CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JORDAN
Our kiss had lasted twelve minutes.
It had taken place more than six hours ago.
And my hands were still shaking.
It had taken every ounce of willpower I had not to give his snotty little PA the finger and lock the door to the trailer. It was a bit terrifying how much his kiss affected me, and not in a healthy way.
Not at all.
His kiss made me want to smother him.
In an I love this so much I may end up killing the person who brings me pleasure kind of way.
Terrifying, to say the least.
I was the mama who accidentally sat on her young and smothered them. Yup, that’s me. His kiss made me that desperate, which just proved the point that when this was all over with, I needed to find a nice young man and go on a date.
Reid was supposed to meet me at the restaurant bar. But before that, I needed to give Ren all the details of my publicity plan.
After a two-hour meeting where, after the fact, I had to change out of my shirt because I was sweating so much, Ren decided that I was brilliant.
My strategy was simple—plaster Reid and our relationship everywhere. Make people believe he was a dedicated actor who was truly trying to seduce the socks off me while making me approachable for other men, and well, what could go wrong? Nothing. Again, I controlled the narrative, not the other way around. Besides, it could have been a nightmare, because who knew what kind of crazy broad Reid could have ended up with? And even though I’d dug my heels into the ground and nearly strangled him to death when he said my name, the ball was going to always be in my court, so I had nothing to worry about.
I even had a staged breakup planned after a few weeks that I’d be able to spin in Reid’s favor. Reid gave me confidence, he made my heart soar, it’s just meant to soar in another direction. Blah, blah, blah.
Brilliant.
“Damn,” a voice whispered in my ear, lips grazing the edges, making my body shiver with excitement. “You look killer in black. And don’t even get me started on those heels. Your legs would look so good . . .” He stopped talking and flipped me around to face him. “Sorry, finishing that sentence would have been borderline inappropriate due to our publicist-client relationship.” Reid winked.
While I nearly choked on my spit and begged him to finish what he was going to say.
I didn’t realize my mouth was open until he nudged it closed with his thumb and winked.
“Er.” Oh, good, lots of brilliance coming from my end. “How was work?”
Shoot me now.
Reid gave me a curious stare, then waved the bartender over. “Well, you’ll be happy to know the kiss was awesome, thanks to your tutelage.”
“Mama’s so proud,” I teased.
“Yeah, poorer words have never been chosen.” Reid nodded. “Seriously, you kissed me, you didn’t make my lunch, Jordan.”
I winced. Did I really just compare myself to his mother? After visually assaulting his body with my eyes?
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Rum and Coke for this one.” He pointed to me. “Make it a double, and I’ll have a gin and tonic with two limes.”
I purposefully ignored the fact that he remembered my drink and crossed my arms. “Two limes. Go wild. That’s what I always say.”
“I almost said three but didn’t want to freak you out.” Reid casually leaned against the bar and gazed out at the patrons. “This place is pretentious and filled with trust fund babies, you know this, right?”
“All part of the plan.” I eyed all the twentysomethings and their inability to put down their phones. “Trust.”
Our drinks arrived.
“Shall we?” Reid held out his arm. “I mean, I take it we are eating, right?”
“Dinner and a show.” I nodded. “It’s what we promised.”
“We?”
“Me.”
“To?”
“Does it matter?” I fired back, enjoying our little exchange. “That is the mission, if you choose to accept it.”
“Somebody’s been watching too much Mission: Impossible, but I’ll bite.” He turned his aqua eyes in my direction.
I stopped walking and took a slow sip of my drink. Top-shelf. Did I mention he remembered my order? Yes?
“Just do what you normally do during a date. The mission is to get you trending on Twitter. The only way to do that? Be THAT date.”
“That?”
“Yup.”
“I don’t understand whatever language you’re speaking. You’re cute as hell when you get that I want to take over the world look on your face. But I’m completely lost.”
“Grand gestures,” I explained. “Doing something out of the ordinary. Making girls swoon and guys want to punch you in the throat.”
“Guys always want to punch me in the throat.” Reid shrugged.
“Have I mentioned how much I love your humility?”
“Fine.” Reid ignored me and looked around the restaurant as we made our way to the hostess stand. “Big gestures, like roses?”
I frowned. “Reid, roses? Roses are for pubescent preteens who have acne and headgear! I’m talking flash mob, breaking out into song, getting down on one knee, reciting a freaking poem!”
The more I talked, the more Reid paled.
“You have done things that like before, right? To get the girl?”
