Famously Engaged (4 page)

“Now that you know I’m not a threat to Skyla’s happiness, you can put a lid on this engagement nonsense and we can both get back to our regular lives.”

“It’s too late. The story will run in every major newspaper across Australia this morning. I’d already committed to running it before I rang your doorbell.”

“How nice for you to dictate the future without regard for anyone else.” She held the cake out. “It’s still warm.”

He dipped his head to inhale the cake’s aroma, then nibbled the corner. “So good.” He grabbed two spoons out of the drawer next to her. “Want some?”

Confusion swamped her. “You’re playing host again. Why does it feel as if you’re trying to trade
my
cake for information? Is there something you want to know?”

He set the cake on the counter before she had time to blink.

“Can you honestly say there’s no love between you and Brad?”

“You saw my message. You know I can’t. There’s loads, but it’s not romantic.”

He didn’t answer. He took a bite of the cake in silence. He’d set himself up as her fake fiancé, so that probably gave her the right to use him as a sounding board.

“We got married young, thinking friendship would be enough to hold us together. But it wasn’t.”

Jake’s half-muttered response didn’t sound very complimentary, and she wondered if Brad’s ears were burning as he slept.

She met Jake’s gaze head-on. “He’s been offering my heart to random men ever since our divorce came through, because he wants me to be happy. Does that sound like someone who is still possessive?”

“You guys get divorced and you praise him for helping you through it.”

He was practically shouting at her. His bronzed cheekbones and the gold flecks in his eyes made him look like someone had lit a fire inside him.

She stepped closer to him. “I didn’t need help to get through it.
I
asked for the divorce. He didn’t argue.”

“You could be too close to see what’s going on.”

She sipped from her bottle of water before answering. “I think you’re aligning Brad with somebody else and blaming him for their mistakes. I’m not sure it’s possible to be
too
loyal. Skyla is a very lucky woman.

“If Skyla was home he and Skyla would be here now, standing where you are, eating that cake.” She shook her head when he would’ve spoken. “I’m grateful for your company, but I’d give almost anything to have Brad here. He and his mother are the only family I have left.”

Jake frowned. “He’s not family. You’re not even married anymore.”

“It’s more of an honorary bond. I guess you could say he’s the son my father never had.”

“He was the golden boy and you played second fiddle?”

She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Not at all. He was a welcome addition rather than a replacement, and eventually I wore his family down too. For a long time we were the glue that held everyone together as one big family, but now it’s down to Brad and me because I sometimes go an entire week without catching up with his mother.” She shook off the gloom and aimed a grin at Jake. “He’ll be proud of me for handling this situation without him.”

“Making your ex-husband proud is important to you? It’s time you got some new faces in your life.”

“I have a new face in my life. You have one of the most recognizable faces in the world, and lots of awards and millions of adoring fans. I’ve just buried my mother, and I have an empty house and a terrible feeling I’m going to fly right off into space if I don’t hold on tight to the few people I have left who really matter to me.”

“Brad is one of those people?”

The raw emotion in his voice threatened to unravel several hours of successful kitchen therapy, but she refused to let it.

“Yeah. And his mum. And Skyla. It’s, um, probably best if you change the subject and pretend this conversation never happened.”

He regarded her in thoughtful silence before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be much of a fiancé if I did that.”

Dread built within her. He seemed to think he had to step up and offer support, but random kindness was the one surefire way to undermine her. “You see that raspberry meringue roulade?”

She pointed and waited for him to drag his attention away from her face. “If you continue this discussion you’ll risk wearing it.”

He thrust both hands through his hair and made an impatient sound in the base of his throat, frustration radiating out of him and charging the air between them. The effect was instantaneous.

Testosterone combined with protective instincts was her greatest weakness, and her kitchen hummed with both. “You miss your mother too much for us to ignore it. You told Brad you had an alternate shoulder to lean on.” He smacked one broad shoulder and angled it toward her. “Go ahead and lean.”

So tempting. “It’s not the same. Brad and I have a history. He cares about me.”

