “I don’t want you to disappoint him.”
“Just tell me what you want,” he said again.
That would be a very long list. “I can’t pretend I’m going to like having all those people watching us, thinking they get to weigh in on what we’re doing. But I’m thinking it’s time I stopped explaining so much. Even if I like playing by the rules and having a plan, I think there could be a time to not do those things.”
“Fortunately,” he said, “I’m an expert in operating without a plan.”
“Right.”
He shrugged. “So maybe you should just go with your gut. Fly by the seat of your pants. Live life planless.”
“And be your fake girlfriend and race partner?”
“Yeah.” He was smiling at her again, and damn but he was hard to resist. “And my first official act as your fake boyfriend is to invite you on a picnic. Date me, Charlotte.”
* * *
Charlotte’s life was neat and predictable, with no room for tall, handsome movie stars who got mobbed by paparazzi and who kissed indiscriminately at public events. Get used to it; you can’t take back kisses and it’s just a lunch with a guy who’s practically a business partner!
“Food,” he coaxed. “Even better than muffins.”
That was an outright lie, although she’d bet that the movie star version of lunch did not involve her beloved—and budget-friendly/spill-proof—PB&J. She looked back at her not-boyfriend and wondered how well she could pretend that she was comfortable with his luxury lifestyle. It’s not weird; it’s just lunch and you can get through it. Free food!
“Lunch with my hot fake boyfriend? Of course, we’ll have to actually leave the house and I’m apparently under house arrest.”
“All I’m hearing is hot and arrest,” he said lazily.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me. Your favorite fantasy costume is the naughty cop.”
He mimed zipping his lips, which was a problem because the man’s mouth was dangerous, open or shut. She’d learned last night what he could do with those lips of his when he wanted.
He studied her for a moment. “There’s definitely a problem. You think I only want to kiss you because everyone thinks we’re in a relationship.”
“Yes!”
No. She bumped her forehead against his warm, muscled chest. The real problem was that she’d already used up her mistake allowance for the year—possibly the century. Declan was nothing but risk, a charming, bad boy actor even if he was turning out to be unexpectedly thoughtful. They’d race in a week and then part ways. She wouldn’t see him again, not this all-too-real man who looked at her with concern on his gorgeous face.
“So I like the way you kiss. Sue me.”
He gave her a heated look, laughed...and didn’t kiss her. “I’ve got an idea. Maybe you don’t guess what I want. Maybe I tell you.”
There was a serious note in his voice that she hadn’t heard before.
“What would you tell me?”
Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he tucked her against his larger body. Her arms went around his back. He felt so good. Safe. He felt like everything she’d been missing.
“Might be easier to show you,” he said roughly. A new, delicious kind of silence stretched out between them. This was the last moment of before because, whatever came next, things would change. For better, for worse. For pleasure.
His head lowered toward hers. “Please?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
And then he erased the very small space between them and kissed her. Gently. Slowly. As if he wanted this to last for so much longer than a kiss ever could.
She kissed him back, moaning when he deepened their kiss. He made a rough sound, his fingers sliding into her hair. They kissed until they had to break apart for air. She sucked in one breath, then a second, staring at him, wide-eyed.
His own gaze was heated and far from calm. “Christ, you make me want.”
“Declan,” she whispered, the sound swallowed up by his mouth as he kissed her again.
Guilt and panic flooded her because it was one thing to race with this man, to fight and to sail with him. She could even let him dress her up and dance her around the floor at a Vineyard social event. Those things were easy. It was entirely different to kiss at her front door, to feel as if for this handful of moments he saw her and no one else. This was too real. Too much.
She’d rushed into a relationship too fast with George. Maybe if she’d gone slower, insisted that they take their time, she’d have seen the truth. Sooner. Maybe even from the beginning. George hadn’t loved her and she—well, she’d loved the idea of him more than the man.
But then she wasn’t thinking because Declan braced an arm by her head, leaned in and kissed her more, and her brain stopped functioning. She could only feel. Oh, God. He made her feel so much. His mouth, his big body pressed up against hers, the addictive warmth of him...
