Page 33 of The Villain Edit

It’s perfect, like when we kissed in bed. She tastes sweet and meets me slow kiss for slow kiss, pulling away before we cross over into a full-on public make-out.

“Well done,” she murmurs, staring at my lips.

I swipe my thumb across my lower lip, but there’s no lipstick on me. Something tugs in the back of my brain, but the waiter is here, taking our order, asking for my autograph.

We pick easy questions off David’s list as we eat brisket sandwiches and coleslaw. When Ash gets a little sauce in the corner of her mouth, I wipe it off with my thumb. Her eyes go dark when I suck the tangy sweet sauce off the tip of my thumb.

The table cloth isn’t long enough, and Ash and I aren’t real, but I still think about what I want to do to her under the table. I’d tug that skirt up nice and slow, slipping my fingers inside her thong, running them up her slick center until I found her swollen clit. Rubbing it and watching the color rise on her face as she tries to hold in her moans. No one—including Ash—would expect it of me, and that turns me on too.

I’m hanging on by a single fraying thread.

We feed each other dessert and after, her perfectly painted lips don’t smudge on the napkin as she dabs her mouth and places it on the table.

“No lipstick mark,” I point out. My heart kicks up a notch. I feel sick to my stomach at finally recognizing the significance.

Ash looks at me like I’ve lost it. “This stuff is bulletproof.”

It was a setup after all.

I take a sip of water and try to sound casual, but a dull roar is building in my ears. The conversations and the clatter of silverware on plates and the skid of chairs on wood floors are jarring when a moment ago they barely existed. “Is that the only kind you wear?”

She shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“But not to weddings,” I say quietly.

Ashley reels back, her eyes wide.

I still don’t understand what happened that night. Nothing makes sense, but I hate feeling like I was a mark.

“Is this what you wanted?” I ask her. “Was it all a con with your aunt to get me here? To save your career? To ruin mine?”

She glances around the bar, and too late I realize I should have waited to confront her until we got back to the hotel. She’s gone pale.

“I’m going to get up,” she says quietly, her voice firm. “I’m going to go to the ladies’ room. You are going to settle the bill and walk out of this restaurant after me like you can’t wait the ten-minute drive to the hotel to fuck me. Got it?”

Was she trying to end my career? Hoping to blackmail me?

I’m coming out of this on top, whatever little plans Ashley Foley has for me.

I grab her and kiss her and this time it’s hard and a little mean and she bites my lip and pulls away before I can return the favor, but there’s heat in her eyes again.

“Go,” I whisper. Before we both do or say something in public we’ll regret.

She goes.

Chapter ten

Ashley

Theridetothehotel happens in a blur of cold, hard silence. Gabe leans against the seat, his body relaxed, watching the city go by. He’s trying too hard though. Tension is leaking through the cracks. I wonder what role he’s calling back, what situation he’s pretending he’s in. Or maybe it’s a muscle memory of a man projecting a calm, quiet confidence.

He must be worried if he thinks this was all about getting into a fake relationship. Honestly, if that was what I’d wanted, I’d have my agent call his. Except his agent wouldn’t have taken the call.

And why would I want to ruin his career? I don’t give a shit about the Warwick franchise. I care even less about his career.

No, why I did what I did is so much worse than anything he could be thinking.

He’ll walk if I confirm his fears, he’ll walk if I tell the truth. Either way, my career is dust. I’d do anything to put more miles between us and the inevitable fake breakup and if I’m honest with myself, it’s not just my career I’m about to kill. Whatever this thing with Gabe is, I like it.

---