Tempting Her Fake Fiance

by Julie Particka

  …

  Evan’s hand grazed over Stasia’s side, coming to rest on her bare hip. They’d been up so late, he had no idea why he was awake already, but he wanted her again. And again. And again.

  He’d just kissed her shoulder when the sound that had most likely woken him came again—his phone, buzzing on the bedside table. Frowning, he rolled over and picked it up. Jessica. At eight in the morning? When she knew he was in Vegas? This couldn’t be good.

  And after those assholes last night, he didn’t want to deal with anymore bad.

  Thumbing on the phone, he spoke as quietly as he could to avoid waking Stasia. “What’s got you up and about so early?”

  Jessica wasn’t so considerate of Stasia’s rest and screamed into the phone. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Stasia startled awake and rolled over to look at him. As much as Evan wanted to tell her to go back to sleep, he knew she wouldn’t listen. Instead, he rubbed his hand up and down her back as he tried to calm Jessica down. “I’d be able to answer that a lot better if I knew what you were talking about.”

  “You mean you haven’t seen it? I’m pretty sure you’re the only one in Vegas who hasn’t at this point.”

  “Not helping.”

  “Jesus, Evan, open your laptop and look at any of the Las Vegas gossip blogs. Whoever had this knew they could sell it local and still sell it national after.” Considering Stasia was wide awake, anyway, he switched Jessica to speaker and opened the browser on his phone while she kept talking. “I don’t know who you pissed off, but this isn’t some random paparazzo getting lucky.”

  Evan clicked on the first thing to pop up locally connected to his name, and his heart stopped. “I know who. And he’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him.”

  “I’m sending someone to check your room in a few hours. If they got that much, who knows if they have the means to bug your suite. Get up and get dressed. You have no choice; you’re on damage control today. The response to this can’t come from me.”

  “Got it,” he said. “I’ll call you back later.” Jessica disconnected, but no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t drop the phone.

  “Evan?”

  So help me, if she’s still hung up on Travers after this, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to finish this with her.

  He didn’t want Stasia to see the images, but she had to know. “Remember that first night? When we made love against the window?”

  She paled, her skin going so white he felt like a bigger creep telling her this than the guys last night. “There are pictures. It looks like they went up yesterday. By this point, they’re probably all over the internet.”

  “How?”

  He didn’t want to look again, but it was a train wreck; he couldn’t turn away. “Considering how clear they are, I’m guessing it was on a tripod in a neighboring hotel. Angle says a few floors down.” She didn’t need to know there was an entire progression of images. Or that people had included pictures from their body-shot demo at Coyote Ugly in the comments.

  Stasia sat on the edge of the bed, twisting the sheet around herself. “So, I’m a porn star now. Guess I can cross that off the bucket list.”

  The words were mocking enough, but pain dripped from every syllable. He’d brought this on her. “You’re not a porn star. You’re a victim. We both are. I just never thought…” He raked a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands. “We should have been safe up here.”

  “And I should have known this was all too good to be true. Nothing stays perfect for long.” He reached for her, but she stood, putting distance between them that suddenly seemed much farther than a few feet. “You’d think life would have taught me that lesson often enough it would’ve sunk in by now.” Tears glittered in her eyes, but she forced a smile. “I’m going to go take a shower. Pretty sure your publicist’s master plan for damage control is going to involve the two of us and a united front.”

  He watched her walk into the bathroom, the sheet trailing behind her, and wondered if he should follow. Part of him said she’d want to deal with this on her own because, like him, she had to know why this had hit the internet so fast. Paul Travers was fucking with them. More specifically, the bastard was fucking with her. Evan had never wished so much that he was living in one of his films. Justice would have been swift and permanent. He paced by the bathroom door, wanting to gut the bastard and choke him with his bare hands.

  For better or worse, this was the real world, though, which meant finding some other way of sticking it to Travers. Preferably one that didn’t destroy Stasia or himself in the process.

  Gentle sobs broke the rhythm of water on tile. He didn’t care anymore if it was his right to comfort her. Evan yanked open the shower and gathered Stasia in his arms. Unlike their shower the night before, this wasn’t about playing or sex. She shook in his embrace, tears blending with water and washing down the drain. It took a long time before her trembling abated.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I should have anticipated all of this.”

  She choked on a mirthless laugh. “Really? Because I don’t think this falls under normal behavior—even in your life. And it’s not your fault. I know Paul. If anyone should have expected him to behave like this, it’s me.”

  At least there was no question in either of their minds who was behind the pictures. Too bad he didn’t know if she was crying over the fact that it happened at all—or over the depth of the betrayal from her ex. “We’ll get him for this, Stasia. I’m going to have Jessica find someone else to emcee. I plan on yanking him publicly for this.”

  She shook her head against his chest, the strands of her chestnut waves rubbing against his chest hair. “No. Unless we can prove he was behind the pictures, he’ll find a way to turn that against you. Call it slander. Paint himself as a victim if you fire him without cause.”