At some point they must have come up for air again because she opened her eyes and Declan was leaning into her, one arm still caging her in place, one hand cupping her face. His thumb stroked her cheek. He tasted like ocean, outdoors and male, and he made her want things. She was off-kilter, off-balance.
Freaking out.
She couldn’t do this again. Handsome Prince Charmings didn’t fall for the plain-Jane wallflowers—they faked it to conceal an ulterior agenda.
“There aren’t any photographers here,” she said, then ducked under his arm. “There’s no need to pretend.”
“You really think that was fake?”
She sighed. “You and me... We’re a bad idea. Even if you kiss like a god and I really like it.”
Like you.
“But?” His eyes narrowed.
“But I can’t do this. I can’t be someone I’m not.”
He tugged her back. “I don’t need you to be different.”
“Makeover?” she prompted.
“That was a game,” he growled. “Icing on a cupcake.”
His words were lovely, even if she wasn’t sure that she could believe them. Did she have a trust problem? Yes, yes she did.
He didn’t look away. “I’m not George.”
She opened her door. “I know that.”
“And you’re not Jessie,” he said gently.
“So?”
“We’re Declan and Charlotte.”
She really, really needed to go. “I’m not ready for that,” she said and went inside and closed the door behind her.
Nine
Charlotte still wasn’t ready the next morning. Thanks to Declan’s stylist, she had a brand-new, luxury wardrobe of sustainable cashmere and strict orders to never, ever leave the house in yoga pants again. The stylist had left a tag on one item and Charlotte had just about hyperventilated. Even if brands donated their clothing in exchange for the publicity, she directed a nonprofit and those were crazy prices.
As she came around the house, she mentally reviewed her Saturday to-do list. With the addition of the race events and practices to her usual work week, she was behind. And with no coffee or coffee creamer left in her kitchen, she had zero chance of catching up, so she was a woman on a mission when a man stepped away from the side of the house and blocked her path.
“Ms. Palsgrave.” He followed this with a tip of his chin. He wore a dark suit and tie, and although his size put him in lumberjack or football territory, he also seemed qualified to be a club bouncer or a former SEAL.
She smiled her most reliable, I’m-a-trustworthy-person smile at him. “Are you a court bailiff? Because if you are, I already shared everything I know with the district attorney.”
“Not what this is about.” The man’s professional expression didn’t waver. “Mr. Masterson sent me.”
She stared at him.
“I’m security, Ms. Palsgrave. I’m Ryan.”
“I really don’t need a bodyguard.”
He fell into step beside her. “Have you been out front this morning?”
“What’s going on?” When she stopped, he stopped with her.
“Mr. Masterson said he explained that in light of the paparazzi already outside your house last night, he expected there to be more this morning.”
She eyeballed her new companion suspiciously. “Was he right, Ryan? One-hundred-percent, no asterisks right? Because if so, I have complaints.”
This earned her a bark of laughter from Ryan. “He usually is, ma’am. I’d like to review the situation with you and run some options if you intend to leave the property today.”
“Ryan.” She waved her empty travel mug at him. “I’m not a prisoner in my own house. All I want is coffee. I promise that I am supremely boring and anyone who is out there will lose interest fast.”
Ryan tapped his phone screen and brought up a series of photos from in front of the house. She counted one, two, six—no, make that seven guys in jeans and T-shirts with expensive-looking camera gear. They were all staring at the front door with far more interest than it merited.
“Coffee,” she said. “It’s what makes the world go round.”
Okay. So it was really the trifecta of coffee, chocolate and doughnuts, but a man with Ryan’s build probably didn’t acknowledge the existence of sugar.
Ryan tapped something into his phone and hers buzzed.
What kind of coffee do you want? Declan asked.
She ignored the warmth spreading through her and concentrated on her righteous indignation. “Did you tattle on me?”
“My job is to keep you safe.”
Uh-huh. Because she was just surrounded by vicious predators. And also because she was a delicate flower who needed protection. Since that wasn’t a battle she could win, she settled for tormenting her celebrity faux boyfriend. A good man would know how his girlfriend takes her coffee.
The text she received back said, I can buy one of everything, but then it’ll take twice as long. Ryan says you’re desperate and to come and save him.
