by Amber Lin
“Is that why you did this? Is that why you’re doing all this, to fix my fucking PR problem? Tell me you’re doing this for you, Maddy.”
The lie tripped on her tongue. The truth made her sound pretty pathetic. Because she was pathetic, pining after someone who didn’t even respect her, agreeing to help him even when it hurt her own agenda.
He wouldn’t know that, though. He’d still believe Ward’s party line about wanting to save the contract. He may be asking questions, but he’d never figure out that she’d worked so hard, smeared her own image, so that she could lose her contract. The otherwise unbreakable contract that dictated her life down to her panty color choices.
She sighed. “I’m a simple girl, Krist. I can only do one thing with my mouth at a time, so which will it be? Do you want me to lick you? Or do you want me to talk?”
He hesitated, his gaze trained on her lips, showing how much he wanted her mouth on him. But also betraying how much he wanted answers.
A knock came at the door, loud and insistent. “Madeline Fox?” came the high, false tones of Kiki. “Maddy, honey, are you in there? We need this space for the next set.”
Relief speared through her, because he’d been damned insistent with those questions. She released his cock and watched it bob back toward his stomach, full and tinted red with arousal. Then she stood, smiling brightly. “Oops, guess we ran out of time.”
The sweet sound of his labored groan followed her to the door. Fabric on fabric as he tucked himself away, hurriedly, though the clothes wouldn’t do much to hide his hard-on. “Maddy?”
She turned back. “Hmm?”
Promise sparked in his eyes. “We will finish this.”
She licked her lips. “I certainly hope so. I only got a taste.”
But even as she turned and threw open the door, even as she burst through the crowd of people pretending not to listen, she was afraid he hadn’t meant the blowjob at all.
Playing the bad girl was the only way she could get out of the contract, just as soon as the penguin execs at the label got fed up and cut her loose. She had to put the plan on hold to play at being Krist’s fiancée—just a temporary break—and he would never know what it cost her.
*
Maddy spent the rest of the day with Krist, but they didn’t have time to talk in private again.
Or get naked.
They barely had time to think between photo ops, and then it was time for their first public social engagement.
Madeline swept the tiny brush across her eyelid and finished with an upward stroke. She blinked at herself in the mirror. A celebrity stared back at her. Cat eyes were her reverse Superman glasses; she applied the makeup, and bam, she was a superstar.
Of course, even Superman had completed the ensemble with a flattering skintight suit.
So Madeline stepped into the closet, which was as big as her childhood bedroom had been. Her clothes were hung up, wall to wall, organized by her assistant.
On the opposite side of the racks, a wall was reserved for display, spotlights pointing to the dresses like art. These had been preselected by her personal stylist for tonight’s gala—her first public appearance with her fiancé. Her stomach churned. Typical for this kind of event, but it wasn’t the press that scared her. Wasn’t the partygoers.
A knock came at the door. He was the reason she was nervous.
“Madeline,” he said. “We’re late.”
Ugh. He even used his stern voice. It sounded almost fatherly…although, maybe she could use that. They could make a little taboo after-party, just the two of them. Maybe he’d like it if she played horny coed to his young professor. She definitely would. Everything seemed more interesting when she knew it was wrong.
“We’re VIPs,” she called back. “If we’re not late, we’re early.”
His frustration bled all the way through the wood. “Damn it. I want to get this over with.”
That shouldn’t have stung. But did he have to treat her like a pariah? And she just had to make it worse. “Why don’t you help me pick out my dress?”
A pause. “You have five minutes, or I’m going down without you.”
What a dick.
She studied the dresses with a critical eye. The first was a sheath that would dip all the way down to her ass. A little note was attached to the hanger: Back is the new cleavage, darling. Trying too hard. The second was an asymmetrical number fresh out of Milan. Trying too hard and failing—double yuck.
But the last one—ooh, she was Goldilocks, and the last one was just right.
