Throb

“What a beautiful tan you have, Kate. It looks like you’ve already spent a week on a tropical island.”

I swallow the water I’m drinking down the wrong pipe and choke. “Umm … thank you.”

“You okay?” he asks, although I don’t find true concern on his face. Instead I could swear I see something sinister in his eyes. Here comes the paranoia I’d forgotten all about.

“You okay?” Fly

“I’m fine,” I wheeze, my eyes watering. Miles has already moved on and is busy talking to Jessica’s cleavage.

“If you need mouth-to-mouth, I got you covered,” Fly

His playfulness, along with his flirtatious charm, actually puts me at ease a little bit. Fly

We break for lunch and, surprisingly, I feel a lot better than when I came in this morning. I’d forgotten how at ease I feel around Fly

“Wa

“Sure, but there’ll probably be a tack on my seat when I get back, courtesy of our castmates.”

“No worries. I’d be happy to sweep the seat to protect your delicate ass from damage.”

The afternoon session is even more painful than the morning. Miles spends the entire time coaching us on “how to seduce the camera.” Halfway through, Fly

Toward the end of the day, Miles a

Fly

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for making a waste-of-time day totally bearable,” I say to Fly

“No problem. Anytime I can put a smile on that beautiful face isn’t a waste of time for me.” Fly

chapter thirty-two

Kate

I’m sorry. I shot off a text as soon as I buckled into Sadie’s car. I wasn’t surprised Cooper didn’t respond right away. But it’s hours later now and he’s still silent. I visualize the moment over and over in my head. The almost-kiss on the lips, turning my head to find Cooper standing right there—eyes tempered with hurt. His curt nod and rapid departure leave me feeling unsettled.

Anxiously, I check my phone every five minutes until the minutes turn into hours and it becomes painfully obvious I won’t be getting a response. I attempt to clear my head with a rare trip to the gym, followed by two glasses of wine. But all it does is blur my thoughts and leave me wondering if everything I was so sure would work out when we were in Barbados was even real.

Maybe if there would have been a scene I’d be able to sleep, but the unknown is killing me. I stare at the television, waiting for something to take my mind off what his lack of response means. It doesn’t work. Around one in the morning, my lack of self-control wins out and I shoot off another text. Can’t sleep. The bed is empty without you next to me.

My phone rings ten seconds later.

“Hey,” I answer, uncertain as to what to expect.

“It’s intolerable,” he says with a breath of frustration.

“Sleeping alone?”

“Seeing him touch you.”

A few seconds of silence pass as I internally debate how to respond.

“I’m sorry.”

“You looked happy.”

There’s an ache in my chest. “I am happy. You make me happy.”

“Then I should be the one on the receiving end of your smile.”

“You are.”

“I wasn’t this afternoon.”

There’s no way to get through this conversation without a few bumps and bruises. “He’s a nice guy. I like him … as a friend. Even if we weren’t in this situation, I have guy friends—ones I’d occasionally share a smile with.”

“Maybe. But I’d be able to wrap my arm around your waist and pull you close to me when I’m near you and see you sharing that smile with another man. I wouldn’t have to walk away like you didn’t belong to me.”

“I’m sorry.” And we’re back to where we started. I have no idea how to make him feel better. “I really only think of him as a friend.”

“That’s not how he thinks of you.”

How do I argue with what I suspect to be the truth? “I’m sorry.” I’m starting to sound like a broken record.

“I can’t wait until this is over.”

“Soon.”

“There’ll be no mistaking who you belong to when this charade is over,” he says with an edge to his voice that wakens my libido.

“I look forward to it,” I say while sporting the first smile I’ve felt since this afternoon.

“Stay with me tomorrow night. I’ll be at a work event until late. But I want you in my bed when I get home.”

“Okay. But Miles added another event shoot to the schedule and we’re going to some awards ceremony tomorrow night. So I might be late.”

“What awards ceremony?”

“The Film Critics Awards Banquet.”

“Great. More watching Dickhead paw you and not being able to do anything about it.”

“You promised not to watch the dailies anymore.”

“I won’t have to watch the dailies. Miles’s table is next to mine.”

Miles catches my eyes as they linger on the empty seat at the next table for what must be the tenth time in the last hour. He forces a smile and I watch his eyes dart to the table I’m fixated on and back to me. No doubt he thinks I’m star struck looking at Tatiana Laroix or Benjamin Parker. I’m pretty sure the whole place is staring at one of the two of them.

There’s no denying that Tatiana Laroix is a beautiful woman. But tonight she’s beyond stu