Page 48 of Worth Every Moment
“This is a PR issue,” he announces, sounding like he’s been thinking of how to phrase it since we got out of the car.
“How so?” I ask.
“You’re worried this article and others like it are going to ruin your chances of landing a role inTaming the Beast.”
A stream of anxiety trickles through the centre of my body. “Yes.”
“So… fix it.”
“How do I do that?”
He doesn’t look at me, but he smiles and his dimple pops. “You could start by smiling in photographs.” The comment immediately makes me scowl, and Seb bumps his shoulder against mine. “You have a beautiful smile.”
“Smiling isn’t going to get me an acting career.”
“It might. But yeah, you need a total overhaul.” He grabs my hand, and the gesture is so casual that it seems to mean nothing to him, but my heart leaps at the unexpected contact. We veer off the path and onto the grass, where clusters of people are sunbathing. Seb dodges through them, me following behind, until he reaches a shady spot under a tree.
This is the first time we’ve ever hung out together, alone, beyond the walls of our apartments. If Seb has noticed that fact, he hasn’t mentioned it. But with his hand in mine, everything I’ve missed hits me so fucking hard. The freedom of being herewith him, defying my mother, risking a little piece of my heart. I feel more alive than I have for weeks. I always feel alive in Seb’s presence, like he makes every cell in my body fizz. And now, in the light of day, in public, in the heat of this unusually warm spring, surrounded by the happy chatter of all these people, the sensation is magnified.
It feels a little like I imagine being in love feels. Not that I’d know. But if I had to guess, this moment, right here, his hand in mine and the sun on my skin… it’s somewhere close.
Seb stops, throws his jacket on the grass and points to it. “Sit down.”
The command has a little ripple of something hot cascading down my spine, and I sit on his jacket before I can think too hard about what it means. He stands over me, silhouetted against the sun. Broad shoulders tapering to lean hips. My heart does a strange, quivery beat as I imagine what I’d do if he lowered himself on top of me. I blink the thought away, adjusting my sunglasses so I can see him properly.
“I have a suggestion,” he says. “You’re going to want to say no, but I want you to think carefully about it before you answer. And remember that I do marketing and PR all day, every day. I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” I say cautiously. “What is it?”
He drops beside me and lies down. I take him in: the strong jaw, the dimple, the hair, light brown and gently mussed, that all but screams ‘touch me’. He is outrageously gorgeous. I can see why women would want to jump into bed with him. Not me, though.Definitely not me.
He props his other hand behind his head, exposing the tanned, veined forearm closest to me, and an unmistakable pulse throbs between my thighs.
Oh, fuck it. Maybe me.
Still staring up into the branches overhead, and for no apparent reason, he smiles, and that dimple pops.
The throbbing between my legs bangs like a drum.
Fine. Definitely me.
Hypothetically, of course. Not in real life. Just in my head, locked away safely in my imagination. Because Erica Lefroy and Seb Hawkston are not a pairing that works long-term. And I don’t do casual. I mean, really, I don’t do any kind of dating at all, long or short term.
“Are you going to tell me what this idea of yours—”
“Date me.” He deadpans the words as though they mean nothing, but the fact it took him so long to come out with it lends them a weight that undermines his tone.
“No,” I reply on reflex.
“I don’t mean for real,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I mean… for show. For PR purposes. I might not have been the right guy for you before, but this is my fucking moment. Let me help you get this movie deal.”
My skin is hot, and it’s not just the sun. “I’m listening.”
He blows out a breath, and if I didn’t know him so well, I’d say he was nervous. But Seb doesn’t get nervous, does he? “You need to look like you aren’t so aloof, right? Like you might… enjoy sex.” The corner of his mouth tips upwards. “I’m your man.”
Oh, fuck. My body is trying to stage a coup against my brain. I press my thighs together to stop the pulsing sensation that’s taken root there. “No.”
“Come on, Lefroy.” He pulls out his phone. “Did you even check the social media coverage of me helping you off the runway?”
