Page 60 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I nod demurely, every bit the company princess. “That would be lovely.”

We make our exit look casual, strolling toward the terrace. But instead of turning right, we slip left down a darkened hallway. Nate creates a subtle barrier shielding me from any potential followers.

“Run,” Nate whispers, grabbing my hand.

We dash through the museum’s back corridors, stifling laughter like teenagers sneaking out of prom. The cool night air hits us as we burst through the service entrance, and Nate’s driver already has the car waiting.

“Go, go, go,” I urge as we slide into the backseat, just as Rachel’s voice can be heard from somewhere close by. “Drive!”

The car pulls away smoothly, and we collapse against the leather seats, breathless and grinning.

“That was close,” Nate says, but his eyes are dark with something that has nothing to do with our escape.

“Too close.” I reach for him, propriety forgotten now that we’re alone. “I’ve missed you.”

His lips find mine, and our days of being apart, with too much distance between us, evaporate. I climb onto his lap, the silk of my dress sliding up my thighs as his hands grip my waist. The privacy screen is up, but the thrill of semi-public intimacy makes every touch more intense. His lips find that sensitive spot below my ear that makes me gasp.

“Ms. Monroe,” he murmurs against my neck, “this is not very company appropriate.”

“Shut up,” I gasp as his teeth graze my skin. “No princess talk right now.”

The drive home feels endless, even with the privacy screen up. By the time we arrive, we’re both desperate. Nate practically carries me through the front door, my arms around his neck, my body dangling like an ornament.

“Six days apart,” he groans between kisses. “Never again.”

“Too long,” I agree, working at his bow tie. “Way too long.”

We leave a trail of formal wear from the foyer to his bedroom—his jacket, my shoes, his shirt, various pieces of jewelry. I’ll probably have to search for my earrings tomorrow.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes when he finally gets me out of the dress, his calloused fingers trailing fire across my bare skin. The contrast between his rough hands and gentle touch makes me shiver.

I laugh, pulling him down to me. “Proper company princess by day...” I flip us so I’m straddling him. “But it’s night, and right now, I just want to be yours.”

His hands span my waist, eyes dark with desire. “Mine.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning neither of us is ready to address. Instead, I lean down to kiss him, pouring everything I can’t say into it.

We take our time making up for our six days and nights apart with touches, kisses, and whispered words. Every brush of his fingers erases another moment of being the picture-perfect couple, of being the proper company princess, until I’m just me and he’s just Nate, and nothing else matters.

Later, curled into his side, I trace patterns on his chest. “We’re going to be in so much trouble tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.” He kisses my temple. “Rachel will survive.”

“My career might not.”

He tightens his arms around me. “Nobody owns you, Lace. Not really.”

“No,” I agree softly, thinking of contract clauses, image requirements, and all the reasons this started. “But they do own my career.”

“For now.” He tilts my chin up to look at him. “But tonight? Tonight is ours.”

I kiss him because he’s right, because in this moment I don’t want to think about contracts or pretense or anything beyond this bed and his arms around me.

“Just ours,” I echo against his lips and feel him smile.

Outside these walls, I’ll go back to being the company’s newest star, and he’ll be the edgy yet respectable rockstar. We’ll play our parts and smile for cameras and maintain appropriate distances.

But here, we’re just us—enjoying our fake engagement with benefits.

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