Carlos barely noticed the lavish hotel suite he entered because his face was attached to Dakota’s. Every time they broke for air, one of them dove for the other, like it was a compulsion to keep kissing. Even the paparazzi had taken a back seat, because his desire for Dakota had drowned out his dislike of being a spectacle.
He’d taken other women home before. It was a bartender perk to get hit on by tipsy women. Sometimes he’d accept the offer, usually not. He’d never danced before with any of them, but with Dakota, he’d been crossing the dance floor and helpless not to hold her and move with her.
He didn’t know what her deal was—and something was up. Like maybe she was using him to make a scene for the cameras. But he also sensed she was as into the kissing as he was. He would’ve been out of there otherwise.
“Let’s lose the clothes,” Dakota said in her husky singer’s voice.
It took her a moment to yank her dress over her head. She was braless and only a tiny scrap of material covered her promised land. Her skin was smooth and creamy pale with pink nipples the same shade as her lips. She’d started the night in vibrant lipstick, but he’d kissed it off.
Carlos took a little longer on his shirt. “Hey,” he protested when she came over and yanked it apart, sending buttons flying. Shirts might not mean much to her, but money for him was tight, and he couldn’t afford a new one.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” she promised as she planted little kisses on the skin of his pecs. Like he’d ever let her replace the shirt unless it was a Christmas gift or something. Not that he’d see her for Christmas or any night after tonight. The thought that this was a one-night stand disconcerted him for a second, but then he got distracted by her mouth.
He bit back a curse as her teeth closed gently around his nipple. His hands worked quickly on the button and zipper of his jeans, but once they were open, releasing some of the pressure on his engorged cock, he stopped working on his own clothes and reached for Dakota.
His palms found the smooth globes of her ass cheeks and he cupped them, drawing her closer.
“Carlos,” she said on a moan, when his lips closed around the tendon connecting her neck to her shoulder. Then he moaned when her fingers fumbled with his waistband as she tugged his pants lower. She grazed the hard line of his dick, and he knew then, this would be a night to remember.
If one stray touch had him about to burst, he would be a dead man walking before he got her onto the bed and inside her. Speaking of beds… With an easy move, he scooped up Dakota—Jesus, she weighed nothing. What were women in Hollywood eating? Air?—and started striding toward the bed. He released her onto her back where she bounced on the mattress, and then he lost his pants and boxer briefs and was on her, exploring every glorious inch of skin with his lips and tongue.
His balls ached with the need to spill his seed, and he both wanted and didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want this to end before it began, and he was intensely aroused. She’d been engaged to a movie star, for fuck’s sake. He’d never had performance anxiety before, but he wanted to make this good for her. It was already mind-blowingly spectacular for him. And they hadn’t done much more than kiss.
Dakota wriggled out from under him and climbed to a kneeling position. Her full breasts jutted out, inviting him to touch and lick. Her thumbs hooked underneath the miniscule elastic band of her thong and she tugged it down.
Brazilian and the sweetest, pinkest, wettest pussy he’d ever had the pleasure seeing was on display.
“Shit, you’re gorgeous,” he said hoarsely.
She laughed. “I could say the same.” Her gaze was on his cock, which pointed directly to the juncture between her legs. He had a split second mind-fuck moment in which he wondered how he, Carlos Acosta, was in bed with America’s queen bee, but then he looked closer, and saw she was a woman. A real one, with all the needs and desires of the other women he’d had the pleasure to bed.
“C’mere,” he said roughly, and didn’t wait for her to approach. Instead, he walked on his knees a foot closer and pushed her down against the mattress. He balanced on his forearms above her and stared down at her famous face.
Something vulnerable passed over her expression and she bit her lip.
“Dakota,” he whispered and lowered down to kiss her, covering every inch of her body with his own.
“Call me Hannah,” she whispered back.
He had a split second to be stunned at her revelation, but then her arms tugged him down tighter, and her heels dug into his butt. His cock rubbed the bare skin of her pussy, then slipped lower to get covered in her juices.
“Condoms are on the nightstand,” she said.
He reached to grab one, suddenly feeling a little used that she had a supply of protection at the ready. It wasn’t a fair sentiment, he knew. They were both using each other to get off tonight, but it would’ve been nice to feel special, and not like a random man who’d won the Dakota Starr dance-off tonight for the grand prize of getting to fuck her in her hotel room.
“I always carry condoms,” Hannah said. She gave a husky laugh. “I never expected to use them.” And he was back in the game.
