Pop!
“Hey, Zach! Who’s the girl?”
Flash, pop!
“Are the rumors true?”
Pop! Flash, pop!
“I didn’t buy it for a second!”
Pop!
“Over here, Zach! Let us see the girl!”
The lights were blindingly bright, the red carpet plush beneath her black heels. Zach’s stylist had provided Abby with a stunning green dress cut high on the thigh with a cinched waist, though it hung loosely otherwise, lending a hip, casual feel that helped her feel comfortable when basically nothing about this situation was comfortable.
A velvet rope kept the press at bay, or it was supposed to. The wall of photographers had angled in against it, crowding into what little space there was in front of the small, arthouse movie theater in TriBeCa, a posh, downtown neighborhood. And those lights… It was like staring into the sun. There was no way not to squint and considering she was here to smile adoringly at Zach so that a new rumor would start to circulate—Zach’s found himself a special girl—Abby was starting to worry tomorrow’s tabloid headlines would read something to the effect of ‘deer in headlights date is Canning’s new embarrassment’.
She never realized how taxing this was for celebrities and all she was doing was standing beside Zach, smiling at the sea of flashing cameras and seemingly disembodied voices vying for their attention, and pivoting to accommodate each paparazzi cluster.
But she was standing next to Zach.
She was pressed right beside American heartthrob, Zach Canning!
She felt his large, warm hand holding the small of her back as he gently and subtly maneuvered her which way to turn, this way and that, so that all the major entertainment news outlets and popular teen magazines could get the shots they needed.
Any awkwardness she might otherwise be feeling from having so many pictures taken, feeling self-conscious and on the spot, was easily overcome just by melting into the feel of his strong, protective body subtly cradling her like she was some precious thing he refused to let go of.
This felt amazing!
And she couldn’t wait to get out of the literal limelight and into the dark privacy of the hip movie theater where she could continue to enjoy the feel of Zach beside her without a bunch of blindingly bright lights in her eyes or the ache of stiff cheeks from holding a perma-plastered smile for the cameras. Would he still find ways to touch her in the darkness of the theater? Maybe slip his fingers between hers to hold her hand or wrap his muscular arm around her? Perhaps he’d graze her thigh and give her a little squeeze…
Just thinking about it brought a genuine grin to Abby’s face, which was in perfect timing with Zach pulling her against his chest in a half-hug for Teen Vogue’s benefit, their designated photographer snapping off a dozen shots in rapid succession then giving them the thumbs up, “You’re the best, Zach!”
She didn’t want to step out of the woodsy cocoon of his embrace, but he released her, loosening his hold and whispering in her ear, his smooth, deep voice stirring the warmest sensations inside of her, “You okay?”
She was more than okay. She was thrilled. The last few days had been an absolute blur of excitement. Getting dolled up all evening with the help of his stylist and a hair and makeup team provided by the Christian Network had felt like a fairytale. But when the sleek, black limousine had cruised up in front of her Brooklyn stoop, Abby had been surprised not to find Zach seated inside. In all this time, throughout the whirlwind of boldly signing the secret contract and trying to keep her life going for three days while she juggled working at Tate & Cane and privately meeting with Darlene Pinkerton, Zach’s publicist, who had insisted on ‘grooming’ her, Abby hadn’t once had a minute alone with the man she was contracted to elope with in a week and a half. With the exception of meeting him on a desolate street corner at the side of the movie theater—her limousine having rolled to a stop, the driver having climbed out and opened Abby’s door in front of one very dashing-looking Zach Canning—and immediately walking onto the red carpet, Abby hadn’t even seen him, met his gaze, or heard his deep, sexy voice since the conference room.
She wanted time alone with him. She needed it. They obviously wouldn’t be able to talk and get to know one another at all while they were watching Zach’s co-star and friend, Jamison Holt on the silver screen—this wasn’t Zach’s premiere, he wasn’t even in the movie, but Darlene said it would be the perfect ‘photo opp’. But Abby hoped that after the credits rolled she and Zach might be able to slip away and truly get to know one another.
What did he even make of all of this?
When Abby had mustered up her courage and faced a boardroom full of suits, which she had not at all been expecting on the other side of that conference room door, she was shocked to hear the expectation of eloping. Shocked. But it had been the way Zach was looking at her, not just the feel of his smoldering eyes on her but the actual way he seemed to see through her physical attributes and look directly at the real Abby beneath it all. It had felt like a real connection. That feeling had magnetized her to him in the coffee shop and the strength of their electric connection had only increased when they’d locked eyes across the conference table.
So much about this felt real.
