One Kiss Past Pretending

The desert sun beat down on the private cabana deck of the rooftop pool, reflecting off the glass partitions where at least four telephoto lenses caught the glare.

"They're watching from the south terrace," I murmured, adjusting the strap of my white bikini top.

Theo sat stretched out on the plush daybed, completely shirtless. A dusting of dark hair marked the center of his chest, tapering down toward the low waistband of his dark swim trunks. Water droplets glistened on his broad shoulders from a quick dip five minutes ago. He looked infuriatingly comfortable, one arm resting lazily behind his head.

"Let them watch," he said without opening his eyes. "That's what you paid for, isn't it?"

"They need to see something real," I said through my teeth. "A headline about us holding hands won't erase Grant's smear campaign."

I kicked off my sandals, stepped onto the daybed, and swung one leg over his lap.

I settled directly over his thighs, the sheer silk of my sarong brushing against his bare skin. The heat radiating off his body hit me instantly.

Theo didn't move. His hands remained flat against the cushions on either side of his hips, completely unbothered, refusing to close the distance.

"You're not touching me," I whispered, leaning in so the telephoto mics couldn't pick up my voice over the lounge music.

He opened his gray eyes, studying my face with cool amusement. "Clause three of your handwritten contract says unnecessary physical contact outside staged photo ops requires consent."

"This *is* a staged photo op."

"Then give me permission, Sienna."

I gripped his shoulders, the muscle beneath his warm skin tense and hard. "Touch my waist."

Theo held my stare. Slowly, he lifted one large hand, his fingertips barely grazing the bare skin above my hip bone.

"Here?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Higher," I muttered, my throat suddenly dry.

His palm slid an inch upward, stopping just below the curve of my rib cage. His thumb traced a light, devastating path against my skin. "Here?"

"Theo."

"Or here?"

He slid both hands down to the swell of my hips, his grip tightening until he pulled my pelvis firmly against his. The sudden friction made my stomach flip. He held me locked against him, his eyes daring me to look away, stripping away every ounce of control I thought I had over this arrangement.

"Much better for the cameras," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

I couldn't find a single sharp retort. I was entirely at his mercy.

***

By nine that evening, the party had migrated forty floors down to the grand opening of the hotel's new underground nightclub, *Obsidian*.

Bass vibrated through the floorboards, pulsing in sync with the sweeping purple strobes. I wore a backless black slip dress, a glass of champagne resting untouched in my hand as I stood near the VIP mezzanine rail.

"Sienna."

Grant’s voice cut through the music before I even saw him.

He stepped out from behind the velvet partition, looking polished in an open-collar tuxedo jacket. Clinging to his forearm was a twenty-two-year-old blonde model in a glittering silver mini dress.

"I see you brought your purchased company," Grant said, his eyes raking over me with a sneer. "You know, Sienna, you always make terrible decisions when you're angry. Throwing a million dollars at a nameless nobody won't save your board seat."

My grip tightened on the stem of my champagne glass. Before I could tear into him, a warm presence stepped up behind me.

Theo didn't grab Grant by the collar. He didn't raise his voice or throw a punch.

Instead, Theo stepped into the space between us, completely cutting Grant out of my line of sight. He didn't look at Grant once. He only looked down at me, extending an open palm between our chests.

"Dance?" he asked.

The simple question shifted the entire room. He wasn't defending me like property; he was offering me an exit, leaving the choice entirely in my hands.

I set my glass on the nearest high-top table and placed my palm directly into his. "I'd love to."

Theo led me straight past Grant, who stood frozen near the railing, his face dark with humiliation.

We pushed into the crowded center of the dance floor. The tempo shifted into a heavy, rhythmic track. Theo pulled me flush against his chest, his right hand settling firmly against the exposed skin of my lower back.

My hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the crisp fabric of his tailored shirt move under my fingers. With every beat of the bass, our bodies moved in seamless alignment.

"You're surprisingly good at avoiding fistfights," I said, tilting my head back to look at him.

"Fistfights are sloppy," Theo replied, his mouth inches from my ear. "And they distract from the asset."

"The asset being my reputation?"

"The asset being you."

I searched his gray eyes under the flashing lights. "You still haven't told me what kind of private investor has zero digital footprint."

Theo leaned down, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. "A dishonest one. You shouldn't trust everything you buy, Miss Hart."

***

The quiet of the penthouse suite was almost deafening when the heavy double doors clicked shut behind us forty minutes later.

The city lights of Las Vegas sprawled across the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

I didn't turn on the lights.

I spun around, grabbed the lapels of Theo’s dark jacket, and yanked him down to my mouth.

There were no paparazzi outside the window. No Grant standing in the corner. No board of directors watching a live feed.

It was just us.

Theo made a low sound in his throat and took over instantly. His hands found the back of my thighs, lifting me effortlessly off my feet until my back hit the solid wood of the entrance door. His mouth was demanding, parting my lips and tasting like expensive bourbon and adrenaline.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I reached for the buttons of his dress shirt, popping the first two open, my fingers sliding against the bare, heated skin of his chest.

Theo suddenly caught both of my wrists in one large hand, pinning them gently against the door panel above my head.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against mine. A dark, dangerous hunger burned in his eyes, but his jaw remained stubbornly set.

"Clause four," he said, his voice rough. "No-sex clause."

I looked up at him, my lips swollen, my chest heaving. "I wrote it."

"So?"

"I'm considering an amendment," I breathed.

Theo’s gaze dropped to my throat, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he fought his own restraint. "You don't get to change the rules just because you're losing, Sienna."

"Who says I'm losing?"

Before he could answer, a sharp, violent vibration buzzed from the entryway marble console.

*Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*

Theo went rigid.

The spell shattered instantly. He let go of my wrists and stepped back, running a hand through his dark, disheveled hair.

The phone on the console continued to vibrate frantically, the screen glowing brightly in the dark foyer.

I glanced down at the illuminated display.

Incoming Call: **CHLOE**

I frowned. Why would my best friend be calling Theo's private number in the middle of the night?

The call timed out, and the screen briefly flickered back to the locked home display before going dark.

My breath caught in my throat.

The lock screen wallpaper was an unedited, high-resolution family photograph taken on a sunlit boat. A younger, laughing Theo had his arm thrown casually over the shoulders of a grinning girl with bright blonde hair.

Chloe.

*Chime.*

The electronic doorbell chimed loudly through the penthouse suite, followed by a sharp, impatient knock on the wood.

I stepped away from the console in a daze, my hand moving automatically to turn the brass handle.

I pulled the door open.

Chloe stood on the welcome mat, wearing a belted trench coat, her phone still clutched in her hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died instantly. Her eyes locked onto Theo’s unbuttoned dress shirt, the dark stubble on his jaw, and then shifted directly to my face, taking in my smeared red lipstick and flushed skin.

A suffocating silence descended over the hallway.

Chloe looked back and forth between the two of us, her expression morphing from confusion to absolute horror.

"Theo?" Chloe’s voice cracked. She pointed a trembling finger at him. "Why is my brother in your hotel room?"

I slowly turned my head toward Theo, the world tilting beneath my feet.

"Your *what*?"