8. Eight
Eight
Lacey
The sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold. I’m hyperaware of Nate beside me—the way his t-shirt pulls across his shoulders when he reaches for his wine glass and how his forearms flex as he gestures. Even these casual movements send a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with the wine.
“I love this time of day,” I say, hugging my knees to my chest, partly to stop myself from reaching out to touch him.
“Yeah?” His voice has that low, rough quality that makes my skin tingle.
I watch his profile, the glow of the sunset catching on his dark hair and defining the sharp line of his jaw. When he turns to look at me, the intensity in his blue eyes is piercing.
“Have you always been this optimistic?” he asks.
I laugh softly. “Not always. But I try to be.”
He studies me for a long second. “Why?”
I tilt my head, thinking before I answer softly. “Because I’ve seen what happens when you let the world make you bitter.”
My voice is too quiet, too thoughtful. And I can feel his scrutiny as if my words revealed more than I meant them to. Like he’s wondering what I’ve been through—what I might have lost.
Something about the look in his eyes unsettles me.
I look back out at the ocean, wondering why this man—who is supposed to be nothing more than a temporary arrangement—makes me feel like I want to know everything about him.
I exhale, resting my chin on my knees. “So. What’s next?”
Nate arches a brow. “For?”
“For us,” I tease, nudging him. “You know, for Hollywood’s golden couple.”
He gives a low chuckle. “You mean besides pretending we’re hopelessly in love?”
“Yes.”
He grins. “Well, we’ve got your family dinner next Sunday. That should be fun.”
I groan. “You’re way too calm about that.”
He smirks. “I like a challenge.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, you just wait.”
Right then, my phone buzzes, and I groan, glancing at the screen.
“Another family member?” Nate asks, and I can hear the amusement in his tone.
“Not this time. It’s Rachel. And you won’t be laughing when you see the list of appearances she wants us to make.”
Nate leans over, reading the text over my shoulder, his warmth seeping into my side. “Let’s see... Morning show interviews, charity gala, album launch party...” He whistles low. “She’s not wasting any time.”
“At least the charity gala sounds fun,” I offer, scrolling through the extensive list. “And your album launch—that’s exciting.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and when I look up, his expression is thoughtful. “You don’t have to come to that, you know. The launch. It’s going to be frenzied.”
“I’m your fiancée, remember? Of course, I’ll be there.” I lean into his shoulder. “Besides, I want to hear the songs you guys have been working on.”
Something flashes in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe? But before I can analyze it, he’s reaching for my wine glass because his own is empty, taking a slow sip.
“Hey!” I protest. “Get your own.”
“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” His use of the endearment sends a little shiver through me, reminding me of last night.
I clear my throat. “So, tell me about the new album. What can I expect?”
He sets my glass down, leaning back in his chair. “It’s different from our other stuff. More personal, I guess. Luke wrote and will sing some of the songs this time.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Yeah. Usually, Cass sings most of the songs, but...” He runs a hand through his hair. “Luke went through some stuff last year. The songs just poured out of him.”
I remember the way Luke looked at his fiancée, Lila, the obvious love there. “Good stuff or bad stuff?”
“Both. Life stuff.” He glances at me. “The kind of things that change you.”
The intensity in his voice makes me wonder what changed him. What stories lie behind those guarded eyes?
“And the drums?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. “Any epic solos I should watch for?”
His lips curve. “Maybe a few. Though I know you’re already a fan of Midnight Confessions.”
I feel my cheeks warm, remembering our conversation the other night. “It’s a good solo.”
“Just good?”
“Fine, it’s brilliant. Happy?”
His laugh is low and warm. “Ecstatic. My fake fiancée likes my drumming. What more could a guy want?”
But there’s something in his tone that has the word ‘fake’ making my throat go dry. I take a long sip of wine, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumps when his fingers brush mine as he steals my glass again.
“Rachel wants us to do a couple’s interview,” I say, changing the subject. “We should probably work on our story.”
“What’s wrong with the truth?” At my raised eyebrow, he clarifies, “The version we told the band. L.A. party, love at first sight...”
“We need details. First date, first kiss—the stuff people want to hear.”
He shifts in his chair, turning to face me fully. “Alright, Lacey. Let’s hear your version.”
Well...“ I shift, tucking my legs under me, trying to ignore how his eyes track the movement. “You saw me across the room at that party. You were nervous—“
“I don’t get nervous.” His voice has dropped lower, and he’s leaned in slightly, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the salt air.
“You were totally nervous,” I insist, fighting the urge to trace the stubble along his jaw. “But charming. You asked me to dinner the next night.”
“Where did I take you?” His fingers brush my knee, and even through my jeans, his touch burns.
“Somewhere quiet. Private. You didn’t want the paparazzi ruining our first date.”
His eyes are intent on mine. “And then?”
“Then...” I wet my lips, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting. “You kissed me goodnight. A perfect gentleman.”
“A gentleman, huh?” His voice has dropped lower. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “No?”
He leans in slightly, and for a wild moment, I think he might kiss me. Instead, he murmurs, “I think I would have kissed you right there at the party. The second I got you alone.”
The air between us crackles with tension. I can’t look away from his mouth.
“That’s...” I swallow hard. “That’s not very romantic.”
“No?” His fingers brush my knee. “Tell me your version then. How did I kiss you?”
I try to calm my racing pulse, but his fingers are still on my knee, and the sunset has faded to that magical twilight that makes everything feel possible.
“Well,” I say, my voice softer than I intend, “you would have waited. Built the anticipation.”
His thumb traces a small circle on my knee. “Go on.”