Any sort of underwear would be ridiculous with this dress. In fact, the dress was underwear more than clothes. The fabric was almost the exact same color as her tanned skin, as if she were naked. As if she were naturally embellished with lace accents. Its V-shaped neckline dipped a little too low, and the hemline stopped a little too high. It was the kind of dress Jimmy said would drive a man to drink. Perfect.
Accessories were light—some diamond chandeliers and black strappy Choos. She was just opening the door to the sitting area when she heard Krist on the other side.
“Maddy, I’m serious—”
Cool air brushed the curls over her shoulder as the door swung open. Krist’s hand was poised to knock.
Maddy stopped. And posed. If there was one thing she’d learned how to do, it was to present herself at the best angles. Always moving for the camera, even when it wasn’t there.
“Hi, dear,” she said with fake sweetness. “Do I look okay?”
He swallowed loud enough to be heard. His gaze was hot up and down her body—up and down, up and down, a pendulum gaze that couldn’t stop swinging.
“What are you wearing?” he asked, his voice thick.
Really, it shouldn’t have affected her. She’d made herself into a sex object, and he had a dick attached to him. It was only natural he’d want to put it in her. But a strange heat rose in her chest anyway, almost like…a blush.
“Do you like it?” she asked, fishing for compliments and hating herself. God, she hated when she acted her age.
“No. I don’t even know what it is. That’s not a dress. That’s a yard of lace and glitter glue.”
And she had an entire evening of this to look forward to. Lovely. “It’s a dress, Sherlock. Weren’t you in a hurry or something?”
“We’re not leaving. Not like that. You can put some actual clothes on and then—”
“Oh my God, you really are like my dad.”
He reared back, looking seriously offended. Offended with all his tats and his piercings and his spiky hair. Well, turns out you could look like God’s gift to punk rock and still be uptight.
“Excuse me, just because I want you to wear clothes. In public? That’s what uptight means now? Okay.”
“These are clothes. Very, very, very expensive clothes.”
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her. Like she was just that ridiculous. “You know there was a story like that. Invisible clothes. No one would tell the truth—well, I’m telling you the truth. There’s nothing there.”
“Are you calling me an emperor?”
“If the imaginary clothes fit, princess.”
He really was too full of himself. She itched to bring him down a notch. The strange part was, she got the sense that he wanted the same thing, like he was pushing her and poking her and baiting her so she’d bite back. And as much fun as that sounded, she just wasn’t in the mood to give him what he wanted. A little tease and denial was in order.
She smiled. “You don’t like this dress? Because a different part of your body is telling me otherwise.”
He frowned without even looking down. Completely ignoring the bulge in his jeans. “Biology.”
“Yeah, well, you may want to take care of your biology unless you want to arrive at the party that way. I’ll wait in the limo. Be there in five or I’m leaving without you.”
*
Krist stared at the painting, not because he had a
ny desire to bid on the monstrosity but because it gave him something to look at other than Maddy. A place to rest his eyes, if anyone could call the riot of color splashed on the canvas restful. Anything was restful compared to the torture of her not-dress. Every glance required mental gymnastics where he convinced himself over and over that she wasn’t actually naked.
He’d seen her spread open and wet, waiting for him. Aching for him. He’d watched her work above him, a dark angel crying out in ecstasy. She’d already worn down a groove in his mind—his thoughts drifted back to her unless he worked to direct them elsewhere.
He stared at the painting until it stopped being a thing. Slick blacks blurring into flat grays. Orange practically vibrating off the wall. There was something soothing about it, though, despite its frenzy. The thick swirls of paint made his fingers twitch. Was it a trick of light? He leaned in, fingers extended. Or were there actually ridges…
“I heard the artist mixed blood into the paint.”
He recoiled, whirling around. Maddy’s touch on his shoulder, her words, shocked him out of his reverie.
“Why the hell would he do that?” He wiped his hand on his pants, rubbing off the phantom fluids now clinging to his skin.