“More than your
fianc
é?”

“Please don’t use that word again. It implies a connection we don’t have.” A wave of utter hopelessness threatened but she held it back. “The biggest problem I have right now is being famously engaged to you. I’ll be fine once you are gone.”

“You’re not fine, Beth. Look at all of this food you’ve made in the middle of the night. And that feathery pink robe you were wearing earlier, that was hers, wasn’t it?”

She tried to give him a dismissive once-over but a sense of awe swamped her. For a fleeting moment he was too famous and too gorgeous to argue with. Thankfully the moment passed, and she reached for the roulade.

The heavy platter accentuated the shakiness of her hands, but she didn’t want to abandon her last line of defense. “It’s gooey and sticky. It’ll mess up your rock-god hair.”

“Never mind that.” He took one step toward her and then a second one. “Your fluffy jacket will be at risk and it looks like another precious hand-me-down.”

Was he being sarcastic? Her cardigan was the last gift her mother had given her and, until a moment ago, it’d brought great comfort. Unsure how to respond, she felt the platter waver in her hand, and she calculated the distance between the cake and his face, in case throwing it became necessary. 

“I wasn’t expecting company tonight, let alone a rock god and fiancé all rolled into one. And having your own fashion label doesn’t give you the right to comment on how I dress.” His silent brooding made her fumble for something else to say. “You should probably take your impeccable taste and move out straightaway or I’ll never find time to have that pre-wedding affair with Brad.”

“That’s no great loss.”

“Or you could stay and we’ll chase some love triangle headlines. What do you think? Genius, or a touch too far?”

An almost-smile flirted with the corners of his mouth, but the authority in his tone cancelled out the hint of levity. “There are two shifts of three men patrolling the perimeter. I can’t leave without further security, and I’m not convinced you’ll be safe here alone. Staying together gives us an advantage because no one knows I’m here.” The weight of his thoughts made him hesitate.

“I’ve made your life public fodder at the worst possible time.”

Not a question, a statement of fact. He was accepting responsibility for his actions in a way that seemed out of character for an arrogant rock god.

“Right house. Wrong time,” he murmured, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. 

A rogue tear spilled over her lashes and slid down her cheek.

Dammit, she couldn’t handle sympathy from strangers. She put the roulade down and snatched the industrial oven mitts off the counter, her hands scrunching the material tightly, then releasing it, as she tried to vent her frustration. “Your timing’s perfect. Four in the morning is likely to be the high point of my day.”

“It’s bound to get worse.”

She shot him a glare, then waved her hand at the counters loaded with food. “I think you’re wrong. We haven’t eaten yet and a day that starts with a breakfast like this can’t be all bad.”

Jake stared at the stubborn set of Beth’s shoulders as she stalked toward the twin ovens. Her back was turned but her green eyes, brilliant with tears, were etched on his memory. Weeping women were nothing new. Generally they wept in public, for hefty appearance fees, at the end of his acquaintance with them.

Beth’s tears were genuine and heartfelt, and she was doing her level best to swallow them. Damn his manager for finding out everything about her except the one thing he had most needed to know.

She slid another trio of fragrant, golden-brown apple cakes onto a wire rack and waved one hand in his direction. “Stop entertaining such heavy thoughts, famous man.”

Famous man?
Why did that make him smile?

“Being engaged to me is a temporary nightmare,” she said.

“You can call it off immediately or you can hide out here and relax for a few days, eating well, taking it easy, and soaking up some alternative fashion sense.”

He studied the outfit she’d put together. “The media would go wild over a shot of you dressed like that.”

“Like this?” She looked down in confusion. “In my PJs?”

Jake’s hands ached to know if she felt as soft as she looked.

Skimming his knuckles over her neck and slipping his hands around her waist were harmless pleasures he could indulge in.

And if he did happen to overstep, she’d probably cream him with the raspberry meringue roulade.

He put his hands on her shoulders and slid them slowly down to her wrists, his callused fingers catching on the impossibly soft fabric of her fleecy jacket. “I’d say this is more of a fancy dress costume than pajamas. Dispose of the starchy white apron”—he reached behind her to undo the ties—“and you’re dressed as a baby chick.”