Reid tugged at his collar while my hand clenched tighter around my glass. “Reid?”
“Hmm?” he croaked, then downed the rest of his drink as his shifty eyes glanced at the door. If he made a run for it, I was going to throw my shoe at his head; that would at least get something going on social media.
“Reid.”
He motioned me to step closer. I did.
He motioned more.
Rolling my eyes, I leaned up on my tiptoes while he whispered in my ear. “I’m slightly . . . shy.”
“What?” I roared, jerking back so fast I nearly became one with the potted tree behind me.
“Shh,” Reid snapped as he tried to stabilize my drunken movements. “Keep your voice down!”
“How are you shy?” I smacked him in the arm. “You’re Reid Emory!”
“Shout my name a little louder. I don’t think the grandpa sitting outside on the park bench heard you!”
People were already starting to stare, not enough to take pictures and give us a few choice hashtags like #pottedplantsforthewin, but enough that if Reid didn’t do something awesome within the next few minutes I was going to resort to flashing someone.
I took the two straws from my drink in between my teeth and chomped. “Reid, you’re an actor. Being in the public eye is part of the job.”
“I get that,” Reid hissed. “I just don’t do public displays of affection . . .”
“Well.” I slammed my hand against his chest. “You’re going to have to learn, and fast. I promised media fireworks, so find your groove, Stella.”
“What exactly did you promise them?” His eyes narrowed into tiny accusing slits while I greedily searched for a napkin to pat down my suddenly clammy hands.
“Romance.” I shrugged a shoulder and twisted the straws with my fingers. “Fairy tale romance.”
“Shit.”
“Ah, there’s a good start. Real great, Reid. Shit does not scream love!”
“Reservation?” the hostess asked. She was wearing all black, her hair was pulled back into a tight low ponytail, and I could have sworn she actually hissed the word reservation before taking in both my and Reid’s outfits.
“Litwright,” I said through clenched teeth while she continued to check Reid out longer than necessary. Animal possessiveness washed over me before I managed to gain control of my emotions and put one foot in front of the other instead of cheerfully up her ass.
“Right this way.”
“Creepy smile alert,” Reid said under his breath. “Good job wearing your emotions on your sleeve, Joker. I can almost feel your need to bitch slap the poor thing.”
I waved him off, dropping the smile and returning to business mode.
Reid put his hand on my lower back as we walked toward the middle of the restaurant, a prime location for him to do something epic. Though his epic and my epic were two very different things. For the love of cheese. Roses?
Reid held out my chair while the hostess placed a napkin on my lap.
“Chew that straw any harder and you’re going to get plastic on your teeth,” Reid joked, taking his seat.
“Your dining companion will be with you shortly,” the hostess said in a seductive voice, aimed directly at Reid.
“Companion?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
“Sorry.” Sorry, my ass, she sounded anything but sorry. “What lower-end restaurants call a waiter.”
“Oh.” Reid pressed his lips together while I tried not to bark out a laugh. “How . . . lucky for us.”
She nodded and walked off.
Reid shook his head over the menu. “We get a companion tonight. Wonder if they charge extra for a happy ending? Dessert?”
“No,” a cultured British accent announced. “We do, however, charge for food, so if you can’t afford to eat here, I suggest you take your drinks to the bar and enjoy some peanuts.”
“Allergic,” Reid coughed into his hand, hiding his laugh. He eyed the short man up and down before turning his attention to me. “Is rudeness part of the experience?”
The man huffed.
I nodded. “I think the accents are extra as well.”
Our waiter—or companion—started turning red.
Reid grinned. “A bottle of your house wine. Wouldn’t want to go broke in such a fancy place, shucks.” So apparently Reid was now from Texas. “I just wish Grandpop could see all the fancy folk. It’s a treat, a real treat!”
I had to look at my menu to keep from bursting out laughing.
“If that will be all for now?” Our companion snorted. I glanced at his name tag.
“Fred.” I nodded. “Thanks, Fred, we’ll also start with the calamari.”
“Gah!” Reid hit his hand on his jeans. “Don’t suppose you got some crawfish to wet my whistle too?”
“Crawfish,” Fred repeated. “Yes, I’ll go check with the cook. Perhaps he fetched some out of the gutter.”
“You’re a real gem.” Reid winked. Then, honest to God, he slapped the waiter’s ass as he walked off.
I reached for my drink. Empty.
“I think it’s an Emory thing.” I shook my head. “Needing alcohol to numb the experience.”
