Page 30 of Faking the Pass

“Oh, it was no problem. I didn’t even notice,” I lied. “I was dead to the world.”

“Me too. Feeling great now, though. I think the tropical heat and saltwater are gonna be good for my shoulder.”

His surgical scar, which I’d seen a few times before, was looking remarkably better, and he seemed to be using his right arm without pain. Of course he was probably in the top point-oh-oh-one percent of humans on the planet physically, so why wouldn’t he be healing like a superhero?

He offered me some of the sliced cheese, which he’d put on a plate with several slices of pear and what looked like prosciutto.

“Thanks.”

I stacked the fruit, cheese, and ham into a little sandwich and took a bite, trying not to think about how attractive Presley’s hands were, big and masculine with veins running across the backs under skin that already looked bronzed from one morning out in the sun.

As he sliced more cheese and ham for himself, the muscles in his forearm flexed almost hypnotically.

“So, what should we do today?” he asked, completely unaware of my inappropriate thoughts. “Want to go snorkeling? Or I saw some paddle boards down by the dock if you’d rather do that.”

“I think we should draw up a contract,” I blurted.

It was something I’d started thinking about on the plane ride here. If we were going to successfully pull off this fake marriage thing, there should probably be some ground rules.

That way we’d both be assured of getting what we wanted from the arrangement, and no one would get hurt.

“Sounds like a party.” He smirked. “A contract for what?”

“For our temporary marriage. That way there’s no… confusion.”

My mind flashed back to the feel of him pressed along my backside this morning, the moments of very hot, very arousing confusion that had electrified me.

“Okay… say we did have a contract. What kind of things would you want in it?” he asked. “Like, no using each other’s toothbrushes, that kind of thing?”

“Sure. That. And… I want to pay you back for the wedding—as soon as I get my next acting job.”

Assuming I ever got another role.

Presley’s head dropped back on his shoulders, and he heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Will you please stop worrying about the money? It wasn’t even that much. Consider it a gift.”

“No. No gifts. I want that in the contract.”

“Should I be taking notes?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

“That’s a good idea.”

I slid off the barstool and went to my carryon, unzipping it and pulling out the moleskine notebook I used for my morning journaling. Going back to the counter, I opened it to a blank page and wrote:

No sharing toothbrushes

No gifts

Rosie pays Presley back for wedding dress and reception

He peeked at my scribbles, somehow able to decipher them upside down.

“This is a little ridiculous. And I’m not going to tell you the cost, so how are you going to pay me back?”

“I’ll find out,” I said. “I know the wedding planner, too. Or I’ll guesstimate and throw in a little extra just to make sure it’s fair. You spent time planning it, too. Time isn’t free.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Fine, we’ll split the wedding day cost—once you’re back on your feet financially and it’s no hardship. What else? You gonna pay me rent for your guest room?”

He blew out an aggravated breath as I wrote down:

Rent for room

“I was joking . I’d like to remind you that this thing…”

He made a back and forth gesture between us.

“... is for our mutual benefit. Human shield, remember? When we get back home and our wedding pictures and video are released, there’s not going to be a groupie or an ex-girlfriend who’ll dare to get within a mile of me. That’s worth a lot in my book.”

“Fine.” I drew a slash through the line that said Rent . Presley smiled.

And then I added another line.

The most important one.

He’d walked away to get some filtered water from the refrigerator.

When he came back, Presley craned his neck forward, attempting to read what I’d written.

“Move your hand,” he said. “What’s that one say?”

His face contracted in a scowl when he saw it.

No Sex

And why had I capitalized it? Maybe I’d been thinking of that capital A from earlier today.

“This morning was an accident, Rosie.”

His hands got involved in the conversation, abusing the air in front of him as his tone grew more adamant.

“I was dead asleep. It’s not like I was trying to make a move on you when we were both recovering from traveling for twenty-eight hours straight.”

He made a harsh gesture toward the notebook. “Is that what all this is about? An erection overreaction?”

“No,” I said in a high, defensive sounding tone.

Just hearing him say the word “erection” caused a warm tingle to start between my legs.

“It’s not about this morning,” I said. “This is something I was already thinking about. It just makes sense to set some boundaries, I think. That way we have the same expectations, and there are no… disappointments.”

The grooves in Presley’s forehead deepened. “I don’t need legalese to tell me to keep my dick in my pants. I’m not Randy.”

