Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Dex

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret offering for you to stay?” Faina questions, wariness lining her features.

She’s going to think I’m mad. But the truth is, I’ve had an ace of an idea, and it stemmed from her. She used the word revenge, and while that sounds brilliant to me, as I’d love nothing more than to make Elsie suffer for all she’s done, I think I might have a better idea.

Certainly, a more beneficial one for both of us.

I sit up, inching closer to her, my eyes all over her face, and with that, there is no denying just how gorgeous she is. Long, blonde hair, big, bright blue eyes, and full, naturally pink lips. She’s petite, more than a foot shorter than me, with an edible, curvy body. Yeah, her ex is a real tosser for giving her up. The way she looks—fuck, the way she felt when she was all over me.

It was my teenage dream come to life. I wanked my cock to her plenty of times when we were kids. No way she’s boring in bed. Timid maybe. She’s always been that.

But perhaps she just needs the right coach to guide her along. To make her feel beautiful, sexy, and desirable. To peel her out of her shell piece by piece.

Then again, that might be the wrong track to take this. I don’t know Faina well, at least not anymore, but I do know she’s the commitment, relationship type, and not the fun-only type. As of forever, the latter is the only type I’m interested in. Plus, she’s been through it, and I won’t take advantage of that. Despite my current reputation, I’ve never been the bad guy in any woman’s story, and I’m not about to change that.

Especially when reversing my image is the name of the game I’d like to play with her.

I switch tactics.

“Your ex deserves to have what he gave up rubbed in his face, and I need to fix my image and my career. I’m thinking this could be an advantageous week for both of us.”

She stares at me, long and hard, and then finally shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, originally I was going to offer you my sexual services, be something of a guru or coach, but I figured you’d kick me in the bollocks for that.”

And didn’t I just say I wasn’t going to try and fuck this woman? Thankfully her look of revulsion settles my eager dick down. You’d think my man hadn’t been in a pussy in decades the way he responds to her.

“You’d be correct.” She quirks an unamused eyebrow at me, and I press on.

“Here’s my thought. We take cute photographs with sweet as spun sugar captions and post them on our social media. It’ll drive your ex mad while making the world forget about Elsie and instead focus on the lovely princess I’m currently with. Plus, you’re… normal.” I gesticulate toward her, running my hand up and down. “Wholesome. My best mate’s sister-in-law. It doesn’t have to look as though we’re a couple. In fact, it’s likely better if it doesn’t so people don’t think I’m a man whore. Just… you know… spending time with a friend.”

She stares skeptically at me. “Why on earth would I want the world to think I’m here with you, as a friend or otherwise?”

“Women love that. Being seen with someone famous.”

She shakes her head. “Not me. You realize this idea benefits you far more than it does me, right?”

“That’s why I thought the sex lessons might be fun and even things out a bit, but I retract that. Besides, you mentioned how you’re worried about your marketing and PR reputation. If you’re photographed with me and we’re able to pull this off the way I believe we will, your name will be out there, and I’d bet a thousand quid the job offers start rolling in for you. I’ll also put in a good word for you anywhere you interview.”

“Still sounds like you need me in this way more than I need you.”

“Then consider it doing a favor for your beloved brother-in-law’s best man.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can see she’s caving. “I’m not kissing you,” she tells me in no uncertain terms.

“Fantastic. I bet you kiss like a snake.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “A snake? You’ve kissed a lot of those to know by comparison?”

A laugh tickles my lips. “Actually, I have. My ex, for starters.” I’m having way too much fun with her. “All tongue and no lips? I can tell just by looking at you that that’s how you kiss.”

“What sort of self-respecting rock star gets cheated on? I can tell by looking at you that you’re lazy in bed.”

Ouch. “Should I throw that back at you?”

“Nope. I’m already covered in that dirt and don’t need it rubbed in my face again.”

I drop forward, sitting like a small child and propping my forearms on the floor so I’m that much closer to her. “Fine then. But here we are. Two people who have been cheated on with the opportunity to help the other out. What do you say? Be my princess for the week? Grant me this Christmas wish. I’m desperate.”

“So, I see. If I agree to take stupid pictures with your ugly mug to get you out of social media and unpopular opinion prison, we are not getting naked.”

“Again, you mean. Since you already did that with me today.”