“I’m glad they’re here,” he said as he ripped a package open and sheathed himself. “Safety is important.”
“Mm hmm,” she said, her focus obviously on him. She ran her fist over his hard dick, making him groan. Even through the condom, her hand was soft and warm. As soft and warm as he knew her pussy would be. He couldn’t wait to get inside. “You’re so hard,” she said.
“Gracias,” he said. “Though you should thank yourself. It’s all for you. Haven’t been this turned on in a while.”
“Oh?” she asked, but something in her eyes dimmed. She pulled him back over her and grasped his dick, lining him up with her wet passage. He slid in as though his body had been made to fit hers. Key meet lock.
“Oh.” She let out a small gasp.
He froze. “You okay?”
“Great.”
He pulled out, though it killed him. “Bullshit. You were wet, but not ready.” Without waiting for her response, he scooted back and buried his face between her legs. With his tongue, he licked her juices. She softened under him, her legs falling open.
“Oh, God, Carlos.”
He fucking loved hearing his name on her lips. Like he mattered to her.
Her fingers threaded through his hair. “It’s been so long.”
He paused to gaze up at her. She’d been engaged. What the fuck had her fiancé been doing if not licking up his woman every chance he got? If Dakota/Hannah were his woman, he’d be eating her out every freaking day. She was that good and responsive. He soaked up every moan, gasp, and squeal when he added his finger to the mix.
“I’m ready,” she said, trying to tug him up by his hair, but he resisted.
“Come first,” he said.
“With you in me.”
“No. Now.” He flattened his tongue against her clit, as he feathered two fingers deep inside, and took away the choice. Ripples of her pleasure squeezed his fingers tight, and her hips nearly threw him off as she writhed through her orgasm.
“Oh God, Loooos,” she screamed his name with delight, and he figured he was destined for sainthood, because his dick was getting painful with need. But her pleasure came first. Always.
“Get up here,” she said, and this time, he allowed her to manhandle him and got into position above her. This time when he slid in, she sighed with her eyes closed and welcomed him into heaven.
His thrusts started slowly. “You’re amazing,” he whispered.
“Back atcha,” she said, and did something with her hips that had him take the pace from slow easy thrusts to hard, fast pounds. He pulled all the way out, then slammed back in. She dug her fingers in his ass, and he knew he’d enjoy feeling the crescent moon scars on his skin tomorrow. She held him tightly to her, stopping him from leaving her body, and he ground against her, pushing his lower belly against the sensitive parts of her body.
Hold on, Los. Make it last. But she was too sexy, too responsive to do anything other than ride the wave. Though with Dakota, it was a hell of a lot more than a wave. It was a tsunami carrying away everything in its path, including both of them. His come shot out, and he shouted, muffling the sound of her delighted moan.
She fell quiet after she came a second time, and lay silent and compliant against the bed. Carlos knew he had to get rid of the condom, but he didn’t want to leave. His five-year old cousin would think it was a Cinderella-like moment, and if he moved, it would end with no glass slipper left behind or happy ending. Making love to celebrity Dakota Starr would be a memory he’d hold close to the chest.
He shifted off her, lying on his side staring at her, with his head resting on his propped arm. Their gazes connected, and they lay side by side watching each other. For someone who made a living off emoting emotions, Dakota-Hannah was holding her cards close. Carlos couldn’t guess what she was thinking.
Her fingertips trailed across his chest. “Stay the night,” she whispered.
“It’s already day.” He grinned, and she returned the smile.
“The day then.”
“All right.” He leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose gently, then stood. “Gonna go deal with this.” He strode naked to the bathroom to take care of the condom, and raced back to the bed before she could change her mind and kick him out.
Hannah stared at the sleeping man in her bed. She should be exhausted, having not slept in a bed the previous night, instead taking a red-eye from LAX to MIA, but sleep wasn’t coming. Her body was alive, and it was thanks to Carlos, the devastatingly sexy bartender who’d made her orgasm harder than, well…ever.
Giving up on sleep, she climbed out of bed to grab her black-and-white composition book and curl up on the couch with a view of the rising sun over the Atlantic. If this were California, she’d see early morning surfers, but as this was Miami, there were no waves big enough to hang ten. Instead, early risers walked the long stretch of sand, and one industrious person swam laps in the pool directly below her window. The water had sparkled turquoise when she’d checked in yesterday, but this morning it was a steel blue.