He sounded angry. I’d hurt his feelings, which was not my intention.

Honestly, I was more concerned with legislating my feelings.

I suspected having sex with Presley would be a life-changing experience, one that would leave me feeling vaguely dissatisfied for the rest of my life without him when this all ended.

I was just better off not knowing for sure.

‘I know you’re not like Randy,” I said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

My tone was placating. “It’s just… sex complicates things. And like it or not, you and I are alone on a beautiful tropical island together for a week, and well, it wouldn’t be completely beyond the realm of possibility for something to happen.”

“Accidentally,” I added quickly. “Something neither of us wants but that might be an unintended consequence of forced proximity and…”

I waved toward his partially clad physique-of-the-gods. “...and wet board shorts.”

Presley looked down at the shorts in question, and to my utter dismay, they began to inflate.

He picked up the kitchen towel beside him and held it over his front.

“For the record, your honor, there wasn’t even anything happening there until you mentioned it,” he growled in an irritated tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a normal, healthy male.”

Who was I kidding with that? Presley wasn’t normal. He was very nearly a supernatural being.

“And I’m a normal, healthy woman,” I said. “And we find ourselves in an unexpected, uncomfortable situation we can’t escape. So I think it would be wise to set a few ground rules. It’ll make this whole situation more bearable for the both of us.”

Presley glared at me, and apparently I was being a real boner-killer because he set the towel back on the countertop. With force.

“Fine. You win. We wouldn’t want any ‘unintended consequences’ spoiling this vacation paradise . Let’s spell it out in black and white.”

“Great.” I picked up my pen again. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

“Mornings are my workout time, and I don’t want any distractions,” he said. “So if you happen to get up early, stay out of the gym.”

I wrote it out.

Rosie stay away from gym

“No problem. I’ve never met a gym I didn’t want to stay out of. What else?”

“Obviously we’ll take turns using the shower. You can have it first every day if you want.”

And now I was thinking about shared showers, thank you very much. My face flash-broiled with heat.

Hopefully Presley didn’t notice what had to be a corresponding tomato-esque skin tone.

“Thank you for your generosity,” I chirped in an overly bright tone and wrote down:

Rosie has first shower

“What else?”

His long pause made me glance up.

The look on Presley’s face caused my belly to clench. Actually, that was a lie—the clench was lower.

It was a devilish look, and Presley Lowe wearing a devilish expression was everything my lady parts never knew they needed.

“No swimming too close,” he said in a deep, smoky tone. “In the pool or the ocean. I don’t need your legs accidentally stroking the front of my ‘wet board shorts.’ That would definitely lead to some ‘unintended consequences’ for a ‘normal, healthy male.’”

Suddenly, I was fighting for breath. I struggled to keep my hand from trembling as I wrote it down.

No close swimming

“And speaking of being a normal, healthy male… I’m going to need some alone time every day,” Presley says. “If I’m in the bathroom with the door closed—any room really—you’re not going to want to disturb me.”

My mouth and throat went so dry I felt like I was in a desert rather than the humid tropics. I started coughing, and Presley oh-so-helpfully filled a glass of water and handed it to me.

“You okay there?”

I took several gulps then nodded. “Yeah. I think it’s that dry air from the plane yesterday.”

“Don’t you want to write that down?” he prodded. “A-l-o-n-e–”

“I know how to spell alone time,” I snapped.

“Maybe you’d better write some down for yourself. You sound pretty tense.”

There was a note of laughter in his voice, and I realized what he’d been doing.

“You jackass.” I tossed the pen at him, and he swerved and ducked to avoid it, cackling like a hyena.

“You should see your face,” he said, almost breathless with laughter.

When he got a hold of himself, he pointed at the notebook and said, “Your turn now.”

He feigned writing in the air and used a high, breathy fake voice.

“Presley is not allowed to watch while Rosie shaves her bikini zone.”

“Shut up!”

I had no writing instruments left to throw, so I picked up a slice of cheese from my plate and tossed it at him. He caught it in mid-air and folded it into his smiling mouth.

“I see feeding each other is still on the table. I like it,” he said. “Though if we’re doing this by the letter of the law, it should say I prefer grapes dropped into my mouth one-by-one.”

“You are ridiculous,” I told him.

“I know,” he said. “You don’t even have to write that one down.”