Chapter 9
Nine
AVA
After the panels and signings finally wrap, the ballroom transforms into a press gauntlet—rows of folding chairs, camera rigs, and a podium bathed in blinding bright lights.
The press conference is about to start. Reporters are buzzing like bees in a hive. Renata and I are standing off to the side, tucked just far enough into the wings that no one could overhear. She’s filling my ear with a final round of reminders.
“Mention the panel chemistry. Remember, things developed naturally. Laugh when he touches you.”
My arms cross. “That’s not in my contract.”
“It is now.” Renanta turns and skitters away, toward Camille. The two of them have grown quite close during this charade.
Soren approaches, annoyingly calm in a perfectly fitted dark jacket over a charcoal t-shirt that matches my blouse a little too well to be an accident. The scent of pine needles and expensive cologne wafts off his freshly showered skin. I’ll never admit out loud what it does to me.
Bending down toward my ear, his voice scrapes over my skin. “You nervous?”
“Yes, I hate lying,” I reply, honestly.
His gaze dips to my lips for the briefest second. “Then let’s give them something to believe in.”
A spark zips straight through me, lighting up nerve endings I haven’t felt in years. And when my breath hitches, his eyes zero in on my lips, which part on instinct. It’s not an invitation, Pembry.
This is stupid. But I drift toward him anyway and whisper, “We’re supposed to keep it professional. Wait until the interview starts. Read the statement. Smile. Nod. That’s it. Okay? No off-script stuff.”
“Understood.” He winks.
What does that wink mean? That he won’t behave? Or that he will?
Soren sidles up close, his cologne slithering up my nose, and my body reacts. My ovaries stage a walkout. My brain drafts a cease-and-desist. My spine tries to hold the line, but my resolve? She’s grabbing her purse and hailing a cab.
I’m fucked. Not literally. Tragically, figuratively.
The host for tonight’s interview is a perky ShelfSpace influencer who goes by the name RaeReadsRomance. She’s in seasonal plaid, looking cute and festive.
Painting on the same careful mask I’ve used for book signings, launch parties, and awkward family dinners, I breathe in and then out.
The ring lights are hot, the cameras relentless, and every laugh from the audience feels like it’s been sharpened to a point.
Rae flashes her cue cards, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Let’s talk holiday love stories and unexpected sparks.
You two have become the internet’s favorite slow burn.
The clips. The banter. The public bickering that somehow feels like foreplay.
” She giggles, then pauses. “So tell me—on a scale from staged to soulmates, what spice level are you two?”
I open my mouth, ready to give a rehearsed line about connection with mutual respect and shared passions, when Soren steps in, shadowing my voice.
“What an excellent question, Rae.” A hand slides to my waist, and before I can process what’s happening, Soren dips me back and crushes his mouth to mine, bold, claiming, all tongue and heat and zero warning. My gasp is swallowed whole. So is my sanity.
This isn’t a simple PR smooch. This is a hands-in-my-hair, world-tilting kiss that knocks the breath out of me without ever lifting my feet off the ground. Or maybe my feet are off the ground. I don’t know. All I know is that his mouth is hot and firm against mine.
A slow rush blooms through me until everything else fades. For a heartbeat, it feels like I’ve found something I didn’t even realize I’d been missing.
The kiss goes from insistent to patient, unhurried. It asks instead of takes. When his tongue grazes mine, I melt into it, curious and hungry in a way that feels like remembering. I taste him, learn him, breathe him in, every second sinking deeper until I feel it all the way down to my toes.
That magical forest scent envelopes my senses. For a second—one dizzying, blinding second—it doesn’t feel like a stunt. It feels…real.
Oh, shit.
Soren lifts me back up, and when we break apart, we’re silent. I look at him. He looks at me.
His attention shifts back to Rae. “Does that answer your question?”
The crowd roars with excitement. Someone near the front drops something. Camera flashes explode. Rae literally squeals.
“Holy fuck, that was hot,” a man from a publishing blog whispers too loudly.
Soren drapes an arm over my shoulder. “No truer words have ever been said.”
Fireworks rip down my spine then detonate in my core. I’m frozen, stunned, unable to breathe, because—
What the hell was that?
A joke?
A confession?
I want to believe him. Wait, why do I want to believe him?
Rae recovers first. “Wow. Okay. So that was… a capital M Moment. I think I speak for the entire internet when I say, Replay button, please?”
Laughter ripples through the air. She peeks down at her notes, then her eyes are on me, glittering. “Ava, would you care to comment on that display of swoon-worthy chemistry for the ages, or are you still kiss concussed?”
