Julianna

“I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m going to have to ask you to take a few steps back. Mr. Cole is just as anxious to see you as you are him, but he won’t make it past the children’s books if y’all don’t give him some space.” Smiling bright, I shoo the crowd of approximately a hundred eager readers away from the signing table.

Thankfully the quaint bookstore, nestled among a barrage of art galleries on River North, has a stellar air conditioning system or we’d be in trouble. Not only would the hot flashes run rampant, but I’m pretty sure RJ would disappear out the back door, never to be seen again.

“Excuse me, but I’m wondering if Rush’s fiancé will be here today, too,” one of the women asks. She’s in her sixties—maybe seventies—and she’s holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies on top of a Crash paperback. “I was hoping I could get her to sign my book, too.”

“Ah.” I chuckle. Andrew said this would happen when we started touring the new book. Curiosity surrounding the true identity of Rush’s muse, Crash, rose quickly and understandably so. He’d dedicated the book to her in the most romantic way possible—a proposal. In every single copy of the sexy, snowbound novel, both print and digital format. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Cole is a very private person and he’s not quite ready to show her off to the world.”

The older woman frowns. “Aww, okay. I understand. I’m just so happy for him. I’ve been a fan from the very first book.”

I believe her. She brought cookies, for Pete’s sake. But I can bet half of these antsy women will say the exact same thing. The other half will try to slip him their number or, if he’s real lucky, a pair of panties.

“Please share that with him today,” I say, patting the lady’s hand. “I’m sure he would love to hear it.”

She flashes a smile and I excuse myself to check in with the store manager. We’re at T-minus three minutes until show time and I want to make sure her staff is ready to help move this line.

“Amazing crowd today, Veronica. You ready to get started?” I wave a hand in front of my face and curse the silk blouse I chose to wear. That is, until I remember why I chose to wear it.

“We are more than ready! Just need our guest of honor,” the bubbly manager replies.

“And that’s where I come in. Be right back.” I slip through a door near the rear of the store, welcoming the blast of cool air that washes over me.

“I’m going to need a fucking Xanax,” RJ grumbles as he paces. He’s dressed down in a black T-shirt and a pair of dark-washed jeans, which I, as his new personal assistant, insisted on.

“Yeah, but you look hot. The ladies will love you.” I run my hands over his chest, smoothing the cotton. “You’re going to kill this.”

“Pretty sure I’m going to kill Andy,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “How many more times do we have to do this?”

“You know, I’m not sure...”—nine—“but we’ll get through them, I promise.” Batting my eyelashes, I toe up and press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I also love this shirt.” He tugs at the high-cut collar while his appreciative gaze drops to the low V.

“Yeah?” My fingers trail along the side of my breast coyly. “I wonder what Mr. Cole’s fiancé would think of you ogling your assistant’s chest like this.”

“She’d probably be jealous as fuck of this ring.” He tugs on the chain nestled between my cleavage until the diamond he put on my finger a few weeks ago pops free. I hated to take it off, but the longer we can keep our relationship a secret during this tour, the longer I keep this little part of my man all to myself. I could have chosen to keep Crash all to myself, but it was too damn good not to share with the world. They can have my two days with him—and I’ll take forever, instead.

“We should get going, Mr. Cole. Your harem awaits.”

He grumbles, but lets me steal one more kiss and lead him to the door.

“Oh, and one more thing...” I spin back to him before taking one purposeful step away. “These ladies are going to flirt with you. Some of them more than others.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they may get kind of...dirty.”

“Such as?”

“Some may slip you gifts.”

His chin drops to a glower. “Crash...”

“I thought I’d beat them to punch,” I tease, twisting my hips from side to side before I lift my skirt and shimmy out of the thong he handpicked for me this morning.

Eyebrow cocked, he watches in silence as I step out of the lace and twirl it around my finger.

“I wore these when I read your book, Mr. Cole. So hot.”

He smirks at my mockery and waits patiently while I tuck our little secret into his pocket.

“Just a little something for you to remember me by,” I husk, and he groans when I cop a feel for added measure.

“Do you always give your underwear to strangers, Crash?”

“Just the ones I’m crazy about.”

THE END

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