A waitress freshened our drinks. Emily and I settled into an empty corner on the sofa. We were alone, but not out of earshot; my friends were straining to listen in on our conversation. Everyone was out of their minds with curiosity, and for good reason. It had been years since I’d introduced a girl to my friends.

Knock wood, the evening had gone off without a hitch so far. The paparazzi had gone mad for Emily, just like I thought they would. She’d gone out of her way to charm my friends with polite and interesting small talk. That was a tough line to walk, and she’d performed beautifully.

I just had to make sure Emily didn’t charm me. Considering how fucking hot she looked in her little silk tank top, it’d been more of a struggle than I’d anticipated. Sex appeal rolled off this girl in bloody waves.

“What?” Emily asked.

I looked at her, confused.

“You’re scowling.”

“Oh.” I ran a hand down my face. “Sorry. I spaced out. How are you feeling? Everyone loves you already.”

She blinked when a flash on a camera phone went off. “They love you. Or maybe they’re just trying to kiss your royal ass—I couldn’t tell.”

“You really think I’d surround myself with royal ass kissers?”

“If I was a prince, I totally would.”

I cocked a brow. “Would you really?”

She laughed, cradling her drink between her hands. My eyes swept up the soft lines of her arms and shoulders. “No, I wouldn’t. I hate ass kissing—both giving and receiving.”

“I know. It’s one of the things I liked best about you,” I said, not thinking.

Her pale eyebrows snapped together in pleasant surprise. “Really?”

Bollocks. I hadn’t meant to say that.

I tore a hand through my hair. I had to backtrack. Keep the conversation as tepid as possible.

“You messed it up,” she said.

“Messed what up?”

Emily looked up, nodding at my hair. “Your part. You look like you got electrocuted.”

The bark of laughter was out of my mouth before I could stop it. I smoothed my fingers over my hair. “You know, most people tell me I’m the most handsome man in the room.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Noted. There. Is that better?”

“Worse.” Her shoulders were shaking again, like they had in the kitchen yesterday. Which of course only made me want to laugh, too. “Much worse.”

A thought formed. I probably shouldn’t. But our audience would love it. And I couldn’t very well walk around all night looking like I’d stuck my finger in a socket.

I bent my neck. “Help.”

Grinning, she set down her drink. She slid her fingers into my hair. Her touch was sure and deliberate as she used her nails to comb my hair back into place. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. What was it about a girl’s touch that felt so good?

This seemed a lot more intimate than holding hands. To me, at least. Strange that Emily didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it.

I’d spent more time than I should’ve wondering why she’d gotten so jumpy the other night at Jacob’s Club. She had to know that casual touching—harmless stuff, like holding hands and kisses on the cheek—was part of our deal. It was in the contract. The people wouldn’t buy our relationship if we looked stiff and uncomfortable together.

Yes, touching the person you were pretending to be in love with was admittedly weird. But I don’t think Emily was reacting to that weirdness. It was something deeper. More personal.

Whatever it was, we had to work through it. The distraction we were creating had to be a knock out punch. There was no room for error.

“There.” Emily leaned back to check out my hair one last time. “Much better. You can go back to being the most handsome man in the room now.”

I tried on Rob’s shit-eating grin. “Is it working?”

Emily squinted at me. I laughed. “Maybe if I down a few more drinks, yeah.” She waved her hand. “Meh, not worth the hangover.”

The camera phones were going crazy again. In for a penny…

“Honestly, what is worth a hangover these days?” I asked. “Mine have gotten pretty horrid.”

“Right?” she said. “Once you turn thirty, they’re bad. Like a stomach flu and an existential crisis, all rolled into one.”

I laughed. For real. Again. I knew I needed to reel it in, but…this was fun. I’d forgotten how fun it was to connect with someone.

“The last time I really went out drinking,” I said, “Christ, it had to have been a year ago now? More? Anyway. I spent the entire next day rolling around my bathroom floor in agony. Naked, of course. Although I can’t really remember why. I think I threw up on my clothes. Or my brothers stole them. One of the two.”

Emily crossed her legs, leaning into me. “Your brothers really have a thing against clothes, don’t they?”

“You have no idea.” I shook my head. “They’re born exhibitionists. It’s like a sickness.”

She grinned. “A sickness London’s female population doesn’t seem to mind one bit.” Emily’s eyebrows shot up. She bit her lip. God, I really wish she’d stop doing that. It was…distracting. “But you were the one who was naked that time, huh?”

Emily was flirting with me now. Fake flirting, obviously. But it was still convincing—convincing enough for our audience.

Convincing enough to pull me in.

“Quite naked,” I replied. I considered putting my arm on the back of the sofa behind her, but then decided against it. We were doing so well, and I didn’t want to spook her.

“I’m sorry to have missed the show,” she said.

“It wasn’t my best. But I’m happy to give it a go again. Minus the dry heaving, of course.”

Her eyes were glittering. I felt a familiar tightening between my legs.

Oh, hell no.

I reeled my body back in. Willed myself to remember that this was all an act. Crown and country. Cold showers. North Korea. I scrambled to think of anything except Emily and the shape of her body.

I wasn’t the only one being sucked in. I glanced around and saw a few others shamelessly eavesdropping, waiting with bated breath for her reply.

“How does tonight sound?” she said. “I could really go for a—”

Her eyes suddenly went wide when a new song came on. A cheer erupted from the dance floor.

“What is it?” I asked.

She turned her wide-eyed stare on me. “Justin Bieber,” she breathed.

“Justin Bieber is here? How’d that bloke get in?”

“It’s a Justin Bieber song,” Emily said, pointing to the ceiling. She started bobbing her head to the beat. “You know this one!”

I listened for a moment. I’d never heard this song in my life.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

Emily looked at me like I had two heads. “But it’s the best song ever.”

“Is it?” I asked, dubious.

Before I knew what she was doing, Emily set down her drink and stood up. I hadn’t realized just how long her legs were until now. Long and lithe and strong—

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward the dance floor. “Let’s go dance. I can’t stand still when Justin’s on.”

My heart seized.

I did not dance. After an unfortunate episode at university when I’d been caught on film doing a Dad dance that, to this day, made me die a little each time I thought about it, I vowed I’d never dance again. As the future King of England, I had to take myself seriously. Making a fool of myself on the dance floor sort of undermined that, no?

I shook my head. “You go. I’ll stay here and hold down the fort.”

“Seriously?” Emily put a hand on her hip. “You’re not going to dance?”

“Not my thing.”

Her eyes bore into mine. “Sickeningly cute, remember?” she said.

I let out a sigh and glanced around. People were still watching us. Still waiting to see what we would do next.

It would probably look good if Emily and I danced together. And the dance floor was crowded enough that I doubted I’d have enough room to make a total ass of myself. A partial ass, maybe, but not a total one.

I’d also promised to make things easy for Emily. I couldn’t really leave her to dance by herself when she didn’t know anyone here. What if some random bloke tried something with her?

The thought made my pulse roar.

It was just one dance. One song that was already halfway over.

“Okay,” I said, managing a tight grin as I stood up next to her. “Let’s go dance. But don’t say I didn’t warn you that I’ve got two left feet.”

She tossed me a smile over her shoulder as we made our way across the club. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Don’t worry.”

But sneaking a peek at her ass—it did look just right in those jeans—I did worry.

I worried a lot.