The Romeo Arrangement

I shake my head. He’s stepped in a viper’s nest and he doesn’t even know it.

His celebrity status won’t stop a freak like Clay.

In fact, it might put worse ideas in that maniac’s head.

“Ridge…” I can’t find the words.

“It’s too late, woman,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m part of your story now too. In case you forgot, I told that jacked-up shit at the bar we’re a thing. I’m sure he reported back to the powers that be, told them we just haven’t set the date yet for our wedding.”

He winks at me like it’s nothing.

Oh, crud.

I’d almost forgotten he said something so totally outrageous and incriminating last night. With everything that went down, I hoped maybe I’d just dreamed that part.

“We’re moving on as soon as the roads get plowed.”

“Bull.” He plucks the straw out of his mouth and tosses it aside. “I was thinking about that and some other issues right when you walked in the barn. Give me some credit.”

Pushing up the sleeve of his coat and shirt, he shows me an American flag tattoo with some sort of symbols beneath it. I freeze, staring, trying to decipher it.

“I’m a little better than some pampered schlub born with a silver spoon in his mouth,” he growls. “Besides being an actor, I was in the Army for four years. An elite force where I formed a lot of friendships still at my disposal few others know about. Not even Tobin.”

The Army part surprises me, but his statement about Tobin is a total shocker.

Is anything about this guy what it seems?

I’m officially worried my head might just spin off.

“Tobin seems loyal, very dedicated to you,” I whisper.

“He’s a good man. My mother made him my valet, aka, babysitter, when I was still a kid. He’d die for me, no doubt about it.” He sighs. “Which I’d never let him do, but he’ll still follow every order I give him to the letter of the law, including when it comes to you.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Ridge. I didn’t ask for any of this.” I’m breathing so hard it hurts, so riled up it’s a miracle I can speak.

“No, you’re not, but you are my concern. What would I be if I watched you hit the road in that rickety old truck with no way out of this? You expect me to live with that shit on my shoulders, Grace?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He’s incredibly good at inserting himself into other people’s stories, apparently, and making it feel like a complete atrocity if he doesn’t get a chance to rewrite them.

I’m not the kind of girl who just folds and listens to strange men. Trouble is, I can’t debunk anything he just said.

“Thought you’d get me. Hopefully Dickless Pete heeds my warning, but if he doesn’t…” He shrugs, rolling those mountainous shoulders. “Let’s just say he’ll wish he had.”

My insides churn, hot and frantic.

Desperate to avert another disaster.

“Ridge, you don’t get it. You don’t know—”

“No, I don’t know your whole story, and when you’re ready to tell me, I’m here to listen. Even if you don’t open up, I’ll still be here. The few people clued in about who I am know better than to leak my whereabouts to the media. As far as Hollywood knows, I’m on indefinite hiatus. I fucked off out of California and gave the press the idea I’d fled to Maui, where I still own a place. Besides, having you around, having people think we might be a couple won’t hurt anything. In fact, it might just keep the gossip hounds more confused and throw them off longer.”

I shake my head.

Seriously.

He can’t be suggesting what it sounds like.

I’m so not pretending we’re a couple. It’s absolutely ludicrous, and I seriously doubt real fake engagements end nearly as well as they always do in those fun, guilty-pleasure romance books I devour every so often.

Ridge stiffens, looking at me as I lift my head and force myself to meet his gaze.

No, nope, and hell no.

My heart leaps at the way he smiles and nods.

So this is what it’s like when a barn mouse looks up and sees a hawk.

I swallow the rock in my throat but still can’t talk.

Still can’t tell him there’s no way I’m going along with this scheme to ‘pretend’ we’re engaged.

After years under Clay’s thumb, I know what hot messes look like, and I’m not interested in turning my life into a bigger freaking dumpster fire.

Not even for a bossy, lethally handsome hero I never asked for who apparently has a few screws loose in his drop-dead-gorgeous head.

“You know…I think I’m going to walk these two around a little bit. Give them some exercise.” I bolt and start heading for the stalls.

“Right behind you,” he says, three mundane words that shouldn’t make steam shoot out of anyone’s ears.