Contracted For Love: Famous Love Series (7 page)

As she was running through the scenes for the second time, she heard the faint sound of the band playing behind her. The studio must have had some seriously thick walls to muffle the music so well. She craned her ears to try to hear it, but the soundproofing did its job too well. She was dying to know what they were creating in there; maybe Jack would let her listen, if she was nice to him.

Unable to hear the music and already tired of the few paragraphs of lines she needed to learn, she let her thoughts wander to Jack. Mostly, she tried not to think about him, but after sharing his home and his bed for four nights, she was fascinated by the fact that he’d barely softened toward her at all. He still scowled when she insisted on visiting the kitchen, although he’d spoken to Mrs. Jones and the two women were now allowed to converse freely. Charlotte hadn’t pushed her luck, yet, but she had a secret plan to get Mrs. Jones to teach her how to make the amazing berry pie they’d had for dessert on her second night there.

Jack hadn’t agreed to accompany her to the Strip for another visit, yet. He’d booked their tickets for Paris, though, and she felt a shiver of excitement knowing they’d be flying out two days from now. Paris! Her family had hardly been able to believe it when she’d finally told them her news about the engagement and the holiday in Paris. She could tell her dad had been worried, by the tone of his voice, but he’d hidden it well and hadn’t grilled her too much. She was glad since being in a fake relationship was more work than she had expected.

Pretending she hadn’t heard the sliding door behind her open slowly, Charlotte lifted herself up onto her knees and stretched her arms in front of her. She arched her back and wiggled her bikini-clad bottom in the air. She then sat on her knees, stood, and dove into the pool in one fluid movement. When she surfaced at the shallow end, she turned to face the studio and slicked her hair back. Just like before, the faces of the band stared open-mouthed as she stood waist-deep in the water, her white bikini having turned completely see-through, now that she was soaking wet.

“What?” she asked as she saw Jack’s face turn a deep shade of red.

***

“Why are you so angry with me, Jack? It’s been days since the pool incident.”

Jack glared at her over the newspaper he was reading. His eyes flicked down her body to take in his future wife, wearing his favourite t-shirt paired with tiny, denim shorts. He’d tucked that shirt away on a shelf to keep it out of her hands, but she’d found it, anyway, and her breasts now proudly proclaimed her as a member of the USC alumni. She’d never even been to college, dammit!

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. We’re flying to Paris tonight. How can we go if you’re not speaking to me?”

“Why do you even care? You’re getting the vacation you were promised.” His eyes returned to the paper, dismissing her.

She watched him as he ignored her. She’d never liked arguments to drag on and on, preferring to have a slap-down, drag-out row and clear the air. He’d been ignoring her ever since the band left, though. Charlotte had eaten dinner alone for two nights, and there was no way she was going to Paris just so he could shun her in the most romantic city on Earth. Maybe it was time to play the good wife card, even though the thought of it made her want to gouge her own eyes out.

After letting out a sigh, she walked slowly around the table and put her hands tentatively on his shoulders. She let them rest there for a few seconds, making sure to give him a chance to push her away. Jack didn’t rush to stand up, though, just sat statue-still as he read with his head down.

So far, so good.

Charlotte slid her hands from his shoulders toward the nape of his neck, and as she pressed her fingers into his muscles just below his hairline, she marvelled at her first real touch of Jack Fawkner. No matter what the public thought, you could not mistake him for being anything but all man. He worked out every day, and she felt the hardness under his shirt as her fingertips explored across his shoulders. It was thrilling to be so close to him, and she dug her fingers in harder and moved them in circles as she ran up and down on either side of his spine. He didn’t move, though—he wasn’t giving in to her that easily.

Charlotte’s hands slipped inside his t-shirt and she massaged his broad shoulders with her thumbs, skin on skin. He twitched slightly and she grinned to herself. It seemed Jack wasn’t oblivious to her touch, after all.

She continued to move her hands across his skin in slow motion as she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Can we be friends?”

“No.”

Shit! He isn’t going to make this easy.

“Please?” she spoke into his ear again, exhaling so her breath would tickle his ear. He stayed silent, but he put the newspaper down and raised his head. She chanced a look at his face to see that his eyes were closed as her hands still moved across his skin.

Interesting. That has to be a sign that relations are thawing.

She stood upright again and concentrated on giving him her best shoulder massage—easier than it sounded. The feel of his warm skin under her hands and the fact that he’d closed his eyes and was letting her continue had its own effect on her. Charlotte couldn’t help but think about seeing him without that shirt on; a feat she hadn’t managed to achieve these last two weeks.

He hadn’t been in the pool and he’d seemed to be careful about only showering when she was elsewhere in the house. He’d been in bed each night when she turned in, but she’d caught the odd glimpse of his bare shoulder, which had been enough for her to know that the rest of him would be magnificent. Until now, she’d had to imagine it. She dared not breathe, in case he suddenly changed his mind as her hands pressed and kneaded the muscles in his back and shoulders. She slid them up to cup either side of his neck and then into his hair.

He suddenly stiffened in his seat and stood abruptly; she’d found his limit. He turned to face her with his arms crossed. “That’s enough.”

Charlotte smiled up at him, uncertain of whether to press further or let him go. “I would have liked more.”

His eyes widened just the slightest amount as he took her in, her parted lips patiently waiting for his response. “There won’t be any more. We aren’t in love, no matter what the contract says. Your performance in front of Reid confirmed that for everyone present.”

“Are you angry because you think they won’t think we’re together?” her brow crinkled as she spoke. She’d thought he was pissed about the see-through bikini, but there seemed to be more to it.