As if. She snorted, eying her new nemesis, who hadn’t budged from where he blocked her easy access to the outside world.
“You should let him bring you coffee,” Ryan said. “Mr. Masterson has done this before. He knows how to handle the press.”
“Mr. Masterson got caught scaling a balcony in his boxer briefs. How does that make him an expert?”
Ryan shrugged. “It makes him an expert on what not to do. And I wasn’t working that night.”
Right. “Were you working last night?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What kind of coffee do you want then?”
After Ryan had been convinced to place a coffee order, she texted Declan back with their requests. She wasn’t stupid enough to turn down free caffeine delivery, even if she was stupid enough to kiss the man in a very public place.
She received another text that announced, Be there in ten.
And then, proving once again that Declan had mind-reading powers, he sent a picture. Of Gitty’s bakery truck.
I’ll kiss you again if you bring a half dozen, she texted.
Not that she really planned to trade her virtue for muffins, but Gitty’s baked goods were amazing. She and Gitty had been friends since childhood and Gitty’s muffins had only gotten better with time.
“Come on back,” she said to Ryan. “We’ll wait by the pool.”
As soon as she sat down, however, he disappeared back into the shadows. Not that there were many shadows as it was morning, but the man had mad skills. While she waited for Declan, she got on the internet. Last night’s event had drawn lots of coverage, with multiple celebrity gossip sites running pieces on the “clinch” between her and Declan. There were photos, too—photos in which she almost didn’t recognize herself, so his celebrity makeover lessons must have stuck more than she’d thought.
In one shot they were laughing and the lighting somehow made them seem as if they stood in a golden spotlight. The beads of her dress had caught on his arm and the expression on her face—
She looked dazed. Swept off her feet. Drunk on the man holding her in his arms. Was there a twelve-step program for people with addictions to handsome charmers?
“I should have pushed him overboard when I had the chance,” she said to herself. Ryan wisely remained silent.
Her email inbox overflowed with messages from people she hadn’t talked to in years, asking if it was true that she was dating the movie star Declan Masterson. Some wanted introductions, while others pitched scripts. Her fifth-grade teacher had acting aspirations.
A buzz of sound rose up from the front of the house. People shouting and calling things, among them Declan’s name. She tried not to listen to the questions too hard because they were all variants on last night’s horribly embarrassing interrogation. A few long minutes later, her father’s housekeeper showed Declan out to the pool. He held a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand and a bakery box in the other.
He passed her a coffee, then offered her the box. She tore it open because, as last night’s pictures proved, she’d already misplaced her dignity. Gitty’s muffins were the ambrosia of breakfast baked goods and Declan had been true to his word. He’d brought her six muffins—and a caramel brownie.
“I’m considering accepting his apology,” she told the muffins. “Even if you brought your evil twin, Mr. Brownie, with you.” She picked a muffin out and bit in. Oh, God. Had she moaned out loud?
Declan laughed. She totally had.
“Why a brownie?” she asked around a mouthful of muffin.
“Muffins are just cake masquerading as a health food.” He smiled wickedly. “So why not just eat cake?”
She looked in the box. “But you brought me muffins and a brownie.”
He held up a paper bag she hadn’t spotted, probably because he’d kept it hidden. “I’m saving the cake to bribe you with.”
He handed a coffee to Ryan and then sat down opposite her, hands wrapped around his own cup.
“So,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. Was the press coverage that bad that he felt the need to ease into it?
Or did he just feel guilty because he’d been the one to dip her into that clinch and he was the movie star? “How bad is it really, on a scale of one to catastrophic?”
“It depends on how you look at it. And I do mean you. Not me, not Ryan, not your dad or anyone else. The story is great for the race. It gets eyes on our race cause, people are donating and it’s reading as romantic.”
“The story being how your famous self swept a local girl off her feet in a whirlwind Hollywood romance?”
He winced. “Yeah. That part. Honestly, they’d like it even better if one of us was royalty and had a castle.”
“Can’t help you there,” she said. “We’re short on castles in New England.”