“She.” Maddy corrected him as she set her drink on a tray and murmured her thanks to the passing waiter. She might be a diva backstage, in her domain. But out in the world? She personified grace. He hadn’t even noticed there were waiters working the room. “It’s a statement about the creative process. A little heavy-handed, if you ask me. Which no one will.”
“Bleeding for art. Sounds about right. What’s heavy-handed about that?”
She licked her lips and stepped in close. “It was menstrual blood.”
This new Maddy, the one who had opinions on abstract art—who knew things—intrigued him as much as the Maddy who made him jerk off before letting him in the limo. “Does that make it better or worse?”
She arched her brow and settled a hand on her hip. “You do understand how periods work, don’t you?”
Did he? Only in the vaguest terms. He knew what TV commercials told him and what his mother had complained about every so often. On tour it was hard not to pick up the details. He knew they were uncomfortable and inconvenient. That not getting one was bad news. He knew…almost nothing. “Not really. Are you going to give me a lesson?”
“You want to talk periods in the middle of a red-carpet gala event, while people bid hundreds of thousands of dollars on hyped up finger paintings?” She slipped her hands inside the tuxedo jacket he’d thrown over his uniform of T-shirt and jeans. Deft fingers skimmed his abs. He sucked in a breath as she dipped lower, tugging on the heavy wallet chain dangling along his hip. “Do we need to have the sex talk?”
“When you put it like that? Yes.”
She grinned. “You’re terrible at this.”
“Talking about periods? I know, but I’m a quick study.”
“Schmoozing. Networking. We’re supposed to canoodle for the paparazzi. We should do that so we can leave.”
That surprised him. This was her element. Glitterati, industry insiders, bottle service. It really surprised him that he didn’t actively want to leave. Not in this moment. “You don’t want to stay? Yank my chain a little more?”
“The champagne is flat, and the crowd is stale. Who’d want to stick around?”
Who indeed? Krist scanned the room. He didn’t recognize anyone, but he did recognize a press pass looped around the neck of a wiry dude gnawing on a chicken wing. For a split second he wondered where the dude had managed to get a wing. The tiny puff he’d snagged was more kale-scented air than food. His stomach growled.
“Not us. Let’s blow this pop stand.”
Maddy’s eyes widened as he scooped her up into his arms. She flailed and let out a whoop of surprised delight. “Okay.”
Krist watched Press Pass scramble for his camera. He could imagine how they looked framed in his lens. A perversion of groom carries bride over threshold. They could print perversion on a little white card and mount it on the wall next to the photograph. Sell it to the highest bidder. What would Maddy say about that? Too heavy-handed?
Everything about him was for sale. He might as well start manufacturing the merchandise and setting the price.
Maddy hooked her arm around his neck and pressed her forehead to his chest. Hiding. As if she resented having their private moment intruded on by paparazzi. As if this whole thing wasn’t orchestrated.
Caught up in the illusion, he pressed his face into her hair and whispered, “I don’t know what’s real anymore, but I’m not sure I care. When I’m touching you, it’s the only time I don’t feel like I’m drowning.”
Her shoulders hitched, and her breath puffed staccato against his neck. “I’ll be your anchor for as long as you need.”
He carried her into their bedroom too. No one could see them there, but he still wanted to do it. He had so few chances to do what he wanted anymore; he’d take them where he could. If that meant falling into bed with Maddy, laughing and touching, anchored in the present, so be it.
Chapter Ten
Spending two full days doing nonstop press events with Krist had its advantages. First and foremost: the view. Measuring his chest through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, watching the jeans ride low on his hips. If Maddy had to spend all day on PR, it was nice to have arm candy.
Much nicer than going it alone.
Their agent had filled the schedule with joint appearances, as tightly packed as bricks, the mortar between barely enough time to freshen her makeup or gulp down a can of Red Bull. Paige rode along in the limo, tablet in hand, ready with notes from Ward for the next TV spot or radio interview.