She chewed the pen cap as words flowed off her pen and onto the page. She’d been writing lyrics in a composition book since seventh grade, when her notebook was supposed to have been for observations about a science experiment. Instead, poetical longings about a ninth-grade boy named Jack had filled the margins. To this day, her best work was scrawled in the margins of a notebook. Not that any of her songs had been released to the public. Listening to the advice of her agent, all the songs on her last album had been “professionally” written by a “professional” songwriter. As if she wasn’t a professional?
Words came easily this morning, telling the universal tale of a love lost and aching for an unattainable man. If anyone read them, they’d assume she was writing about Tyler Taylor.
Those dark eyes light me on fire.
Baby won’t you dance with me.
If I said I don’t care, then I’d be a liar.
Baby why did you dance with me?
Across the room, her cell phone buzzed and lit up. She sprinted to grab it before it woke up Carlos. It was Mindi, and she was texting a million links to images of her and Carlos dancing last night. What time was it in LA? Did the woman ever sleep?
“This guy is bank,” Mindi texted. “Your fans are crushing hard.”
“Me too,” Hannah muttered. She texted back, “Any traction on Aces deal?” Aces was a movie for which she was up for a strong supporting actress role. It’d be her first movie playing someone else and not coming in as Dakota Starr pop star.
“Not yet, but fingers crossed.” Emoji. Emoji. Emoji. Mindi was ten years older than Hannah, but had a propensity for texting like a tweenager. “Keep in the spotlight. Producer wants a big star. Rumor Emma Stone in the running.”
Oh, screw that. Not America’s other sweetheart. Emma had her pick of movie roles. Aces was hers. If the producer wanted a big name, Dakota would become the biggest. She’d prove to her doubting parents and the classmates who’d mocked her ambition that Hannah Hogarth was someone.
At that moment, Carlos shifted in the bed, stretching one muscular arm over his head, hand tucked under the pillow. She noticed a tattoo on the underside of his biceps she hadn’t noticed last night. She held her breath, wondering if he was about to awaken, but he gave an adorable little snore, then settled in for more sleep.
She tossed her phone aside, grabbed up her pen and notebook again, but was distracted by the delicious man in her bed. Abandoning her work, she tiptoed back to the bed and climbed in, lying next to Carlos. She perched on her belly watching him sleep.
His dark skin looked kissable, so she gave in to the urge and ran her tongue down his pectoral to his nipple.
He shifted but didn’t wake.
She was about to do some more tasting, but an insistent buzzing from behind distracted her. It was coming from the pocket of Carlos’s jeans, left on the floor in their urgency last night. She leapt to grab it and silence it before it could awaken her sleeping bartender. The screen lit up with two notifications. One that tuition was due, and the other read that “Mami” was calling. She bit her lip and glanced from the screen to Carlos. He seemed like the kind of guy to want to know his mother was calling. Given that it was six in the morning, it had to be urgent.
God knew, her parents never called this early in the morning. Or at all.
“Carlos,” she whispered. No movement.
“Carlos.” She tried again, but louder.
He opened an eye and rolled to his side, facing her. “Morning,” he mumbled. Then blinked in the direction of the half-closed curtains. “Is it morning?”
“Kind of.” She held up the phone with the screen in his direction. “Your mother is calling.” She didn’t mention that she’d also seen the notification reminder that had popped up saying that his tuition was due. Carlos was a student? Nope. Not her business.
He reached for the phone, took it from her hands and silenced it. She watched, surprised when he tossed it back with unerring accuracy to land on the pile of denim that was his pants. So much for him being a good dutiful son.
“You’re not going to speak with her?”
He shook his head.
“Family’s important.” She should know, having lost a good relationship the day she chose pop music and Hollywood over singing for the church.
“Agreed, but I know why she’s calling. Too early in the morning to have that discussion, and I can’t give her the answer she wants.”
She was dying to know what discussion was too early to have, but they didn’t hold that place in each other’s lives. She didn’t have rights to personal questions. Holy cow, was she sad at that thought? Did she want intimate rights to a guy’s personal life when they’d met ten hours ago? He was her one-night stand, the man she’d used to get the paparazzi to take photos of her giving the metaphorical middle finger to Tyler Taylor.
With a stretch, Carlos rose off the bed and reached for his clothes. “Time for me to go.”
It was a statement, but there’d been a definite question mark at the end. She wasn’t imagining it and hearing things she wanted to hear. “Or you could stay,” she said, and realized she was holding her breath waiting for his answer. “We could order room service breakfast.”
He froze in the act of pulling his shirt on. When his face was visible again, he said, “I wouldn’t say no to some waffles.”