“Aw, you really wanna numb this, sugar?” Reid winked and tilted back the rest of his drink, then slammed it onto the table. “Didn’t you want a scene?”
“Romantic scene!” I threw my hands into the air. “Not a cameo on Nashville!”
Reid’s eyes lit up.
“I was kidding.”
Reid stood.
“Reid, sit down.”
Reid didn’t sit.
“You said you were shy!” I hissed.
“But I’m acting . . .” Reid grinned. “And right now . . .” He leaned over the table, pressing his hands on either side of me and kissed the top of my head. “I’m auditioning for the role of a lifetime, right? So, big gestures.” He stood straight. “Watch. Me.”
Panic turned into full-blown fear as Reid made his way around the table, pulled out one of the chairs, and then tugged me to my feet only to pull me into his lap.
My knee hit the table, knocking over a wineglass. Thank the wine gods it was empty.
Not that it mattered.
People were already staring.
This was NOT going the way it was supposed to.
Romance by way of a crawfish-eating southerner would not charm the pants off the ladies, though it might earn some points with the dudes.
“Darlin’,” Reid said loudly, “you want romance.” His lips tickled the edge of my neck as he reached around my body for my shoes.
In that moment, when his hand touched the bare skin of my arch, I realized something.
I’d completely underestimated Reid Emory.
In every way that mattered.
He held my heel by the tip of his finger, then started to sing, “Take off those heels, lie on my bed, whisper dirty secrets while I’m pulling on your hair.”
Talking around us all but stopped. He was singing Chase Rice’s cover of “Ride” . . . and he was owning it. And I officially stopped breathing altogether as he dropped the shoe to the ground, removed the next one, and then ran his hands up my legs, his forehead touching mine as he continued singing.
“I’m gonna ride, I’m gonna ride, I’m gonna ride, I’m gonna ride . . . on you, baby, on you, lady, all night, all night. I’m gonna take care of your body . . . I’ll be gentle, don’t you scream . . .”
His voice was rough, masculine, and so sexy that I wanted to hold on to the way it sounded and keep it all to myself. My chest rose and fell like I was about ready to pass out—but it was him, all him. Reid was doing that to me, making me feel weak in my knees even though I wasn’t even standing.
“Yeah, girl, we can go slow.” His lips teased mine between words. He smiled and taunted me with his mouth and then kept singing.
It couldn’t get better—or any hotter.
And then he started moving very slowly beneath me. In. The. Chair.
I nearly hyperventilated as he mimicked parts of the song as he massaged my arms, his hands pulling down each strap of my dress to kiss my bare skin. I arched under his touch, because really, I’d have to be dead not to respond in that way.
He kept singing against my skin, his tongue tasting every inch he could until the words vibrated against me.
I shivered.
The restaurant was dead silent.
“Oh, oh, oh.” He finished the song and then whispered against my lips, “How’s that for a grand gesture?”
Cross-eyed and weary, as if I’d just been made love to, I managed a wobbly, “That works.”
I looked up.
Cell phones everywhere.
Mine started buzzing on the table.
And then the crowd erupted with applause.
Our companion returned, his face flushed. I’m sure he was about to say we were in a restaurant, not a brothel, when our hostess returned and held out a napkin.
“I knew I recognized you! You’re Reid Emory!”
“I am.” His grin was tantalizing, addicting. Where the hell was that wine? I was going to have to guzzle the entire bottle to forget what just took place. My body buzzed while he signed a few autographs.
Our waiter was substantially nicer for the next hour.
By the rate my phone was buzzing I knew Reid had been a hit. His Google alert was going to kill my phone battery.
My hands shook as I scrolled through the notifications. Feminine laughter caused me to glance up.
Two women were hovering over Reid. Both of them had tight dresses on, boobs on display, with perfect complexions. Nobody would ever accuse them of being invisible. I tried not to let the fact that Reid chose to make a scene with me not because he wanted to but because he had no other choice bother me.
One of the girls ran her hand through her long brown hair while she thrust her chest out.
Reid stared.
Then again, he was a guy, not a monk—not in any sense of the word, considering the way the guy kissed.
I cleared my throat.
Both girls shot me a glare at the same time.
I raised my eyebrows. Hey, I was playing the shrew. I didn’t need to play nice. I just wanted them to leave so Reid and I could finish dinner and go home. I needed sleep, with the crazy week we had ahead of us.
“Ah, I should probably finish eating. Thanks for stopping by.” Reid casually dismissed the women, then turned his attention to me. “Did you growl?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes and reached for my empty wineglass. “I’m just tired, and they were lingering.”