She gasped and he used the distraction to slip her apron off.

“No need to feel embarrassed. As far as chicken suits go, this is a good one.” His fingers toyed with one of the tiny pom-poms that served as buttons, then slipped down to circle the one below.

“It’s soft. It has rainbow plumage in a range of pastel colors.”

“Allow me to predict another headline.” She batted his hand away. “Jake Olsen’s penchant for farm animals.”

He shook his head and released her hair from its bouncy ponytail. “They never print the truth, and I’ve recently discovered I have a thing for chickens, one in particular.”

She winced, then spoke with quiet dignity. “If you’ve exploded into someone’s life, allowed their personal details to be randomly dispersed, and linked their name to yours in a way that makes them look like a pathetic desperado, then you might want to avoid poking fun at something that brings them a small measure of comfort.”

Her hands shook a little as she discarded her jacket, pajama top, and fluffy socks. “There,” she said. Her color was high and her breathing agitated as she stood before him in a clingy white tank top, low-rise pajama pants, and bare feet. Her straight dark hair spilled over her shoulders. “No fluff or fleece or feathers. Nothing but cotton. Does that suit you better?”

Her tank top was three sizes too small for public viewing, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. The gap between her top and pants showed an enticing strip of milky white skin that was bound to be softer and smoother than anything she’d tossed aside. Did it suit him better? Hell no.

His crazy need to drop to his knees and skim his lips across her midriff was so powerful he cursed. Looking up at her unfettered breasts from that angle would mean touching for sure. Her top would be easy to push up, and those pants with their elasticized waist would slide all the way down to her ankles with a single tug.

Snatching her starchy apron off the counter, he tossed it at her and hoped she’d have the sense to put it on. He turned away, tossing a bored comment over his shoulder to disguise his interest.

“Don’t quit your day job, Beth. You don’t have the moves to be a stripper.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m trying to be sexy.”

He spun so fast, the room whirled around him. She thought she had to
try
to be sexy?

“Do me one favor. Hold that thought.” He grabbed her hand and strode toward the door, then marched her all the way to the bathroom at breakneck speed. The shaving mirror was next to useless. “Tell me you have a bigger mirror. Full-length?”

She frowned. “Sure. In the hall closet.”

His instincts warned that she’d bolt as soon as got a look at herself, so he took precautions once they’d arrived at the closet.

“Face me.”

“Quit mucking about, Jake. I’ve got food everywhere that needs to be put away.”

“The sooner you comply—”

She leapt onto his feet, her body dangerously close to his as her hands clasped fistfuls of his shirt for balance.

“Like this?”

He sucked in a deep breath, his chest expanding to brush against hers as his hand flattened between her shoulder blades and pressed her closer.
Oh yeah, like that.

“Jake?”

Stifling a sigh of regret, he swung the door beside them open and admired her rear view in the mirror. “Turn slowly.”

He clamped his arm around her to keep her close. She needed to know the value of the cards in the deck she was playing with, needed to appreciate that he wasn’t a benign presence in her home. But the brush of her body against his as she turned had him biting back a groan. Who knew there’d be such a fine line between showing her she was sexy on her own and demonstrating how sexy they could be together?

The fine white cotton of her tank top revealed the curves of her breasts in stunning detail. They looked like they were supported by invisible hands, lifted high and pushed together as if each longed for the other’s softness.

“Do you see what I see? A complete fail in the nonsexy stakes.”

She squealed and flung her hands up to conceal the pert tips of her breasts. The urge to cover her hands and guide them in aslow circular motion was so strong that his hands were more than halfway to their destination before he called a stop to the idea.

Leaning his face close to her ear, he forced a chuckle. “Shall I tell you what caught my attention first?” When she shook her head, he shifted the arm he had around her, using his forearm to nudge her breasts higher so they swelled above the neckline of her tank top. “What’s a famous guy to do when
this
is the woman he finds himself engaged to?”