  Sighing with the realization that her world had once again centered fully on Paul Travers, Evan combed her hair off her face. “I’m not going to let him get away with this. He isn’t allowed to keep hurting you.”

  “He’ll get his. But I won’t let him mess with you and your career.”

  Okay, maybe not entirely centered on Travers. Still, Evan’s fist met the tile. “This was supposed to be about protecting you from him.”

  She tipped her head up, smiling. The expression was full of pain and sorrow, but it was still a smile, which was a start. “And now it’s about teaching him he can’t do things like this—to anyone. You were doing me a favor; you aren’t going to take the fall for this. He has a target on his back now, bigger than ever. We just need to find the right gun—one that can’t be pointed your way.”

  As good as it felt to know she truly cared about him, he didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. Evan wished like hell there was a way to just make this all go away—to let them get back to moving forward. For both their sakes.

  Water poured over them as she leaned into his embrace again. Evan wished things were as simple as Stasia seemed to think. With the way his heart ached around her, he was pretty sure someone had already caught him in the crossfire. And he wasn’t sure it was a wound he’d ever recover from.

  Chapter Ten

  Stasia had never felt less ready for something in her life. After a morning spent huddled around Evan’s phone while Jessica laid out a plan of attack—and then modified said plan over and over—all she wanted was to curl up in a ball and rock. This was like her worst nightmare. Because of one of the best nights of her life, everyone with a modem and a shred of voyeurism knew her far more intimately than she would have liked. No matter how much fun it seemed like it could be, she’d never wanted to be famous.

  And this so wasn’t the fun part.

  Strangers all over the world had seen her naked. Worse, seen her having sex. She’d had to call her parents and warn them before they heard about it on their own. And her boss… That conversation had gone worse than planned. He’d gotten word of her “
engagement” and was furious she hadn’t warned him she’d be leaving, but then he’d seen the photos and told her she was fired. Her story had been compromised and her reputation tarnished in a way he couldn’t see ever shining again. Then he’d hung up. She hadn’t bothered telling Evan. There wasn’t anything he’d be able to do about it, and the news would only make him feel worse about what had happened.

  At least she still had the income from advertising on her blog. Too bad her future was one big mess of no husband, no fiancé, no job, and nowhere she could go that people wouldn’t know her. She had no real choice but to put on a brave face and plow ahead with the plan because it was the only way she could see to salvage anything of her life.

  First, she had to face the members of the press who had been her friends and colleagues just days ago. Hopefully, the press conference would be enough to turn things in the right direction, but she would have much rather stayed in the hotel room with all the lights out while nursing a bottle of Patrón.

  How had she turned into this? She had vague memories of being the sort of teenager who went toe to toe with bullies and teachers alike. Now, she shied away from confrontation like it was a rabid dog.

  Of course, that was exactly what Paul wanted. He’d left her, yet, he still wanted her simpering and pathetic. How dare she move on or find a shred of happiness? Who cared if it was all a ruse? He’d obviously bought their ploy completely.

  And so had she.

  As much as she’d been trying to deny it, every moment had her falling more and more for Evan Stone. It didn’t matter how often he brought up Paul. Or how many times she reminded herself of Evan’s manwhore ways or that he was playing the media to repair his reputation. From the very start, repeating the facts had been for nothing. She’d thought remembering would help her keep her own emotions in check, but it had already been too late. She’d fallen for him the instant he first kissed her.

  And here she was, faced with the cold, hard truth of it all. Evan could spin this to work for him. She couldn’t, not really. From this point forward, she’d forever be the reporter who had sex with a movie star against a hotel room window.

  But she’d known the mess she was getting herself into—only she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  The photos and subsequent calls had just been a reminder how very much this wasn’t her life. She was a visitor in Evan’s world, and in a few days, she’d have to go back to whatever she managed to salvage of her own.

  “We’re almost there.” Evan’s voice shook her out of her musings, and she managed a tight nod. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise. Jessica is working the angles to bring it into the open that Travers was behind this.”

  If it didn’t come directly from them, Paul would have a hard time twisting the facts. Stasia only hoped Jessica was as good as Evan seemed to think. Not that it would change anything for her at the end of the day. She might be able to beg for her job back once it came out she’d been targeted by her ex, but she doubted it would get her anything but a pity-meeting. “I always had this delusion that it would be more fun making the news than just reporting on it.”

  “Surprise. Why do you think so many stars turn into hermits who hate the media? Will it help if I tell you that the minute we become boring this will all disappear?” He gathered her in his arms and kissed the top of her head as if nothing had changed.

  How could he be so wrong?

  Did he not see that Paul had turned the game? Even if she managed to ignore the loss of her job, they were still screwed. Up until the pictures, they’d been on the offense—driving toward their goal. Now? It was nothing but defense all the time. They were scrambling to get the upper hand again. To make matters worse, she was mixing sports metaphors. She could cross sports reporter off her list of potential career changes.

  Stasia let out an exhausted sigh. “I can pretend it helps.”

  “It’s a start.”

