Page 74 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“The way you were watching me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Like you could see right through me.”

“I did,” I breathe, arching as his teeth graze my pulse point. “I felt every beat.”

He groans, capturing my mouth again in a kiss that makes my knees weak. One of his hands tangles in my hair while the other slides lower, gripping my thigh through the silk of my dress.

I don’t care that we’re in a public place. I don’t care that anyone could walk by. All I care about is the way he’s touching me, the desperate edge to his kisses, and how perfectly we melt together.

“We should stop,” he pants against my lips, even as his hands tighten their grip.

“We should,” I agree, but I’m already pulling him back in, nipping at his bottom lip.

The kiss deepens and grows more heated. His hand slides higher on my thigh, and I hook my leg around his hip, needing him closer.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pressing me harder against the wall. “Lacey—“

A camera flash explodes in our peripheral vision.

We break apart, breathing hard, just as footsteps hurry away down the corridor.

“Shit,” Nate mutters, but he doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

I should be panicking about the photo, about what it might show, what Rachel will say, and how the company will react.

But all I can focus on is the way Nate’s looking at me—like he wants to devour me whole, consequences be damned.

“We need to get back,” I whisper, but my fingers are still twisted in his vest.

He nods, but instead of stepping away, he kisses me again—slower this time, deeper—like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me.

When we finally break apart, we’re both trembling.

“This isn’t over,” he says, his voice rough with promise.

My whole body shivers at his tone. “Good.”

We take a moment to straighten our clothes and fix our hair. But there’s no hiding the flush in my cheeks or how our lips are swollen from our passionate kissing.

By the time we make it back to the party, Rachel is frantically typing on her phone. Her sharp gaze finds us immediately, narrowing at our disheveled appearance.

“Where have you been?” she demands, but before we can answer, her phone buzzes. Her face pales as she looks at the screen.

I already know what she’s seeing—a photo of Nate and me locked in a passionate embrace, my leg hitched around his hip, his hand sliding up my thigh. The picture might be grainy and partially shadowed, but there’s no mistaking the raw desire captured in that moment, looking like we were seconds from tearing each other’s clothes off.

“My office,” Rachel snaps. “First thing tomorrow morning.”

I nod, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when Nate’s hand is still on my lower back, not when I can still taste him on my lips.

Sometimes, the most real moments happen when we stop trying to control them.

And that kiss? That was the realest thing I’ve felt in years.

The company can deal with it tomorrow. Tonight belongs to us.

Twenty-Three

Nate

I slam my drumsticks against the snare, the force behind the beat harder than it should be. The sound reverberates through the studio, a relentless, driving rhythm that does nothing to ease the tension coiled tight in my chest.

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