“Fuck, no.” She tried not to smile at his profanity, but she was having a definite influence on him after less than a week of living in the house. “They’ll believe whatever I tell them. I’m angry because he couldn’t take his eyes off you and you encouraged him. You deliberately dove into the pool when he came out of the studio, and then you stood there, looking innocent and showing him your boobs. I’m never going to hear the end of it from him.”

Ah… the bikini was to blame.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t purposefully aiming my attention at Reid.”

“Right. He watched you the whole time we were rehearsing and kept asking me to share you.”

Her eyes widened at the idea of such a blunt discussion between the two men—and in front of the rest of the band, too. Was that really how men behaved? She walked the few steps to where he was standing and placed her hand lightly on his bicep. “It sounds like you should be angry with Reid. I never inferred that I was available for sharing.”

“Oh, I’m angry with Reid, but the fact is, if you hadn’t flaunted yourself at him, it wouldn’t have happened.” He was tight-lipped and his jaw twitched as he ground out the words.

“I don’t want to escalate this, Jack, but frankly, I could have been wearing a neck-to-ankle sack and Reid would have behaved any damn way he pleased, from what I can tell. I’m sorry if I upset you, but can we please put this behind us and enjoy our holiday?” She paused to consider what she was about to say. “I don’t want to go to Paris with you if you can’t forgive me. I’ll just stay home.”

He stared at her as she stood so close to him. She could smell his cologne—the smell from his wardrobe, their bed, and the shirt she was wearing. She’d never forget his smell, even if this marriage idea didn’t go much further. She sighed when he didn’t answer and turned away to go to their bedroom to unpack her bag. What a shame; she’d been so excited to explore Paris with him.

“Wait.”

She stopped before disappearing into the hallway. “Yes?” Charlotte looked at him with sad expectation. It felt like he was about to tell her this had all been a mistake and that she should just take herself back to LA.

“We can go to Paris on one condition.”

“There’s always a condition with you. All right, Jack, what is it this time? I promise to wear pants, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He smiled at her smart-ass comment and shook his head. “No, you’ve been quite compliant in the pants department lately. I need you to get rid of the bikini.”

“Throw it out?”

“Yep. I don’t think I want to see it again. Do you have another?”

“Sure. You won’t like it any better, though—it’s skimpier than the white one,” she paused as she watched his face change, “and red.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out an exasperated sigh. “Dear God, woman. You’re going to be the death of me. Don’t you have a sensible one-piece?”

“Nope. No room in the suitcase, remember?”

“Okay. Leave both at home and we’ll buy you a new one, if we want to go swimming.” He smiled at her, then—the first sign of friendliness he’d shown since Reid had called out that Charlotte had great tits as he cackled on his way to his car.

“Alright, but you should be aware of one detail.” She took a step closer to the hallway and stopped with her hand on the wall, still looking at him, and Jack waited for her to continue. Before she disappeared into the darkness, she said, “I promise I wasn’t trying to get Reid’s attention. I only jumped in the pool for you.”

***

Flying first class was a new experience for Charlotte. She sat, wide-eyed, in her seat next to Jack as she sipped her water. “You know they’ll give you wine or champagne?” Jack asked as he sipped a beer and flicked through the in-flight magazine. “You could have had any drink you wanted.”

“I know. I try to only drink water when I fly, though.”

Jack nodded as he kept reading the magazine. They’d been flying for around two hours and Charlotte still felt shell-shocked that they’d been shown to the front of the plane. When he’d said he’d pay for a trip to Paris, she hadn’t expected it to be in total luxury. It wasn’t what she was used to, and she felt out of place. He’d whispered to her to act like she was confident, which had made her laugh and feel a little better.

“Can I tell you something?”

He closed the magazine and returned it to its place before turning his full attention on her. “Sure.”

She bit her lip. It had been her secret up until now, but it seemed like as good a time as any to tell someone. “The truth is, I don’t drink.”

“Not at all?”

“Nope. Not a drop.”

“Interesting. I’ll have to tell Reid—I’m sure he’ll lose interest fast, once he knows he can’t get you hammered and take advantage of you.”

She frowned at him. Bringing up Reid again hadn’t been her intention. “He’d do that?”

“Oh yes, he would. He’s not the type of guy to take no for an answer.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Just that he’ll push a woman to her limits, and usually that’s enough to get his way. He’s relentless.”

“That sounds awfully close to something bad.”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong; he’d never go
that
far. He’ll come outrageously close, though, and won’t give up until he’s absolutely certain he’s not getting anywhere. You don’t want to be the woman he turns his spotlight on. I’ve seen them and they don’t resist for long.”

“Did you really think I was interested in him?”

“I saw the way you looked when he licked your hand. I’ve seen that look a hundred times.”

Charlotte decided to dig for a few details, now that she’d made her confession. She had him as a captive audience for the next ten hours or so, she might as well make the most of it. “Why are you part of that band? You don’t seem to fit.”

“You don’t think I fit in with them?”

“Not at all. Do you?” she looked closely at him to see if he was being sarcastic. Deciding that he was serious, though, she pressed on. “You don’t look like them. No makeup, no rock star clothing, and no tattoos that I’ve been able to see.” She smiled, knowing she’d not seen any part of his body. “They are classic rock stars, while you’re kind of clean-cut in comparison. I think it’s an odd match up, that’s all.”

“You need to come to a concert.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip, “Are you different at concerts? More like them?”

“I would say that’s a big yes.”

“Hmm… makes sense, then,” she said under her breath as she returned her empty glass to a passing hostess.

“What makes sense?”

She wondered if he’d be angry if she told him what she thought.
Fuck it. I’m not about to start being prissy, now.
“Don’t get mad, but it makes sense why you’re struggling to make your mark with your music.”