“Maybe...” I shift slightly, hyperaware of every point of contact between us. “Maybe you found a quiet corner of the garden. Away from the cameras, the noise.”
“Just us?” His eyes haven’t left mine.
I nod. “Just us. And you would have tucked my hair behind my ear, just like—“
His hand moves from my knee, fingers ghosting along my cheek as he does exactly that. My breath catches.
“Like this?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” The word is barely a whisper. “And then...”
“And then?”
We’re so close now I can feel his breath on my lips. The rational part of my brain is screaming that this isn’t part of the act, that there are no cameras here and no audience to convince.
But his hand is cupping my face, and my heart is thundering, and—
His phone rings, shattering the moment.
Nate pulls back, cursing under his breath as he checks the screen. “It’s Emily.”
Reality crashes back. Emily—his manager. One of the women orchestrating this whole charade.
I stand up quickly, nearly knocking over my wine glass. “You should get that. I’m going to...” I gesture vaguely toward the house. “Get more wine.”
I practically flee inside, my hands shaking as I grip the kitchen counter. My lips are tingling from his almost-kiss, and I can still feel the phantom trace of his fingers on my skin. Through the glass doors, I watch him pace the deck as he talks, the muscles in his back taut beneath his shirt. Even from here, the sight of him makes my pulse race.
This is dangerous. Whatever is happening between us—these moments, these almost-kisses, these conversations that feel too real—it has to stop.
Because in six months, this ends. The contract expires, we go our separate ways, and anything real we might feel…
I pour myself another glass of wine, trying to steady my nerves. When Nate comes back inside, I need to be composed, professional, and ready to discuss whatever new appearance or interview Emily has planned.
But my lips still tingle from what almost happened, and my skin still burns where he touched me, and I know I’m in way over my head.
Because pretending to be in love with Nate Stone is turning out to be the easiest role I’ve ever played.
The sliding door opens, and I force myself not to turn around immediately. Instead, I focus on pouring wine, though the bottle trembles slightly in my grip. His presence fills the kitchen, and I’m acutely aware of every step he takes toward me. His heat radiates against my back before he even speaks.
“Emily says hello,” Nate says, his voice carefully neutral. “She’d like us to put in an appearance at a small get-together tomorrow at the Riverside Hotel. And she’s lined up a photo shoot for next week. Something casual and intimate, for People magazine.”
“That’s fine.” I turn, offering him the fresh glass. “But casual and intimate for People magazine? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
His lips twitch as he takes the wine. “Apparently, we need to show the world our authentic love story.”
“Right.” I take a long sip from my own glass. “Our authentic fake love story.”
Something flashes in his eyes. “Lacey—“
“We should practice,” I quickly say before he can say whatever is on his mind. “For the photoshoot. Figure out what looks natural.” I know I’m tempting fate, but I can’t stop myself.
He sets his glass down on the counter, studying me. “You’re the actress. What do you suggest?”
I move closer, ignoring the way my pulse jumps. “Well, couples in love...” I place my hand on his chest. “They’re comfortable with casual touches.”
“Like this?” His hand covers mine where it rests on his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat racing beneath my palm. His heat seeps through his shirt, making my fingers itch to explore further.
“Yes.” My voice is embarrassingly breathless. “And they look at each other like...”
“Like what?” His other hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer until we’re sharing breath. His thumb finds the slip of bare skin between my shirt and jeans, tracing small circles that make me shiver.
“Like they can’t look away.” I tilt my face up to his, dizzy with wanting him. “Like everything else fades...”
His forehead touches mine, and I can feel the slight tremor in his hands, knowing he’s as affected as I am. “We’re not practicing anymore, are we?”
“Nate...”
“If you don’t want this, you’ll have to tell me to stop,” he whispers, and his breath against my lips makes me shiver.
I should tell him to stop. This isn’t part of the contract. This isn’t what we agreed to. But his hands are sliding up my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and rational thought is becoming impossible.
His lips brush mine so softly it might be an accident, but the jolt of electricity it sends through me is undeniable. When he does it again, more deliberately, I’m lost. My fingers slide into his hair as his arms wrap fully around my waist, pulling me flush against him. This isn’t like our staged kiss at the Plaza. This is a slow, deep, discovering. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him with a soft sound that makes him groan.
He tastes like wine and temptation, and when he breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, my whole body feels like it’s on fire. His teeth graze my pulse point, and my knees nearly buckle.
“We shouldn’t,” I manage to say, even as I tilt my head to give him better access.
“I know.” His voice is rough against my skin. “But I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you in my living room last night.”
“Just since last night?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He pulls back enough to look at me, and the intensity in his eyes steals my breath. “No. Not just since last night.”
And then he’s kissing me again, backing me against the counter, and I’m clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing in my world. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, warm against my skin, and—
A car alarm goes off somewhere down the beach, making us both jump.
Reality crashes back. We’re in his kitchen. This isn’t real. In six months, this ends.
I step back, putting space between us, though every cell in my body protests the distance. My lips feel swollen, my skin burning everywhere he touched. His eyes have gone dark and hungry, and the way he looks at me makes me want to close the distance again.
“I should...” I swallow hard. “I should go to bed.”
Nate runs a hand through his hair, which is thoroughly mussed from my fingers. “Lacey, we should talk about—“
“Goodnight, Nate.”
I practically run up the stairs, not stopping until I’m safely behind my closed door. My heart pounds. I slide down to sit on the floor, back against the door, pressing my fingers to my lips where I can still feel his kiss. My whole body hums with an awareness I can’t shake. Even through the solid wood door, I swear I can feel his presence in the hallway, and it takes everything in me not to open it again.
The truth hits me like a physical blow: I’m falling for him.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.