britches?”
I’m making a fool of myself.
I reply with a glower. “Let’s just get this over with. The limo’s waiting.”
Callie makes a big dramatic show of clapping her hand to her heart. “He’s a keeper, isn’t she?” she says to Monica, with a smirk.
Monica answers with a scornful side-eye, directed at me. “I’m telling you. If I weren’t already married, I would have a hard time resisting a smooth talker like that.”
I shoot her a narrow eyed look of annoyance in return. How did Callie suddenly become besties with Monica, who’s notoriously picky when it comes to trusting fellow members of the female sex?
As we head for the limo, there are half a dozen paparazzi waiting for us on the curb. Russell tipped them off that I’d be taking my fiancée out to dinner today.
Our rental house is a neo-modern concrete and glass eyesore in a quiet suburb of Nashville, with high privacy hedges and fences. Our lease ends when our tour starts, because we’re going to be travelling for at least a year. We’ve always been migratory anyway. Half the time when we were growing up, we were on the run from the law because of some bullshit our stepfather had pulled.
Callie and I ignore the paps’ shouted questions, but I give them a friendly wave. Then I hold the door open for her and she enters without a word and slides to the far end of the seat, pressing up against the door so she doesn’t have to be close to me.
Dark resentment pulses through me and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m angry at her for not being who I want her to be. I’m angry at myself for still feeling intense desire for her even though I know she doesn’t give a damn about me as a person. Every time I’m near her my mouth goes dry and all the blood in my body rushes south and makes me light-headed. It makes me feel like a fool.
One thing I’ve got going for me, though—I know my presence has the same physical effect on Callie that hers has on me. I can hear it in the way her breath hitches when I get close to her. I can see how her nipples swell into hard little buds under the thin fabric of her blouse. And I’m in a sour enough mood that I feel like using that to my advantage, to make her feel as unsettled as I do.
I slide down the seat, and she squirms a little and hugs herself. “Too close,” she says.
“Whatever you say.” I slide away a few inches, smirking. “Am I making you nervous?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I don’t have to flatter myself to see that I have a certain physical effect on you.” I flick a glance in the direction of her chest. “And I like it.”
She makes a huffing sound and folds her arms over her chest to hide the evidence. “You don’t need to look so smug.”
I respond with a predatory smile. “That’s just my face, darlin’.”
Callie rolls her eyes at me. “Dial it down a notch. There are no cameras in here.” But the spicy scent of her arousal drifts to my nostrils and betrays her real feelings.
“Hey, we’ve got a show to put on. I’m just getting in character.”
She makes a big show of pulling her cell phone out of her purse and ignoring me for the rest of the ride. We’re going to the Golden Bull in downtown Nashville. It’s the celebrity hangout, where the rich and famous love to make appearances then pretend to be annoyed and shocked that the paparazzi are there, as if they weren’t there every single night.
Our driver pulls up into the traffic circle in front of the restaurant. When we get out, the press goes crazy. This mystery fiancée thing may not have been such a terrible idea on Russell’s part.
I wave at them, and Callie does too.
“Swampy Bottom!” she calls out to them. “Don’t forget!”
The paparazzi buzz with excitement.
“Are you from Swampy Bottom?”
“Tell us your name!”
“What are you trying to hide?”
I put my arm around her, pull her in close, and whisper in her ear. “Stop going off script. I wasn’t kidding about the laryngitis.” Unfortunately, being that close means I can smell her sweet perfume and my lips are brushing against her shell-like ear. She sucks in a breath and shivers. I’m glad my jacket covers my crotch area, or the press would be snapping pictures of an embarrassing