Hell if it didn’t make her insides melt every damn time. Zane was messing with her again. It was his thing. He screwed with women without an ounce of regret, and according to the tabloids, he did it often.
She exhaled loudly, shaking her head, and laughed, because on top of the flirtatious texts, they’d maintained a quirky friendship. “You are quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass I have ever met, and if I lose this job, I swear you’re going to pay me for it.” She looked over her shoulder at the line, which was moving quickly.
“I already am,” he said in a low voice.
“Zane, I’m serious. I’ve got—” She glanced at the line again and then processed what he’d said. “Wait. What?”
“Can we talk outside? You’re a little high-strung today.”
“A little high-strung?” She hurried to keep up as he dragged her out the front doors and down the steps. “Zane. Stop!”
He tugged her to the grass beside the resort. For a brief second, the unusually cool summer breeze, the smell of the water, and the gorgeous man standing before her, looking at her like he wasn’t messing with her at all but had come there to see her, left her flustered. This was why she usually tried to keep her distance. The man bathed in testosterone and reeked of sex appeal, making it hard to stay annoyed at him, and the last thing she needed was to get caught up again in some sort of one-sided love affair.
“Wills, there is no job.”
She stepped closer. “What did you just say? I swear, Zane, if this is one of your games, I will maim you for life.”
He moved his hands in front of the enticing package between his legs. She knew just how talented that part of his body was. Ugh. She could not go there.
“Promise you won’t kick me?”
“That depends.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
He held up his hands in surrender, and a veil of tenderness started in his eyes and slid all the way down to the innocent smile forming on his lips. It was too easy to become transfixed by his ability to morph into anything he wanted her to see in the blink of an eye.
“This is where I proposed to you,” he said sincerely. “More specifically, right over there in that gazebo by the water.”
“I don’t know what kind of drugs you’ve gotten into, but I’m out of here. I don’t have time for this.” She turned to leave.
“I need you, Wills. This time for real.”
ZANE WAS GOING straight to hell for even thinking about putting Willow in this position. But he needed her. And she was storming away, her long blond waves bouncing against her back with every irritated step. Her rounded hips swayed with determination and confidence no actress could come close to. She even made that simple belted dress look sexy as sin, as if it were a designer piece made just for her. She’d probably gotten it on sale at Misty’s, the local dress shop in their hometown. Willow was the real deal. A smart, funny, no-bullshit, no-frills woman with real curves to prove it. She lived in cutoffs and jeans and ate cupcakes and éclairs like models downed weight-loss pills. And she was the only woman on earth Zane trusted—or wanted—enough to ask for help.
Goddamn it. Why had he thought this was going to be easy? Willow was never easy. Even all those years ago, when he’d gone back to Sweetwater for a visit and she’d asked him to help her lose her virginity, she’d been controlling. He’d been sure she was fucking with him or that it was some kind of test. Her older brother, Ben Dalton, was his best friend. He’d spent more time at their house than he had at his own, and he’d had a major crush on Willow for years. She had practically begged him to help her, saying she’d thought it all out and she didn’t want to go to college as an inexperienced virgin. She had a list of rules and had planned every detail. Where, when, how—all the way up to when he was supposed to let her walk home alone so she could process what they’d done, and then they’d move on like nothing had happened. It was a good plan. A reasonable plan, considering what was at stake. And God knew he’d tried to abide by her rules. But she’d felt too good, been too sweet and trusting, not to get completely swept up in her.
“Please, Wills,” he called after her.
Willow stopped abruptly. Her head tipped forward, her shoulders dropping a smidge as she turned, her hair curtaining one eye. “Zane, just tell me what you’ve done.”
He went to her and reached for her hand, feeling shittier than he’d thought he would. “There is no baking gig. I set all this up to get you here.” Anger flared in her eyes. He continued explaining as fast as he could. “Wills, there’s this focus group for my new film, and they’re worried my reputation will hurt the movie. That fans won’t buy me as a romantic hero.”
She scoffed. “Smart fans.”
“Come on. I need your help.”
“What am I supposed to do? Write a letter to the public telling them Zane Walker isn’t a self-centered playboy? Sorry, not your girl.”
She took a step away, and he hauled her against him. Her hands landed on his chest, which felt amazing, and even with darts shooting from her jade-green eyes with deathly precision, she was still the most beautiful, alluring woman he’d ever known.
“No,” she seethed. “Whatever it is. No.”
“Come on. Just hear me out.”
Her lips formed a tight line.
“I need a . . .” He could hardly believe what he was about to say. “A fake fiancée.”
“A fake fiancée? What does that mean?”
“We’ll pretend to be engaged so everyone thinks I’m a stand-up guy.”
A disgusted look washed over her face. “No.”
“You owe me, Wills.” Oh shit. Why did I say that?
Her jaw dropped open. “Hell no, you did not just say that.” She thrust a finger into his chest. “First off, it wasn’t a hardship for you to”—she lowered her voice and poked him in the chest again—“sleep with me. Second, you’ve turned into an arrogant, self-centered player. And third!” She poked him harder. “I have a life.”
She stormed toward the parking lot with Zane on her heels.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I know you have a life. It was anything but a hardship. But you’re the only one who can do this.”
“No.” She dug her keys from her purse. “You know how much money I’ve already lost in inventory and sales for this supposed event?” She spun around, nearly knocking him over. “Who did you get to play the part of Patrick Carter? How many people know I was supposed to be your . . . God. I can’t even say it. You’re such a jerk.”
“Patch.” Patch Carver was Zane’s personal assistant. Willow had met him a few years ago when they’d passed through Sweetwater after filming. “He’s the only one who knows what the plan is.”
“Patch? I’m going to slaughter that tattooed ass—”
“It’s my fault,” he interrupted. “I told him I’d fire him if he didn’t do it. He fought me for a week before finally agreeing.”
“Well, he just moved right out of being a solid, reliable glazed doughnut and into being bread pudding.” She spoke in a mocking voice. “Cut me up and cover me with goo. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Weak. Pathetic . . .”
“What are you talking about?”