My cheeks burn. “We’re... enjoying the season.”
That’s what I say. That’s what my brain—still drunk off Soren Pembry’s lips—decides is appropriate to offer the public.
I could’ve said “help,” “thank you,” or even “excuse me” while I went to crash out in private.
Nope. Just: We’re enjoying the season.
What does that even mean? Am I a Christmas card now? Did my vocabulary flee the scene of that kiss like a coward?
“Clearly.” Rae laughs. “Soren, you definitely know how to put on a show.”
Oh my God, I need a do-over, a teleprompter. How I managed to get any words out after Soren’s tongue did illegal, yet delicious, things inside my mouth, I honestly cannot say.
Speaking of the man with the incredible tongue, he’s grinning as though he slayed a dragon, signed another seven-figure book deal, and dropped a scented candle line called Victory & Vanilla.
“I could say I believe in committing to a story arc.” Soren lounges back on his heels like the arrogant bastard he is. “But that makes it sound like I’m following a script.” Eyes glinting, he glances sideways at me.
What is he doing? Is he about to reveal to the world that Ava Bell asked him to fake date her in exchange for better reviews and algorithmic sympathy? Right here, right now, in front of Rae and the ShelfSpace community?
It would be the ultimate roast video for him.
My stomach drops straight into my boots. I frantically scan the crowd for Renata.
“Trust me,” Soren continues, “nothing about us is scripted. We are as real as it gets.”
I gape at him, forgetting basic human functions—swallowing, blinking. Words are hard.
Soren seems totally unfazed by the puddle I’m rapidly becoming. “So, am I putting on a show? Maybe a little.” He winks because that’s what he does. “Can you blame me? I’ve got Ava Bell on my arm. She’s not exactly background noise. And okay, full truth, I’m marking my territory a bit.”
His smirk deepens as my mouth parts uselessly. No words come out.
Watching me intently, Soren brushes a stray hair from my face and whispers, “You’re doing great.”
A hand shoots up from the press pool. “How long have you two been…romantic?”
Renata gives me a thumbs-up from the back of the crowd. Go with it.
“We’ve been talking for a while now. Things escalated in the DM’s around late summer.” Soren pauses.
I’m searching for words, but I’ve completely lost them. Along with all the ones Renata stuffed into my brain. Just gone. Then I blurt, “There was a connection.”
Everyone stares.
“Yes,” Soren cuts in, recognizing my mental breakdown. “One of those lightning-strike moments you don’t plan for.”
“Any plans to collaborate on a book?” Rae asks.
“Not unless it’s about a woman murdering her co-author,” I mutter under my breath, finally able to speak somewhat coherently.
Soren replies, easy and cocky enough to charm the front row. Let’s be honest, every row. “It’s still very early. We’re asking for a little space to enjoy the sparks. No pressure, or labels. We want to see where this goes.”
Says the guy who just kissed me like he was trying to win a trophy, ruin my panties, and claim my soul all in one go.
Mission fucking accomplished.
See where this goes? God, he’s so good at faking it. He sounds like he actually means it.
A traitorous, warm flutter kicks me down below. My body gets the memo before my brain can object, and I cross my legs tighter, trying to appear composed while my pulse sprints a victory lap.
While the crowd eats it up, a burning sensation settles in the pit of my stomach, accompanied by guilt and frustration. This is a game to him. I’m not good at games. Especially when I can’t tell what’s pretend and what isn’t. This story feels like it’s taken control and is now writing itself.
Rae begins talking with the audience.
Soren whispers in my ear again. “You rattled, Bells? Still thinking about our kiss? Or is your mind stuck on what happened at the gym earlier today?”
My jaw drops open. I turn toward him. “What are you talking about?”
His grin is the devil himself. “Pretty sure you were imagining me pinning you down, making you beg for more reps. With my mouth.”
My elbow finds his rib. He doesn’t even flinch, only laughs low in his throat. I laugh, too, but it’s shaky. Forced. Fake as fuck.
“Such a vivid imagination you have, Pembry,” I try to play it off.
Soren gives a knowing smile. My stomach dips as my mind rewinds that moment. Wait. Wait. Oh God. Did he hear me? Did he see me?
The flush crawling up my neck has nothing to do with flirtation. It’s pure panic. I can’t meet his eyes. If he knows—if he has even an inkling of what I did in that locker room—I’m going to have to dig a hole and throw myself in it.
“Mhm.” To my utter shock and horror, he presses a kiss to the side of my cheek, like I’m cute for trying, and walks off as though he didn’t detonate a bomb in my pants or my brain.