10. Ten
Ten
Lacey
The house is dark when we get back, the only light coming from the moon reflecting off the ocean. My heels click against the hardwood as we walk inside, hyper-aware of his presence behind me.
The evening feels unfinished somehow, charged with everything we’re not saying. His words from the terrace echo in my mind: “We should have a story ready. Something believable. Intimate.”
I shiver, remembering the way he looked at me when he said it, like he was imagining exactly how that story might unfold.
“Want a nightcap?” Nate asks, his voice low in the darkness.
I should say no. I should head upstairs to my room and put some distance between us. Instead, I hear myself say, “Sure.”
He moves through the dark kitchen with familiar ease, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of something amber. I watch the muscles in his forearms flex as he pours, his sleeves still rolled up from earlier.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, sliding a glass toward me.
I take a long sip, letting the whiskey warm my throat. “Just... thinking about the party.”
“Yeah?” He leans against the counter, studying me. “Which part?”
The dancing. Your hands on my waist. The way you looked at me on the terrace. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.
“All of it,” I say instead. “It felt...”
“Real?”
Our eyes meet in the darkness, and my breath catches. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts shadows across his face, making him look dangerous and beautiful.
“We did good,” I manage to say. “Everyone seemed convinced.”
He takes a slow sip of his drink. “Yes, we had everyone fooled.” His voice sounds forced.
I look around, searching for a distraction. “Is that where the music happens?” I gesture to a door off the hallway.
“That’s where I keep my drums, yes. And my stick collection.”
My eyes widen. “Would you be willing to show them to me?”
He hesitates for a moment, then walks toward the room. “Of course.”
I know immediately that the room is his sanctuary—soundproofed walls lined with custom shelving displaying hundreds of drumsticks, some signed by legendary drummers, others from meaningful performances. I slowly move through the space reverently, examining his collection.
“These are from our first arena show,” he says as I read the inscription on one pair.
I turn, and in the dim light, his eyes are hidden, mysterious. “I like knowing private things about you, Nate. Not just what the public sees.”
He steps closer, and I feel the magnetic pull. I’m drawn to him by something I can’t name.
“Ask me anything,” he murmurs, his voice low.
“Why the drums?”
“Because it’s honest,” he answers without hesitation. “You can’t fake rhythm. Can’t pretend. Either you feel it, or you don’t.”
I reach out and pick up a pair of sticks, testing their weight. “Will you show me?”
He moves behind me, guiding my hands into the proper grip. He’s warm against my back, and when he leans in closer, so close I can again smell his cologne—I forget to breathe.
“Like this?” I finally whisper, swallowing hard.
“Yes, just like that.”
For a moment, we’re frozen there, the air between us electric with possibility. The pottery scene from the movie Ghost flashes through my mind, making me catch my breath, and I almost drop the sticks. One hits the snare drum, the sound sharp, and it startles me back to reality. Clearing my throat, I hurriedly step away, carefully returning the sticks to their rightful place.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “For sharing this with me.”
“Anytime.” His voice is gruff.
I follow him out and hesitate at the foot of the stairs. I should go up to my bed—alone. That would be the smart thing to do. But instead, I follow him back to the kitchen. Something inside of me doesn’t want the night to end. It still feels unfinished.
Nate slowly turns, seeming surprised that I’m still here. His eyes gleam darkly in the moonlight coming in through the windows.
“Maybe now is a good time for us to continue the discussion we started on the terrace.”
I blink uncertainly. Licking my lips, I set down my glass with slightly shaking hands. “That could be dangerous.”
“So you say.” His fingers brush my bare arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “But you haven’t moved away.”
He’s right. I’m still standing here, letting him get closer, letting the air between us grow thick with possibility.
“We should get some sleep,” I whisper, but I don’t move.
“Probably.” His hand slides to my waist, exactly where it was when we danced. “Is that what you want?”
No. What I want is to kiss him again. To forget about contracts and consequences and just feel. To—
He takes my hand and leads me toward the windows. “I believe our first time was at night, with the moonlight streaming in through the windows,” he says, his voice husky.
My breath catches in my throat as he turns me to face him. “Here, in front of the dark ocean view, with the sound of the waves in the background.”
When I’m silent, he whispers, “What did I do next?”
Licking my lips again, I say, my voice equally husky, “You, ah… You kissed me. Softly.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine, as soft as a butterfly’s wings. Leaving me aching and wanting more…
“And then?” I shiver at his tone.
Feeling this is going too fast, I stammer, “I turn toward the ocean view—“
“No. I would want to be able to watch your face when I…” His hands clasp my upper arms, and he turns me to face him.
“When you what?”
Nate presses me back against the windows, and I feel the coolness of the glass against my back and his heat on my front as he presses forward.
“When I kiss you again. Not so softly.” I shiver at the feel of his warm breath against my lips. Then, I’m only aware of him as he delves in tasting me—savoring me. He slowly explores my mouth, pressing in deeper. When he finally lets me up for air, I’m breathless.