And yet it wasn’t.
Their relationship, as real as it might appear in the public eye and as real as it might feel to Abby personally, was literally and contractually fake.
Was it fake for him? Or had Zach also felt something real—something meant to be, perhaps—when they’d stared at one another that morning?
Fake or not, their marriage would be real, legally speaking, which meant that for Abby, she was going to have to get her Ma and Pop’s blessing, introduce Zach to her older and extremely protective brother, Ian as well, do this right. The contract might expire in six months, freeing them up to divorce, but the prospect was inconceivable for a Catholic girl like Abby.
The more she thought about it, as strange a situation as it was and as conflicted as it made her feel at times, the more real she wanted this whole thing to be.
Of course, she would feel like that. She was on the arm of one of the sexiest men alive. His lean, muscular body and mischievous grin could melt hearts and panties alike. If this was real, if they fell in love, if she suddenly found herself swept up in his arms, passion blossoming between them, and knew he was the one…
…then it wouldn’t matter how quickly they said ‘I do’ and losing her virginity to him would be the best thing that’s ever happened to her…
But what if all Zach cared about was making a career-damaging rumor go away? What if his apparent interest in Abby started and stopped right there? All for show? And nothing truly intimate would ever happen—emotionally, physically, or spiritually—behind closed doors?
She glanced up at him as he beamed one last bad boy grin for the cameras. He was gorgeous, she’d give him that. But there would be no way to get a read on him. Not until they talked.
Perhaps feeling her big, green eyes on him, he pulled her in again, this time hooking his arm around her neck playfully so he could plant a kiss on her forehead, a flutter of camera flashes quickly following to capture the affectionate moment.
God, he smelled good.
“Alright,” he said smoothly. “Torture’s over.”
“It wasn’t so bad.”
“No?” he asked with an easy smile as he guided her along the red carpet that led into the plush lobby of the movie theater.
“My cheeks hurt a little,” she admitted, feeling a fresh flood of tingles zing through her as Zach laced his fingers through hers—just like she’d hoped!—as they filtered into the theater.
“It won’t always be like this,” he told her in what sounded like a promising voice as they came to their seats, reserved signs with Zach’s full name taped to each one. “Aisle or inside?”
“Oh,” she breathed, considering. “You don’t mind if I take the aisle?”
He let out a smooth soundless laugh, his sexy mouth curling with the hint of a grin, as he asked, “Why would I mind?”
As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Zach stepped in, taking hold of her hips to help her aside so he could slip into the row. She didn’t realize she’d been standing in his way, but was glad she had, because his large hands on her body like that, as brief as it had been—he was settling into his seat now—had felt seriously good.
She could get used to this.
She lowered into her seat just as the house lights were dimming. One of the producers walked out in front of the movie screen, microphone in hand, and began welcoming everyone to the premiere and setting the stage a bit for what kind of indie project this had been.
Abby could feel the heat rolling off Zach. Listening to the producer crack jokes, she became hyper aware of where her body was, where his was, how her crossed leg almost grazed Zach’s slacks-clad shin, how his thigh was angled into her seat, how if she unfolded her hands from her lap and straightened her spine, their arms would brush… should she?
She bit her lip debating, every cell in her body poised to Zach, poised to feel even the slightest movement, to use his every minor adjustment and negligible repositioning as a sign he wanted to sit closer to her as well. Damn this stupid arm rest jutting out between them.
If Abby was hesitant to make a bold move, Zach certainly wasn’t. As soon as the producer shuffled off and the opening credits started playing, he leaned in, his warm lips brushing the hair around her ear, his minty-cool breath causing tingling shivers to dance down her neck and shoulder, shooting all the way down to her core.
“I hope this doesn’t suck,” he teased, whispering the words almost soundlessly in her ear.
She pulled back and looked him in the eye with a chastising glint of humor on her otherwise smiling face. “Quiet,” she warned, only mouthing the word.
“What?” he mouthed. “I can’t hear you.”
She screwed her face up and gave his firm chest a little shove, all too aware that looking up at him their faces were mere inches apart… Close enough to kiss…
But he didn’t kiss her.
Instead, as Jamison Holt filled the silver screen and some tires-screeching car chase ensued to kick off what all advertisements had promised would be an ‘action packed thrill ride… literally!’ Zach pulled back only to tuck a lock of Abby’s auburn hair behind her ear to give himself closer access. When he leaned in again, his lips actually brushed her ear.
“I said,” he breathed, toying with the hair on her shoulder in a way that inspired a fresh bloom of swirling arousal between her crossed legs, “that I couldn’t really hear you.”
