Page 40 of Fake Fiancé for the Billionaire Rockstar

I clear my throat and chuckle, running a hand down the back of my neck nervously. “I, uh, didn’t expect you to look so… beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Gee, thanks a lot. You sure know how to make me feel special.”

“Shit,” I mutter, then take a step forward and grab one of her hands. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always beautiful. I just didn’t expect you to take my words seriously when I said to dress for the occasion.”

“Should I go change?” she asks, chewing on the inside of her cheek while darting her attention around the room.

“Don’t you dare,” I growl, the sound foreign coming out of me, and I take a tentative step back. “Let me check on dinner.”

Carmen turns to walk away and I grab her elbow gently, forcing her to look back at me. “Seriously, Sunshine, you look beautiful tonight.”

Her cheeks heat and she nods curtly. “Thanks, Drummer Boy.”

Now that I’ve seen how she looks tonight, I’m more nervous that something will go wrong with dinner and I wipe my sweaty hands down my thighs in frustration. Nerves have never taken hold of me so much and it’s nerve wracking to say the least.

She follows me in the kitchen, as I'm gathering ingredients for dinner. I have to remind myself to stay focused on the task at hand.

"So, what's on the menu for tonight?" she asks, her voice light but with an undercurrent of something I can't quite place.

I grin, grateful for the distraction. "I thought I'd keep it simple but delicious. How does Chicken Alfredo sound?"

"Mmm, creamy pasta with tender chicken? Sounds perfect," she replies, her eyebrows raising slightly. "I didn't know you could cook Italian."

"Well, it's more Italian-American, but I've picked up a few tricks," I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice. Cookinghas always been my secret talent, something I rarely share with others. "The secret is in getting the sauce just right - creamy, but not too heavy."

"I'm impressed," Carmen admits. "And here I thought your talents were limited to the drums."

I can't help but chuckle, meeting her eyes. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sunshine. Maybe it's time you found out."

The words come out more suggestive than I intended, and I see a flicker of something—surprise? Interest?—in Carmen's eyes. I turn back to my preparations, trying to steady my hands and my racing thoughts.

As I start chopping vegetables, I can feel Carmen's eyes on me.

Is she as affected as I am?

The Chicken Alfredo turned out better than I expected—creamy with just the right amount of garlic and perfectly seared chicken mixed in. The smell still lingers, wrapping around us, making the quiet between us feel heavier somehow.

Carmen finishes off the last of her wine, courtesy of the wine cabinet being partially stocked, and chuckles before rising from her chair. “I should get to bed.”

“Thanks for dinner,” she murmurs, her voice quiet, almost... shy.

She doesn’t seem to be too intoxicated, she’s only drank a few glasses of wine, but that doesn’t stop me from being protective as I rise to help her into the bedroom. I wait for her to scold me about helping, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead and narrows them in concentration.

When we stumble into the room, I’m so focused on the look in her eyes—those dark, unreadable depths—that I don’t notice the shoes scattered across the floor until it’s too late. My foot catches, and we go down hard. Instinct kicks in, and I twist mid-fall, wedging myself between Carmen and the floor.

The impact knocks the air out of me, but it’s not just the fall that leaves me breathless. Carmen lands sprawled on top of me, her soft curves pressed against every inch of my body. My hands find her waist without thinking, holding her steady.

And that’s when everything slows.

She’s right there, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts against mine. Her tongue drags slowly across her bottom lip, and my mind blanks.

Fuck. Closing my eyes for half a second, I try to will the rush of desire away. It surges anyway, planting itself deep inside me.

The moment she feels it, her eyes widen, and she jumps, lips parting slightly in surprise.

A sharp breath escapes me as I fight to keep my hands still against her waist, uncertain if she’s even aware they’re there.Every nerve screams for movement, but I wait, bracing for her to tell me to get the hell off of her. Time stretches painfully thin before she finally shifts, wiggling in my grasp. Reluctantly, I ease my hold—but she doesn’t pull away.

“What... what are you doing?” The question slips from me, low and rough, more growl than words.

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