He eyed her cautiously. “It will mean attention. The reporters will run what they can and dig into your life. It’s not as if you’ve done anything newsworthy or embarrassing, so the digging won’t get them far. At the end of the day, we’re just two people who shared a dance and maybe a little more. They’ll run the pictures from last night on a loop while they try to get something more interesting. As long as we both keep our clothes on and don’t do anything stupid—”
“Like climb a balcony naked,” Ryan interjected.
“—it will be fine,” he finished.
She had a feeling that her having dated a soon-to-be-indicted embezzler probably wasn’t going to fly under the radar. Should she break the district attorney’s demand for secrecy and tell Declan? Not yet, she decided. Not until after she’d made a phone call and asked if she could.
“Actors and actresses date outside the industry,” Ryan offered. “It’s actually not uncommon at all. People like who they like and as long as you two don’t do anything new to draw attention, things will calm down.”
She studied him. “How do people live with that kind of scrutiny? And I mean, how do they really live with it? Can you even go out and buy toilet paper like a normal person?”
Declan shrugged. “It’s one of the price tags on getting the chance to do a job I love and that matters to a whole lot of people. Plus, it doesn’t always happen overnight like this. You sort of get eased into it and don’t realize it’s happening until you make a midnight run to the convenience store and get snapped in your pajamas. Ryan’s the best and he knows how to shut things down when interest in my girlfriend gets out of hand.”
“Fake girlfriend,” she said. “And how much does Ryan cost?”
“That doesn’t sound like a no.” He nodded to Ryan and the bodyguard strolled away. Apparently like all men they spoke a secret language. “And I’ve got the cost covered. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“I’m new in this fishbowl. Be gentle.”
He grinned. “I can do that.”
She was not going to think about that. “But is it always this bad?”
“Not usually,” he admitted. “But there’s an upside.” He held out his phone so she could see it. The race organizers had set up a set of cutesy thermometers, one for each boat. As donations came in, the thermometers filled. Declan and Charlotte’s thermometer was completely full now, when she knew for a fact that it had only been half-full yesterday afternoon. Last night’s kiss-and-flirt strategy had borne fruit.
“Tell me what you want to do,” Declan said. “I know it’s a lot to ask, living with paparazzi. If you want to pull the plug, we can.”
“You’d quit the race?”
His eyes held hers. “If that’s what you want, yes. I’ll quit. It’s your call. I can put out a statement. We can find you a new partner.”
“Why did you agree to participate?”
“J.J. asked me to do it,” he said. “It mattered a whole lot to him and making him happy had some upsides for me.”
Right. She sucked in a breath. “I don’t want you to disappoint him.”
“Just tell me what you want,” he said again.
That would be a very long list. “I can’t pretend I’m going to like having all those people watching us, thinking they get to weigh in on what we’re doing. But I’m thinking it’s time I stopped explaining so much. Even if I like playing by the rules and having a plan, I think there could be a time to not do those things.”
“Fortunately,” he said, “I’m an expert in operating without a plan.”
“Right.”
He shrugged. “So maybe you should just go with your gut. Fly by the seat of your pants. Live life planless.”
“And be your fake girlfriend and race partner?”
“Yeah.” He was smiling at her again, and damn but he was hard to resist. “And my first official act as your fake boyfriend is to invite you on a picnic. Date me, Charlotte.”
* * *
Charlotte’s life was neat and predictable, with no room for tall, handsome movie stars who got mobbed by paparazzi and who kissed indiscriminately at public events. Get used to it; you can’t take back kisses and it’s just a lunch with a guy who’s practically a business partner!
“Food,” he coaxed. “Even better than muffins.”
That was an outright lie, although she’d bet that the movie star version of lunch did not involve her beloved—and budget-friendly/spill-proof—PB&J. She looked back at her not-boyfriend and wondered how well she could pretend that she was comfortable with his luxury lifestyle. It’s not weird; it’s just lunch and you can get through it. Free food!
“Lunch with my hot fake boyfriend? Of course, we’ll have to actually leave the house and I’m apparently under house arrest.”
“All I’m hearing is hot and arrest,” he said lazily.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me. Your favorite fantasy costume is the naughty cop.”
He mimed zipping his lips, which was a problem because the man’s mouth was dangerous, open or shut. She’d learned last night what he could do with those lips of his when he wanted.