  Unfortunately, it was also a finish. It would take every bit of her energy after this to keep up the appearance of romance for the rest of the week. Correction: it would take all her energy to pretend their romance was anything more than another acting gig from Evan’s side. Sure, they were friends. He wouldn’t have helped her through this emotionally if he didn’t care, but that was where it ended. He’d suggested a fling; she’d been the one whose feelings were getting twisted up in knots.

  The cab pulled to a stop, and Evan took her hand. “Showtime.”

  Outside, cameras flashed and people whistled and yelled. The din was enough that she was able to convince herself every one of the people were Evan’s fans and none of them were cretins like the men at The Cavern. As an added confidence booster, Evan never let go of her fingers, and his touch gave her more strength than she cared to think about.

  One more thing she’d have to do without after the premiere.

  The room they entered wasn’t very big—more like a large living room than anything, most of it lined with already occupied chairs. Every member of the press here for the premiere had come as well as what she assumed were local reporters. She hoped like hell this hadn’t attracted the attention of people beyond that scope already.

  They waited at a side door while someone she didn’t know issued a series of directions to the reporters. Basically, stick to the topic and be respectful. Not all of them would obey the rule, but Evan had done this sort of thing before and would steer the discussion back on track. The short, balding man with at least three days beard growth stood at the microphone for a long minute as if memorizing everyone’s faces so he could remember who got out of line later. Only when he turned did Stasia recognize the bright-green eyes hiding beyond the weathered skin and facial hair—Marcus Nightbridge, director of The Game Maker.

  Nodding at them, Marcus returned to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, Evan Stone and Stasia Grant.”

  Following the director’s wave toward the podium, Evan strode in, his fingers still linked in Stasia’s. It was like he knew how much she needed the contact just to get through the next few minutes. “Hi, everyone. Pretty sure you all know why we’re here, so let’s cut to the chase. Yes, the pictures are real. My fiancée and I were having what we thought was a private moment about five hundred feet above street level in our private suite at the Palazzo. I should have known not even that would deter a determined photographer, but we were caught up in the moment.”

  A man from the middle of the room sniggered. “Looked like you were caught up in at least a couple moments.”

  Paul. Stasia clenched her hands into fists and prayed she wasn’t crushing Evan’s fingers. Hard as it was, she was not going to let her ex get the best of them here. Holding on to Evan, she had the strength to jump to her own defense for once.

  “Mr. Travers.” Trying to keep her fury from boiling over and affecting the mask of disinterest she’d been wearing since they left the hotel, Stasia twisted the mic toward her mouth as Paul stood. The feedback squeal had more than one person wincing, but she didn’t care. “Tell me something. Have you ever been completely head-over-heels for someone?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she waved a hand. “I don’t mean me, Paul. I’m not that needy, and quite frankly, I’ve had more attention this week than I bargained for.”

  Other people in the room laughed at that. Evan squeezed her hand and gave a reassuring smile.

  At least he didn’t think this direction was going to screw things up more. Her career had hit rock-bottom; she’d hate to drag him down with her. “I was thinking more along the lines of Lissa. Going on the assumption she hangs the moon and stars for you, I’m sure you have been swept up in more than one moment of passion with her. After all, that’s kind of what love is about, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t have anything to say to that and took his seat quietly. The expression on Lissa’s face almost made Stasia feel guilty, but the woman had to know what she was getting into with Paul. Sorry, honey, but you’re nothing more than a pretty accessory as far as he’s concerned. And
oddly, she wasn’t quite so “pretty” today. Her clothes were even more subdued, and her hair and makeup much more understated than normal. Considering she’d be on camera, it was even stranger than dinner the other night had been.

  Maybe she just hadn’t had time to put on the full Lissa for the meeting.

  Evan took the mic back. “Stasia made that point a lot more effectively than I could have. Who among you hasn’t been caught up in romance and love and done something foolish? And really, at the end of the day, if people weren’t trying to monitor my every move, looking for me to slip up, it would have been a beautiful moment that we could carry with us forever. Instead, it’s been tarnished by an overzealous photographer and whoever paid for those photos. So, please understand, neither of us is embarrassed by what we did. We’re just upset that a private moment was made very public.”

  The room sat in silence for a moment and then exploded with hands in the air and shouts of “Mr. Stone” and “Ms. Grant!” Evan pointed to an elderly gentleman in the front row.

  He smiled as he stood, all of five-two with snowy white hair and beard. The glasses perched on his nose made him look like a miniature Santa Claus. “Andrew Cox, Entertainment Today. Not to dismiss the serious nature of the intrusion, but I’m sure you’re aware this relationship came as a shock to many. Do you think this was someone’s attempt to get more information on the two of you?”

  Stasia was more than happy to let Evan field that one since she’d say something directed at Paul. Sometimes, having an actor on hand was incredibly helpful.

  “I have to say no. The kind of information one can gather through a camera lens is limited. Considering we did several interviews together the first day on site, as well as being available to the press at dinner last night, we haven’t been hiding. I have to believe this was nothing more than what it looks like—someone was paid to take intimate pictures, then sold them as quickly as possible.”