Page 40 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

There’s more silence. I dunk my fries in mayo and mustard, one after the other. Duke wrinkles his lip. “Mayo? Gross.”

“I like it.” I shrug, and eat another.

“You know, I once heard Guy Fieri call it ‘food lube’,” he drawls.

“What? Eww!” I put my fry down in a hurry, and he smirks.

“See? Gross.”

“Real mature.” I snap back. Then the back of my neck prickles, and I don’t even have to look this time to know. “Don’t look, but the paparazzi are here,” I murmur in a low voice. I carefully smooth down my hair, and check I don’t have mustard dripping down my dress.

Duke cranes his neck, looking around. I poke him with a fork. “I said, don’t look!”

“Easy there.” Duke rubs his hand. “Unless you want the photos to be me walking out of here dripping blood.”

I bite back another retort, and fix a big, besotted smile on my face instead. I can’t go snapping the guy’s head off anymore– not when I’m supposed to be tumbling head-over-heels in love with him instead.

“Oh, poor baby,” I coo, leaning over and squeezing Duke’s hand. “Do you need me to kiss it better?”

I bring his hand to my lips and kiss the knuckles softly, gazing at him across the table with the flirty kind of smile that turns all men to putty in my hands.

Duke just shakes his head. “I liked it better when you were being a spoiled brat,” he grumbles.

OK, maybe not all men.

He finishes his beer, and gets to his feet. “C’mon. We better get this dog-and-pony show on the road.”

I take a deep breath. He’s right. The rehearsal’s over, and now, I need to sell the performance of a lifetime.

We head out to the parking lot, and I try my best to ignore the photographer snapping away from behind his rental Volvo.

“I think I remember this guy from the cottage this morning,” Duke says with a smirk, as he opens the passenger door for me. “He squealed like a little baby, running away.”

I laugh. “You did look like something from a horror movie,” I point out. “I’m surprised nobody called the cops.”

“Oh, they did.” Duke offers me his hand, helping me up into the cab. “Good thing I’ve known the deputies here since we were kids. They don’t have any time for outsiders, kicking up trouble.”

“Is that what I am?” I look over. Sitting in the truck, I’m eye-level with him. His blue eyes are almost inky in the twilight, I realize. Deep and stormy and–

“Trouble?” Duke’s gaze slides over me, strangely intimate. “I’d say so.”

He slams the door before I can answer, and rounds the hood to the driver’s side. Soon, we’re on the road, heading back to my cottage. Duke keeps shooting tense looks in the rearview mirror, as the photographer’s headlights follow us back along the winding country roads.

“I thought the whole point of this plan was to stop those assholes trailing me around,” he grumbles.

“They will.” I try to reassure him. “Once they get a good photo, they’ll leave. Nobody will be staking me out 24/7 anymore; they won’t have to, not with Quinn tipping them off exactly where to find us.”

“Sounds like a deal with the devil,” he mutters, scowling.

“Now who’s being the drama queen?” I tease. Then I remember what Quinn said. “Will it be OK, not dating other women for the summer?” I venture, glancing over at him.

Duke gives a shrug. “Doesn’t make that much difference to me.”

“Really?” I look him over. Sure, the guy has a habit of getting under my skin, but there was a moment when we first met – a very brief moment, before he opened that mouth – that I thought he was kind of hot. In a scruffy, unshaven, brooding kind of way. “I would have thought the ladies of Cape Cod would be all over your surly woodsman routine.”

Duke gives me a withering look. “I don’t chop wood.”

“Then what’s the chainsaw for?” I shoot back. “Or do I not want to know?”

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