In a quiet moment on a bathroom break, Paige stumbled over an apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up for the ring yesterday. Ward said not to.”
“You work for me¸ not Ward,” Maddy said, though she wasn’t as annoyed as she could have been. This was a game, and for a brief moment Maddy had forgotten how it was played.
“I didn’t realize he was going to do it in the limo.” Paige sounded aggrieved enough that Maddy had to laugh.
At least she wasn’t the only one who found the setup ridiculous. The fake engagement story and the fake ring. The not fake orgasms. It was funny enough that she couldn’t stop laughing once she’d started, even if she sounded kind of hysterical. Of all things to be real, the orgasms. Her laugh bounced off the stall walls.
Paige watched her, half-stricken. Half-curious. “How long are you going to…you know?”
Pretend. Until the upcoming awards ceremony? Or even less time? It didn’t matter; she was always pretending.
“Why?” Maddy asked lightly. “Want to make a move on him when it’s over?”
Paige laughed, unself-conscious enough to be honest. “No, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t stand a chance with him.”
“Don’t knock yourself, sweetheart. There are too many strangers ready to do it for you. You’re cute. You’ve got the girl-next-door look down pat.” And hadn’t Lock gone for exactly that type?
Something secret passed over Paige’s face. “Oh, that wasn’t what I meant.”
Whatever she’d meant, she hadn’t denied a physical attraction to Krist. Who would? He was a gruff, inked rocker with a bad reputation. He was catnip, and every girl in his vicinity wanted to roll around and get high.
But sixteen hours of smiling and effortless banter took its toll. By the time the limo hummed to a stop in front of the hotel, sex was the farthest thing from her mind.
Liar.
Okay, she was still thinking about sex. About the way Paige twisted her lips, deep in thought. About the increasing disarray of Krist’s hair as he ran his hands through it, again and again. The way Paige touched Maddy’s thigh to get her attention. The way Krist watched them both so intently.
She couldn’t stop thinking about sex. Bad idea, Maddy.
When the bellman opened the li
mo door, she slid out, ready to glide inside. To get away from the pheromones that made her brain fuzzy. She stepped onto the carpet-covered concrete, remembering just in time that the photographers camped out on the street would expect her to be holding hands with Krist.
He appeared at her side, eyes bloodshot. His smile was wry as he took her arm. “My lady.”
She couldn’t even be annoyed at the princess thing anymore. Almost. It felt like an inside joke, and she granted him a small smile. “My lord.”
His lips quirked before he led her inside. They walked through the lobby, all eyes trained on them, everyone wondering what dirty things they’d do back in their suite.
Well, she was wondering too. Did she dare?
When they arrived at the elevator, Paige stopped outside. Her voice was hesitant. “Do you want me to come up?”
Surely she was offering to file some papers or maybe rearrange her closet. Wasn’t she? The girl was too innocent for this. The fingering had been more like a shoulder rub than sex. But there was something expectant in her expression. As if she’d been able to read Maddy’s mind.
The idea had simmered in the back of her brain all day yesterday, from the time she’d first seen Paige with her head down, conspiring with Krist over the stupid-beautiful ring. And again today after their awkward moment in the restroom.
Krist had been in another threesome, in an elevator similar to this one. Then the security footage had leaked, and the entire world had watched Krist Mellas suck cock. But Maddy had looked at the clip and seen something else. She’d seen Krist relegated to the role of unicorn, there to fuck and be fucked, a warm body to add padding while the real couple got off.
What if they reversed it? What if Krist got to be the center of attention?
Maddy studied her assistant’s downcast eyes, trying to read them. Would she be up for it? Was she asking for it? “Long day,” Maddy said softly. “We’re going to unwind. You can come up if you want.”
Paige’s gaze darted from her to Krist and back again. Silent. Watchful.
Curious.
Not moving her gaze from Paige, Maddy murmured, “You don’t mind, do you, Krist?”