“Ugh, carbs. Gluten.” But she smiled big as she said it. “Go use the bathroom if you need. I’ll call in the order, then do morning yoga. Waffles?”
“And coffee.”
“Duh.”
It didn’t take the usual forty minutes for their food to arrive. She was a celebrity, and the kitchen had been emailed with her preferences ahead of time. They weren’t going to keep her waiting. Photos of her coming and going from the hotel were free advertising for them. If making sure her breakfast got to her lickety-quick, well, that wasn’t a problem.
She was in warrior pose, hyper aware of Carlos’s hungry gaze on her, when room service knocked.
“I’ll get it.” Carlos jumped from the bed where he’d been lounging in his jeans and unbuttoned shirt, barefoot.
The waiter who entered was too discreet to blink at the presence of a man in her room, and he rolled in the table with silver domed plates. “Over here, Ms. Starr?”
She moved to the next yoga pose, as juice was poured, and the breakfast set to perfection. When the waiter moved to leave, she remembered she should probably tip him. Growing up the way she had, things like tipping didn’t come naturally. But Carlos already had cash out and was easily putting it into the waiter’s hand before she could move to find her wallet.
“I’ll pay you back,” she said after the door shut behind the waiter.
He scowled. “You’re treating for breakfast. Tip’s on me.”
“Deal.” Men had their little quirks and hang-ups about money. She was surprised he’d let her pay for breakfast.
“Ready to eat?” he asked. “Or do you have more poses?”
“I’m good.” They sat across from each other at the breakfast table and both reached for the coffee pot. “You first.” She laughed.
He smiled silently and picked up the pot to neatly fill her mug, as if he were a professional at pouring drinks. She smiled to herself at the little joke.
“Thanks,” she murmured around her first magical sip. When was the last time a man had poured her coffee? She’d stake her next facial at Burke Williams that any other man in LA would’ve poured for himself, then handed her the pot.
“No cream or sugar?” He put down the pot with a tiny thunk.
She shook her head and tried not to grimace at the taste of her all-black coffee with nothing to dilute the bitterness. She needed the stimulant. She did not need the extra calories.
“What the hell is that?” Carlos asked, gesturing at her steaming breakfast bowl with his fork.
There was a large piece of waffle, dripping with butter and syrup, on the end of his fork. If she leaned forward, the piece could be in her mouth before she had time to…No. Sugar is evil. “It’s chia pudding with acai berries,” she said, scooping up a large spoonful of her own breakfast. “Delicious. Want some?” She held out the uneaten spoonful and tried not to laugh at Carlos’s expression. It was likely close to the face she’d made the first time trying the breakfast concoction that was all the rage in Hollywood. She was used to it by now, and some days she almost liked the taste.
“Want some waffle?” he asked, holding out his fork, not realizing that she was seconds away from snatching his entire plate from him to stick her face in his breakfast, no fork required.
“No, thanks,” she lied and swallowed the slimy lumpy excuse of a breakfast.
He shrugged and put a big mouthful of waffle in his mouth. His full lips moved a little as he chewed, and she shifted a little in her seat, remembering how those lips had felt on her skin.
“How long are you in Miami?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m kind of between things right now.”
“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon today?” he said, looking sympathetic.
She’d nearly forgotten about her fake honeymoon, which had been booked for the Four Seasons Maui. Snaps to Tyler for his lack of creativity. Thank goodness it had been a fake engagement or she might’ve felt the need to go for her daddy’s shotgun. Damn him for taking her replacement to the same hotel where they were supposed to be honeymooning. And thank the stars the media remembered she was supposed to be on her honeymoon and were posting stories and photos with headlines like, “Jilted Dakota Starr isn’t missing former fiancé, Tyler Taylor.”
That was another thing different about this morning. She wasn’t poring over social media looking for mentions. She wanted to be phone free, talking to Carlos. Weird. Granted, she had already gotten texts from her publicist assuring her she was in the news, but she hadn’t checked firsthand for herself. Carlos’s picture was going to be everywhere, and she wondered how he would feel.
“Hannah? Dakota?” he said, when she didn’t answer to the first name.
She looked at him, startled out of her reverie. “Sorry. Mind wandering.”
“Oh. Wasn’t sure if it was because I called you Hannah.” He paused, giving her a penetrating look. “That’s your real name?”
She gave a little nod around a sip of coffee, girding her gut for another bite of chia pudding.
“It’s pretty.”
