Shifting his other hand from my side to the small of my back, he pulls me flush against him. My hands fly back to his broad shoulders. But instead of placing them demurely like before, I grasp at his flesh before moving my hands upward to wrap them around his neck. I arch into him, loving the firmness of his chest against mine, the bulges of his muscles, the warmth of his skin. My head is spinning.
Someone moans softly.Shit! Was that me?
Louis slides his hands up and cups my face. One more mind-blowing stroke of his tongue, and then he breaks the kiss, holding me close.
“Your time is up, lovebirds!” the emcee shouts before addressing the public. “It was up, like, a minute ago, but I took pity on them.”
As the spectators laugh and hoot, my face heats up with embarrassment… and shock. We’ve been kissing each other like we meant it for two minutes in front of all these people. In the end, it was Louis who had the presence of mind to put an end to it.
I’ve had enough hookups, especially in the first two desperate years that followed Jeannette’s death, to know I’m not one to lose control like that. It’s simply never happened before. Not once.
People around us finally stop clapping. The hoots and cheers die down. An employee brings us some water, and we knock it back. Bottles of champagne are opened for the competing couples. When Louis and I get our bubbly, we chug it.
Another employee comes over to refill our flutes with more champagne. We drink up and avoid looking at each other.
The emcee saunters toward us. “A bus will be here soon to transfer all the couples to the dinner venue.”
Louis looks around him until he spots something.
I follow his gaze. It’s Rudy, hovering a few meters away.
Louis turns to the emcee. “I’m so sorry, but my wife and I have a private… I mean, apriorarrangement tonight.”
A disappointed pout on the emcee’s face gives way to a cheeky smile. “Given the smoking-hot show you treated us to, you’re forgiven. Have fun!”
CHAPTER14
LOUIS
While Rudy drives Camille and me back to the royal palace, I know exactly what I’m going to do. It’s a three-step plan. Step one, I’ll send for some food. Step two, Camille and I will eat. Step three, we’ll fuck.
A tiny voice in the back of my head mutters something, and I pretend I can’t hear it. Except, I totally can.
It’s saying, “Abort the mission! Don’t do it! You’ll regret it.”
And it’s right, of course.
Pressing my lips to Camille’s under the mistletoe felt unexpectedly good. So good I lost control and kissed her for real. Which felt even better. I blame the Estonian carry for my undoing. Having Camille’s firm ass propped against my head from behind, and her thighs wrapped around my neck had primed me in a way that would’ve never happened with a piggyback or fireman’s carry.
And now I want more.
Damn, we only just got married! It’s too early for sex. If we were at the end of our mutually beneficial partnership, a one-off could be a nice way to say goodbye. But with an entire year of faking love ahead of us, having sex would be extremely unwise.
We’re virtual strangers, despite some good moments we shared over the past couple of days. I’ve read her file. Intellectually, I understand what drives her—a misguided belief in her sister’s innocence—but other than that, I don’t really know her. A year of pretense won’t bring us closer. Lying always takes a toll on me. Lying to so many people and for so long will wear me down.
With every passing month, Camille and I might grow to resent each other. Increasing so much that we’ll come to hate our forced proximity. My forfeiting a relationship with a coveted movie star will add to the rancor.
So, having sex with Camille at this point will only further complicate our shaky setup.
Really, I shouldn’t do it.
“Have you eaten already?” I ask Rudy, hoping he’ll say no so I won’t be dining alone with Camille.
“Yes, my lord, but I’ll be happy to raid the kitchens for you.” He looks at Camille in the rearview mirror. “Any food allergies or preferences I should be aware of, my lady?”
“None,” she replies. “Thank you.”
I rack my brain for something else to discuss with Rudy, so I don’t have to talk with Camille. “How’s Angie’s migraine? It must be bad if she skipped the event.”