“Damn, I hate lingerers,” he joked.
“They’re the worst,” I agreed with a wink. “Refuse to read social cues.”
“And always in your personal space.” He shook his head. “Thank God I have you, Jordan. What would I do without you in my life?”
My eyes narrowed. “Laying it on thick.”
“Dessert.” He tapped his hands against the table and motioned for our companion. Fred scurried over to our table like he was in a race and losing.
“Yes? Sir? Ma’am?”
“Wow, I’m a ma’am now,” I said under my breath.
“Chocolate.” Reid nodded. “We need something with chocolate and a dessert wine to go with. Think you can handle that, Fred?”
“Yes, sir, right away sir.”
I watched Fred retreat. “Did he bow?”
“Fred has a bald spot on the top of his head, who knew?” Reid poured some wine into my glass. “Now, what’s the plan for this week? I only have a few more scenes in the city, then I have a week break before filming ends.”
I chewed my lower lip. “Tomorrow we’re going to do an impromptu video blog in which we’ll give out relationship advice.”
Reid coughed out an uncomfortable laugh. “You mean like bring roses on a date? That type of advice?”
“For the love!” I threw up my hands. “What is it with you and roses? Is that all your father taught you?”
“Hey!” Reid pointed an accusing finger in my direction. “I’ll have you know my parents have been married for over thirty years!”
“Then I’m guessing roses are your mother’s favorite?”
He frowned. “Yeah, but—”
“Reid.” I checked my phone and turned the screen to him. “You have exactly sixteen hours to find your inner Romeo.”
He nodded, then crooked his finger. I leaned in. “So I can’t use the roses thing? Like at all?”
Did I really have to do everything? “Roses are dead to you,” I hissed. “Shit would be better than roses. You are above roses, and I swear if you say roses one more time I’m going to run you over with a golf cart.”
“You have a golf cart?”
“I was being sarcastic.” I folded my hands on the table to regain control of the situation. “Just Google your ass off, and you’ll be fine. But you have to be convincing—we need this to go viral. You giving normal guys advice on how to pick up a girl and . . . put your hand down, Reid, I’m not finished.” He put his hand down. “Proper advice does not include bringing roses, nor does it include flashing them with their eyes, because let’s be honest, that only works with you. If some dude with a lazy eye stares too hard at his crush, she’s going to call the cops and he’s going to end up in prison and you may be sued.” I took another deep breath. “Now . . . tell me one morsel of wisdom you can give to the average Joe. Make me believe it.”
Our dessert arrived at that moment.
The wine was poured.
And if Reid squinted any harder he was going to give himself an aneurysm.
“One thing, Reid. I’m not asking you to perform brain surgery on Fred or anything.”
I attacked the chocolate soufflé with my spoon while Reid thought.
“Okay.” He licked his lips. “To the average Joe, I’d say . . .” He folded his hands. “Bring a gift.”
“Bringing a gift means you’ve already solidified the date.” I shook my head. “Next.”
“Say she’s pretty.”
I rolled my eyes. “This tablecloth is pretty. You gonna date the tablecloth, Reid?”
“No?”
“Is that a question?” I snapped.
“Okay, fine.” He smacked my spoon with his, then dug into the chocolate. I tried not to appear as angry as I felt that he had freaking pushed my spoon away from sugar. My death grip on the spoon tightened. “Just be straight up. Will you go out with me?”
I dropped the spoon.
“That good?” He grinned.
“The last time I heard that line I was in eighth grade. Mind you, it wasn’t directed at me, but it still counts. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . . you either need to Google or go talk to Max.”
“The hell I will!”
“He was a bachelor on Love Island. If anyone knows how to hit on a girl without getting castrated, it’s him.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You will.”
“I won’t!” He jerked the dessert away from the table just as I reached for it, causing my spoon to fly back at my face and chocolate to land on my dress and my cheek.
I glared.
“See . . .” He smiled and reached across the table, dipping his finger in the soufflé. “Getting stuff on your clothes is totally your thing.”
Just as he was bringing his finger back, I latched on to it and then sucked the chocolate off, twirling my tongue around it, sucking in and out. Reid let out a hoarse moan and gripped the table with his free hand. “You’ll talk to Max.”
I licked again. Just to be sure the chocolate was gone.
“I’ll talk to Max,” he said, breathless. “Well played.”
I dabbed the corners of my mouth. “Why, thank you.”