“It’s country,” she countered. “And only my parents and a few trusted friends know my real name, so please don’t go spilling to the paparazzi.” She ignored his hurt look and forged ahead. “They’re going to find you, you know. Reporters. They’ll ask you questions, want details, distort anything you say. Some will offer a lot of money for details about me in bed.”
He put his fork down and rose to start buttoning his shirt rapidly as he spoke. “I realize we met only hours ago, so there’s no way you could know this, but I’ll tell you anyway. That isn’t me. The guy who went home with a celebrity for a one-night stand only to brag about it in public? Hell no, that ain’t me. You can trust me, Hannah.” He said her real name deliberately, enunciating the two syllables.
She didn’t know what to say. She’d been promised things before and had her trust misplaced. Yet something about Carlos made her believe, made her want to believe. “Come back,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for assuming you’d be like every other asshole looking to profit off me.”
He stepped back to her and crouched at her side. “I’m not an asshole, baby. I’m one of the nice guys.” He pulled a face. “Maybe too nice, cause I could use the money. That phone call before, from my mother?”
She parted her lips to say she didn’t want to know. It wasn’t her business, but instead her tongue surprised her by saying, “Yes?” encouraging him to open up with his own secrets.
“She’s calling for money.”
Hannah knew all about family phone calls asking for money. She’d never known half of her cousins before having money to pay off their mortgages, dental bills and a whole lotta other stuff they’d come asking for. “Have you given her money before?” she asked.
He nodded. She brushed her palm over his tousled hair. “I have family here from Venezuela. It’s a shit situation there now, and they’re applying for asylum, but…” He scowled at his waffles. “Current immigration policies aren’t making things easy. It’s especially hard for us because my parents came here from Nicaragua. They moved here to escape the Sandinistas and made a good life. Sucks to see family go through the same thing without the same happy ending.”
“So you’re helping out with money?” she asked and turned in her chair to face him fully.
He shrugged. “I do what I can. But it’s not like I’m rolling in it.”
God, she knew about financial hard choices. Her parents had had to make them every month, choosing between shoes for one kid versus the heating bill. There’d always been a this or this decision being made in the Hogarth household. Paying off her parents’ mortgage with the royalties from her first hit single had been the best day.
Not that her parents had been grateful. Stubborn folk. The rest of her distant family were happy to ride her coattails. Not Mom and Pop. Parents gave to kids. Not the other way round. She’d had to be sneaky and wily with the bankers to get her parents to accept her help. “Oh. That sucks,” she said. The discussion of parents reminded her that her mom would be seeing the photos of her going back to her hotel with Carlos. She needed to call her pronto.
The wedding had reformed a tenuous bond between mother and daughter. Hannah wasn’t quite forgiven for making the poor choice to sing pop rock instead of country or for singing in public at all instead of staying home in West Virginia and singing at church. But weddings had a funny way of smoothing over past hurts, and she and her mother had bonded over talks of dresses, veils and flowers.
Her mom wasn’t over the wedding being called off, and kept talking about distributing country justice to Tyler Taylor for ditching her Hannah so publicly. Hannah hadn’t had the heart to tell her momma the truth about the engagement. Having her momma doting and worrying about her the last week had been a balm, after years of feeling like a disappointment for running off to Hollywood to seek stardom.
“I’m sorry about your family, Carlos,” she said, climbing down to sit on his lap. “I wish there was something I could do to help.” The words spilled out, and then there was an awkward silence in which they both pondered that she could help, being significantly wealthier than him. But he didn’t know that she knew his tuition was due, and she suspected he had too much pride to ask for money. Please don’t ask for money, Hannah inwardly begged. Be one of the good guys. Please don’t ruin our night together.
Carlos cradled her, his palm sliding somewhere interesting between her thighs. “You’re sweet. But I’d never ask you for money. I told you, I’m one of the good guys.”
“I believe you,” she said, shifting on his lap, feeling his growing erection beneath her. Then she had a brainstorm that made her sit up, nearly smacking her head into his chin. “What if I could help you by offering you a job?”
His big hand warmed the skin over her spine. “What kind of job? I already have two jobs, one of them I actually like.”
“Bartender and what else?”
“Fishing charter boats. I go along as crew and make sure the guests have a good time.”
“You’re a busy guy. When do you have time for school?”
He frowned. “How did you know I go to school?”
“Uh, lucky guess. You seem like an ambitious guy.” Good save, Hogarth.
Luckily her gaffe didn’t bother him. “I’m finishing up my degree in hospitality at FIU. Between that and my two jobs, I don’t often get a full night’s sleep, which is why I crashed hard here.”