She was about to pull away to look him in the eye again, but his large hand wrapped her toned thigh—skin on skin—and gave her a little wakeup squeeze.
Oh, that woke her up alright!
And he didn’t remove his hand.
“You look fucking hot.”
Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she felt her mouth tug into an aroused grin. She hoped no one noticed their little, soundless flirtation. She didn’t want to be faced with a reason to stop the fun.
She was going to utter ‘thanks’ as quietly as possible, but Zach was already saying more.
“You’re turning me on.”
Her eyes grew wide as saucers, but not in response to his shocking admission. He was slowly grazing his large hand up her thigh, the length of his fingers curled deeply around the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Abby felt her breath hitch in her throat, lips parting, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. She made a concerted effort to close her mouth so she wouldn’t look like a fish gasping for air out of water. But Zach was showing no signs of stilling his hand and when he grazed beneath the hem of her dress-skirt, bunching the material ever so slightly, and his pinky finger came into contact with the thin cotton of her conservative panties, her heart skipped a beat and her mouth gaped open all over again.
He wasn’t going to full-on fondle her in a movie theater, was he?
Abby was suddenly mortified and yet growing so turned on herself that there was no way she could grab his wrist and stop his confident climb farther and farther up her thigh.
“Does this feel good?”
His pinky finger made room for the rest and though he had to straighten away from her and face the film for the angle not to be awkward, soon the full expanse of his large hand was cupping her sex. Not rubbing, not stimulating her without warning. Just holding her, the heat of his hand and firm grip causing a hot flutter of arousal to bloom between her legs until the tingling heat swelled into a creamy ache.
Should she stop him? Could anyone see? Was getting busted the litmus of whether or not she should let him proceed to do what she was fairly certain he was planning on doing?
She couldn’t think straight with his hand cupping her like that. She made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand away, but when she took hold of his forearm, feeling his strong musculature beneath the fabric of his suit, her hands went sort of limp and her effort amounted to holding his arm affectionately.
If this ended up on TMZ…
Again, Abby slid her eyes to the side, checking that their neighbors across the aisle weren’t angling cell phones in their direction.
Nope, the coast was clear.
As Zach began delivering a gentle massage, his large hand finally rubbing her core, fingers pressing and stimulating the length of her moistening vagina, only the thinnest white cotton between them, Abby felt her eyelids grow heavy and breathing deepen. She held his arm tighter as if to say, ‘don’t stop’.
And he didn’t.
Something told her he wouldn’t dare.
But when he leaned into her ear once again and suggested, “Come with me to the bathroom,” whatever heights of arousal she’d reached suddenly plummeted.
Taken aback, she looked at him with a furrowed brow then questioned, “You need help in the bathroom?”
His sexy mouth tugged into a mischievous, crooked grin, as he said, “You have an effect on me.”
Abby tried not to get turned on by the compliment—no easy task!—and countered in a whisper, “You in some kind of rush?”
He frowned in understanding of her point and casually agreed, “No, not in any kind of rush. Just being impulsive.”
Abby had a wild side. She was adventurous. And it’s not like she’d never been impulsive before. But losing her virginity in the handicap bathroom of an arthouse movie theater wasn’t exactly the bed of roses she’d been envisioning for herself—Zach Canning or no Zach Canning.
“Isn’t it impulsive enough that we’re about to elope in—“
“Shh,” he warned, bringing his finger to her full lips in what he obviously knew was the cheesiest move of all time, then mouthed, “what if someone hears you?”
She shot him a coy smile and shook her head as if to suggest that his concern was laughable considering he wasn’t at all worried about possibly being discovered with his hand up her skirt.
Abby couldn’t believe she could keep up the joshing conversation for that very reason as well—his hand was definitely still up her skirt and massaging, very much to her pleasure.
“Just watch the movie,” she playfully ordered.
“You watch the movie,” he shot back.
“You!” she mouthed, pointing her finger at the silver screen where Jamison Holt was now in the throes of hoisting a black leather-clad vixen on the back of his motorcycle—when did he lose the Maserati?
Zach beamed that mischievous grin at her, his tight green eyes glued to her, though he turned his attention to the movie straight ahead. Finally, his eyes followed, but Abby stole a lingering stare at him. He looked drop dead sexy with the glow of the film on him. Maybe she was crazy not to go into the bathroom with him.
No, she immediately corrected herself. She was going to be wooed and charmed and swept off her feet, not lust-drunk and racing off into a public bathroom to get banged.
Abby suddenly realized waiting almost two weeks to be married before having sex might be harder than she thought.
Much, much harder…