Page 58 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Me:‘Just wait until you see the tiara they’re making me wear for promotions.’

Nate: ‘You’ll rock it.’

And my heart does another little flip.

Glancing at the clock, I realize I need to get on set. As I leave my room, I see Jake Morrison, my co-star from The Oasis. “Jake, what are you doing here? Is Rebecca with you?”

He comes over and gives me a brief hug. “No, she’s busy with her sitcom. I had to stop by to pick up a script, then I’m on my way to Spain for filming.”

“It’s rough, isn’t it? Trying to juggle the whole two-careers thing.”

He nods ruefully. “Yeah.”

“How do you make it work?” I ask, searching his expression.

“You want the truth? Some days, we don’t. But then there are moments when it’s just the two of us...” He smiles fondly. “Moments that remind you why it’s all worth it.”

We’re interrupted when someone exits a room down the hall. “Mr. Morrison, I have your script.”

Jake smiles down at me. “It was good seeing you, Monroe. Good luck with the new movie.”

As he walks away, I think of Nate and realize Jake’s right—about all of it. We can make this work.

By the time Saturday arrives, everything that can go wrong does. My morning flight is delayed two hours. When I finally land in Jacksonville, traffic is a nightmare.

When I eventually get to Nate’s house, I will have exactly forty-five minutes to get ready before we need to leave for the charity gala.

I burst through the door, dragging my suitcase behind me, already pulling my hair free from its travel-weary bun. “I hate planes.”

Nate comes over and gives me a quick but thorough kiss. Then murmurs, “Rough trip?”

“You have no idea,” I say as I kick off my shoes and sigh in relief. “I need to shower, fix my hair, do my makeup—“

“I could help with that,” he offers, pushing off the counter.

The look in his eyes tells me exactly what kind of help he has in mind.

I narrow my eyes. “No helping right now, Nate.”

He chuckles, not looking the least bit sorry as he watches me disappear into the bedroom.

I shower in record time, throw my hair into soft waves, and slip into the emerald-green gown Rachel had delivered. It’s sleek and backless and hugs every single one of my curves.

His dark suit is tailored to perfection, and the white shirt underneath is unbuttoned just enough to make my fingers itch to trace the exposed skin. When he sees me, his eyes darken, trailing slowly up my body in a way that makes heat pool low in my stomach.

“Damn, Lace.” His voice is low and rough. “The way you look is dangerous.”

I give him a womanly grin, walking toward him. “You look pretty lethal yourself.”

His fingers brush along my waist as I stop in front of him, his gaze still drinking me in. He exhales heavily. “We really need to start skipping these events.”

I grimace, looping my arms around his neck. “Think Rachel would believe we got food poisoning?”

His hand trails slowly and deliberately down my back. “Doubtful.”

I tilt my head. “You sure? I could be very convincing.”

His lips ghost along my jaw, just barely touching. My pulse pounds. He’s so close—

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