“Sorry for waking you up then. I wish I’d let you sleep longer.”
He cuddled her in closer. “It’s okay. I know we only had a night together, so choosing between sleep or more time with you is a no brainer.”
“What if you didn’t have to choose?” she said, her heart starting to race. Her voice training allowed her to keep steady and not allow Carlos to hear how much her idea affected her.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s my idea. What if you spend the week with me, and I’d pay you?”
She was not expecting to get dumped almost violently on the floor, while Carlos loomed over her, scowling. “Did you just offer to pay me for sex?”
She scrambled to a sitting position and looked up at him. “Oh my God, no!” She bit her lip, because she’d definitely anticipated more sex with him, but that wasn’t what she would be paying for. It was the other stuff she was after.
“Then what?” he asked, but his expression remained wary.
“Can we go sit on the sofa?” She rose and walked to the small separate living room attached to the bedroom. Carlos followed and sat as far as possible from her on the edge of the sofa. When they were both settled, she gathered her thoughts. She had to phrase this correctly or he would be gone, nice guy that he was.
“So?” he asked. “What’s the job?”
She hated that he sounded distant and cold, nothing like the warm hot man who’d kissed the arches of her feet last night.
“You know I’m mostly known for my singing, right?”
He nodded.
“Well, I want to break into acting. Being an actress was always my goal, and there’s this part in a movie. I want it bad, Carlos.”
“What do I have to do with movie parts? I’m not a casting director.”
“No.” She half-smiled. “But the producer wants a big name as the female supporting actress. I couldn’t get the lead yet. Even I know it’s too soon…” She shook her head, realizing she’d gone off topic. “If I can keep my name in the spotlight, the producer is more likely to cast me.”
“Again, I’m not famous. How do I factor in?”
She frowned, inwardly debating whether he could be trusted, and her gut told her he could be. “Can I tell you something? It’s a huge secret, and I have to trust that you’d keep it to yourself and never ever tell the press or a friend.”
“Can’t promise that, Dakota. Not if you murdered someone or did something illegal.”
She laughed. “No, definitely nothing illegal.” She bit her lip, thinking of her mother. “Maybe a little unethical.”
“Define unethical.” Carlos folded his arms over his wide chest and reminded her of her father after hearing she’d once again skipped a class.
“My engagement to Tyler was fake,” she said in a rush. “For media attention.”
His arms lowered. “No shit? I’d heard of stuff like that happening, but I didn’t think it’d be true. Seems like a lot of effort for a little coverage.”
“You have no idea,” she said, leaning back against the sofa and propping her heels on the coffee table. “Meetings with florists, dress fittings, fake dates with Tyler, pretending to be in love. All the effort of an engagement with none of the reward.”
“Then why did you do it?”
She wasn’t sure she liked how Carlos was looking at her, like she was a speck of dirt he’d found in a bottle of Absolut he was about to pour. “We had our reasons,” she defended. “We always knew we’d end it, but my publicist said it would benefit us both. The movie producer wants someone famous, so I had to up my star power.”
“I see,” Carlos said, but she wasn’t sure he did. Not at all. One had to live in the inner circle in Hollywood to know the lengths people went to for celebrity. The surgeries, the competitive charitable donations, the fake engagements.
“Anyway,” she said, taking a breath for courage. “My publicist says that everyone went nuts last night at the pictures of us kissing…and you coming back to my hotel room.”
“And you want more of that,” Carlos said, catching on quickly. “You want to use me to stay in the limelight.”
“Yes. I’d spend a week in Miami, and you could show me around.”
“Show you my Miami?”
“Well, they’d need to be places paparazzi would find me. No holes in the wall.”
“But those are the best places in Miami.”
She gave him a look. “In exchange, I could pay you. You’d have to sign a NDA.”
“A what?”
“A non-disclosure agreement. Meaning whatever happens between us, stays between us.”
He leaned back on the couch and looked thoughtful. “How much?” he finally asked.
“Um…” She hadn’t thought that far ahead. What was the going rate for male companions? “Uh, three thousand?” she guessed, naming off the price Julia Roberts had been paid to escort Edward around town.
“Five,” he countered. “And no sex. I’m not a prostitute.”
“Four, and I’ll pay for all meals and activities.” She pretended not to hear his caveat about sex. After last night’s amazing bedroom games, she wanted more of Carlos, but she respected the distinction and his honor.
“Deal.”
She held out her hand and he grasped it firmly to shake. For better or worse, Carlos was in her life for the next week.