Page 39 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I wonder if he can tell I’m not talking about Jake Morrison, my film co-star. I’m talking about him.

The air between us thickens, the weight of my words settling into the silence between us. I swallow as Nate states in a low voice, “Lacey—“

I close my eyes, grateful for the darkness hiding my expression, as I cut him off. “Go to sleep, Nate.”

He doesn’t respond, but I feel his presence below me like a physical touch, making it impossible to relax. Every shift, every breath reminds me he’s there.

I wake sometime later to the sound of him groaning, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor. Guilt gnaws at my conscience as I watch him try to find a better position.

“Nate,” I whisper.

Nothing.

“Nate.” I reach down, touching his shoulder. His skin is warm under my fingers.

He blinks up at me, confusion clouding his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Come up here.” I’m already arranging pillows between us, creating a barrier. “Just... stay on your side.”

He hesitates, and I can see him weighing his options. Finally, with another groan, he rises, movements stiff from the floor.

The mattress dips as he settles in, and immediately, the air changes. Even with a pillow wall between us, his presence fills the space, making my skin tingle with awareness.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

I swallow hard. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

His low chuckle sends warmth spiraling through me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But as I drift off, I can’t help wondering if I’m the one who should be worried about regrets.

Morning comes too soon, painting golden streaks across the room. I surface slowly from sleep, aware of warmth pressed against me, a steady heartbeat under my cheek.

Reality crashes in. The pillows are gone, scattered across the floor like casualties of war. And I’m draped across Nate like he’s my personal mattress, one leg thrown over his, my arm curled around his torso. His arm holds me close, hand splayed possessively across my back.

Panic rises in my throat. I try to move carefully, but his arm tightens instinctively.

“Running away?” His morning voice is deeper, raspier, doing things to my insides I don’t want to examine.

I force myself to sound normal. “I should—“

“Stay.” The word rumbles through his chest where my cheek still rests. “Just for a minute.”

I finally look up at him, and my breath catches. His blue eyes are dark with sleep and something else. His hair is mussed in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch it. The morning stubble along his jaw looks rough, dangerous.

“The pillows were supposed to stay put,” I manage.

His lips curve. “Guess they had other ideas.” His fingertips trace idle patterns on my back, each touch sending sparks through my thin shirt.

I should move. I should definitely move. Instead, I find myself studying the hollow of his throat, the strong line of his collar bone.

“Lacey.” My name sounds like a warning and a plea.

A sharp knock shatters the moment. Rachel’s voice carries through the door, “Rise and shine, lovebirds!”

I scramble away from Nate so fast I nearly fall off the bed. He catches my wrist, steadying me, and the simple touch feels like fire.

“Coming!” I call out, my voice embarrassingly high.

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