DID I HEAR HIM correctly? A million negative thoughts ran through my mind and I couldn’t stop the obnoxiously loud laugh that shot out of my mouth.
“Have you gone crazy?”
He flashed me that irresistible boyish grin. “No, far from it . . . hear me out. Why not let people think that we’re in a relationship?”
I shook my head. “Right, and confirm that I’ve ‘already moved on’? The UK tabloids will crucify me. I’ll be the most hated woman in all of England.”
“No, we share our stories—the real stories. We let Haven work her PR magic and then we tell the world the truth. Heather cheated on me and that’s why we divorced. Harry stomped on your heart. You can choose to say as much or as little as you want.”
“I don’t know, Grady,” I said, twisting the ring on my finger. “This could go either way.”
“It’s a risk, but we’re the good guys here.” He crossed the room, and dropped beside me on the couch. “And in Hollywood, the good guys are supposed to win and get the happily ever after.”
“I’ve never pulled a publicity stunt before. Something about the concept has always felt . . . dirty to me.”
I never thought I’d be the kind of celebrity that would use the paparazzi for staged publicity. Even when my mother passed away, I wouldn’t let Haven leak the story. My mother died just before the Nadia’s Dream fashion show was scheduled to air on television. The special had already been taped, but Haven suggested that I allow the press to ask me about it during the red carpet. Haven was coming from a good place, she thought it might be an opportunity to start a dialogue about Alzheimer’s, but I had no interest in becoming a spokesperson for the disease.
Grady finished his glass. “Yeah, I get that.” He fell back against the pillows, and blew out a sharp breath. “Now I feel terrible for suggesting the idea. I’m sorry. I need another drink.”
His fingers laced in between mine as he grasped the bottle. My eyes landed on his—Grady’s brow game was strong. Those gorgeous blue eyes looking deep into mine, pulling me right in.
“No, don’t feel bad. Seriously. It’s my own issue. At some point, I should play the Hollywood game.”
Grady raked his hands through his dark hair and crossed them behind his head. My gaze darted to his arms and away from his mouth, giving me a moment to admire the honeyed bronze color of his skin. His forearms were beautifully toned and muscular. Playing polo does a body good.
I wondered what Grady James looked like on horseback, controlling a thoroughbred with one hand gripped on the reigns and the other wrapped around a mallet. Delicious was the only word I could come up with in my head. Tingles curled around my core, imagining the feel of his hands on every inch of my body—stroking, gripping and pleasuring me in ways I could only dream hands could.
“I can’t date someone prettier than me.” The words tumbled from my mouth, and I hiccupped. “People would never believe that you’d actually choose to date me.”
Regret hit me immediately, as I twirled the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. I wanted to grab the words that hung in the space between us and shove them back down my throat. Grady turned his head to look at me.
He cocked a brow. “What? Are you kidding me—you are gorgeous.”
The blush crept up my neck, heating my cheeks. His body was so close to mine that I could feel the warmth rolling off his skin. This man was making it difficult to keep my salacious thoughts at bay.
“Remember how I told you that I never lie?” he asked, tucking his fingers under my chin. Grady was touching me, those same electric feelings elicited once more.
“Yes.”
“You are gorgeous. That is not a lie or a line.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re easy on the eyes too.”
Leaning up from the back of the couch, he twisted his body towards me. Breathing in his scent was intoxicating. My eyes dropped to his lips. I wanted to reach out and brush the tips of my fingers to his skin. I studied his five o’clock shadow and allowed my mind to explore the possibility of what it would feel like scratching against my thighs, my stomach, and my neck—everywhere.
The buzzing of Grady’s phone pulled my mind out of the proverbial gutter.
“It’s Haven. I should take this call.”
“I hope it’s not a Heather related matter.”
He stepped outside and I watched him as he leaned against the railing. I took another sip of wine, and contemplated his offer. Movie studios used to arrange relationships all the time for the sake of selling their pictures. During the Golden Age, Hollywood produced dreamy images of adventure, glamour, and most of all, romance. If an actor or an actress was rumored to be gay, the Hollywood fixers would leak rumors to the press of a budding romance.
I picked up my phone and swiped the screen, scrolling through the stories again. Whatever possessed me to read the comments was beyond me, my agent warned me time and time again to never Google myself.
“Luckily no Heather drama, there’s a charity event that I’ve been invited to attend,” Grady said, stepping in from the patio. “There’s an organization in South Carolina that rescues and finds homes for retired polo horses.”
“Oh wow, that’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, I’ve donated my time to a few organizations like this one,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess I should be going and get my things in order for the trip.”
“Okay, I’ll walk you out.” I stood up from the couch. “Where in South Carolina is the event?”
“Palmetto Bluff. Have you ever been?” he asked, holding the door open for me.
“The low country, not to Palmetto Bluff, but I have been to Hilton Head.”
He laughed. “Who hasn’t been there?”
“I know, right?”
We stopped just short of his Range Rover. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me to this event?” He avoided eye contact when the words rolled off his tongue. It was cute the way he shuffled his feet against the gravel. Shyness wasn’t a word I’d use to describe Grady.
It was a bit frightening how much I wanted him to invite me to join him on the trip. I found it even more frightening when I said yes.