“What… what do you do next?” I hear the weakness in my own voice, but I’m helpless against the onslaught of emotions.
“Ah, well, let me see…” I feel his fingers skim the hem of my dress. “My searching fingers could explore under your dress…” My muscles clench at his words. His eyes gleam with a wicked look as if he knows the effect his words are having on my traitorous body. “Or, I could explore the curve of your neck…” His fingers gently move my hair out of his way as his lips discover the place where my neck meets my shoulders.
I shiver in response to his touch, my body thrumming with anticipation.
He takes his time as his lips skim my collarbone. My breathing grows harsh as he discovers the sensitive spot under my ear. I feel like putty in his arms.
One of his broad hands moves to my leg. His warm palm glides slowly up the inside of my thigh.
I shudder as he continues his sexy narrative. “Wanting to find out if you feel the same, I would search for signs…” My breath grows harsher as his fingers lightly brush against the crotch of my black silk panties. His sudden silence tells me he feels the dampness I can’t hide.
“Only after finding proof that you were ready…” His voice is raspy now, thick with emotion. “Only then would I slip my hand inside—“
Fitting his action to his words, I feel his warm palm slide inside the waistband of my panties. Neither one of us can speak as his fingers find my slick folds.
“Nate…” His name escapes my lips in a whisper when suddenly, at the most inappropriate time, my phone buzzes loudly on the counter, spoiling the moment’s intimacy.
I feel like someone just doused me with a bucket of cold water, as I’m jolted back to reality.
“I should get that,” I murmur hastily, straightening as he reluctantly moves his hand away, letting me go.
Walking to the kitchen island, I glance at my phone. I inform him uncomfortably, “It’s Rachel.”
“She has lousy timing,” Nate mutters, shaking his head.
I check the message, grateful for the interruption, even as my body protests the loss of his touch. “She wants to know how tonight went. I should let her know it went well—that we convinced everyone.”
“Maybe because it wasn’t all an act.” His eyes search mine.
My heart thuds against my ribs. “Nate...”
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.” He says, taking a step closer. “Not after what just almost happened...”
“Almost…” I grip my glass tighter. “We agreed. This is only temporary.”
“Did we?” Another step. “Because I remember agreeing to pretend to be engaged. I don’t remember agreeing not to feel anything.”
“That was… implied.”
He’s close enough now that I can see the angry flecks of silver in his blue eyes. “Was it?”
“Nate, please don’t do this—“
“Fine.” His expression goes stony. “Tell Rachel we were convincing.” His voice has a cutting edge to it now. “Tell her we played our parts perfectly.”
The bitterness in his tone makes me regret my words. “Nate, I—“
“Goodnight, Lacey.” He abruptly turns away, leaving me standing there. “Sweet dreams.”
I watch him disappear up the stairs, my heart racing and my skin still tingling from his touch. My body still humming from unfulfilled desire.
I sink onto one of the bar stools. The house feels too quiet now and too empty.
Through the window, I watch waves crash against the shore, their rhythm steady and inevitable. Unlike everything else in my life right now.
What am I doing? This attraction to Nate is not part of the plan. The plan was simple: play the devoted fiancée and advance my career. Clean, professional, and temporary.
But there’s nothing professional about the way my skin burns every time he touches me. Nothing temporary about how natural it feels to be by his side. How effortlessly he…
I wearily pull up my calendar on my phone, scrolling through the next few months. My schedule is packed—three interviews next week, meetings with producers, and a potential guest appearance on TV in the fall. And that’s just my commitments. Nate has the album launch, the tour dates being finalized, and press appearances.
We’re both too busy with our careers to even think about a real relationship.
No. This has to stay professional. Has to stay contained.
I grab my phone again, reading Rachel’s message one more time: ‘How did it go tonight? The photos coming in look amazing. You two have incredible chemistry. The press is already calling you the hottest new couple.’
Of course, we have chemistry. That’s the problem.
But chemistry isn’t enough. It doesn’t build relationships, and it doesn’t survive packed schedules, competing priorities, and the brutal reality of our separate lives.
Chemistry just makes everything more complicated. I need to focus on my career.
Upstairs, I hear movement—Nate getting ready for bed, probably. I picture him up there, maybe thinking about the line we almost crossed. Does he have any regrets?
If he does, that would be good because regret means boundaries.
My phone buzzes again: ‘Lacey? You there? Need to know how things went.’
Maybe I should tell her the mission went well. Because, this is only a temporary arrangement that will end exactly as planned, with both of us moving on to our next projects, our next roles, and our separate lives.
And if my heart aches a little at that thought? Well, that’s just another performance I’ll have to master.
Or should I be honest and tell her that the lines between real and pretend have blurred? That every look, every kiss, and response to his touch feels more authentic than any acting I’ve ever done?
I take a deep breath and type: ‘Mission accomplished. Everything went according to plan.’
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, before I can hint at the complexity brewing beneath the surface.
It might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.