And what is wrong with me? It’s like I can’t help myself. Two and a half years of being with the same woman, and it’s as if now that I’m a free man, my brain is short-circuiting. Reminding me that there are other—possibly far more lovely—fish in the sea for me to entertain myself with. Only I can’t entertain myself with this particular fish.

She is an endangered species where I’m concerned.

“Forget it,” she declares, exasperated. “Deal’s off.”

“No.” I fly forward and tackle her back to the floor until I have her pinned beneath me. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave. Just do this with me, princess. Please.”

“You’re literally on top of me and you want me to do this with you?”

I laugh. “That’s a fantastic dirty joke, my pretty minx, and though a large part of me”—I wink at her—“is dying to answer in the affirmative, I’ll behave like a good lad and keep my fingers, mouth, and cock to myself. Even if that won’t benefit you at all.”

She rolls her eyes and then pushes against me. “Off. I can’t imagine there’s any part of you, large or small, that I’d benefit from. I’ll agree because I think you might have a point in letting me exploit your celebrity name, and frankly, I don’t have a lot of options otherwise. You can start by buying me breakfast. I was going to only eat sugar and only drink alcohol, but I think my stomach is starting to require more.”

“I have a car,” I offer.

“You do?”

I blink at her. “Yes. Why so stunned? It was Will’s rental he set up that I took over.”

She heaves a sigh as I shift off her. “I couldn’t find a car to rent.”

I give her my most charming yet devilish grin. “Well, then it’s lucky your new temporary lover comes equipped... with a car. And money.” I jump up to my feet and grasp her hand, forcing her to do the same. “Come on. Let’s go spend some of it. I’ve heard the shops in this town are very western, whatever that means, but I’m positive we can make that work for us as long as I don’t have to wear a cowboy hat or boots.” I twirl her around in a circle, making her laugh before I haul her into my chest and then dip her back. “A true Englishman should never wear either.” I flip her upright and then twist her once more toward the door.

She’s so small I can practically do whatever I want with her. A thought that instantly heats my blood, but I put all of that on the back burner as we bundle up and climb into my rental Range Rover. And yes, I absolutely get in on the right side of the car, only for her to correct me that I’m required on the left.

I start to pull out of the driveway, only the car begins to skid, and I slam on the breaks, causing the rear of the car to fishtail slightly.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Have you ever driven in this white shit?”

She’s biting her lip, trying hard not to laugh. “I live in Boston.”

“And it snows there?” I question. “I’ve been there three times, but each of those times was playing concerts and always in the summer. It never snowed in LA, and it rarely snows in London and never like this. I can already tell you, I’m not a fan.”

“I’m very used to driving in the snow,” she promises. “Swap places with me. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you driving on the right side of the road and in the snow.”

I grip the wheel, feeling the need to validate my manhood with her now that we’re not moving. “For the record, I could drive us if I had to. I drove when we were teenagers on the right side of the road.”

She’s smirking at me. My lovely princess is smirking at me. It makes me want to kiss that mocking thing straight off her lips. I don’t think she’s boring. I saw her in action today. When properly motivated, she’s a wildfire.

“I remember.” She pats my arm like I’m a small child. “Now hop out and try not to slip on all that white stuff we Americans call snow.”

I make an annoyed, huffy boy noise, but who am I kidding? I’ll kill us both if I try to drive.

“You don’t own the snow, American. I know you think you own everything, but you don’t. Try venturing to Europe. Your mountains are small and young in comparison.”

“That’s what makes us so desirable,” she tells me without a hint of sarcasm, and I’m starting to like her. In a purely platonic way, of course. But she’s fun. A bit barmy, but that only adds to her charm.

We do the switch, but before she can drive us away, I say, “First a selfie.” I pull out my mobile and then drag her by the shoulder over to me until our heads are pressed together over the center console. “Smile, princess, and make it look believable.”

I hold the phone up and over us, angling it just right, and then I snap a picture of our smiling faces capped by snow hats. Righting myself, I stare at the picture for a moment. At just how good we look together. At how natural it seems in that captured moment when it’s anything but.

I go into my Instagram and set up the picture when I falter. “What do I write?”

She thinks about this as she starts to drive us like a pro toward town. Finally, she suggests, “Braving the snow and the cold in the name of brunch with an old friend.”

I blink at my phone as I start to type that in. “That’s it?”

“It’ll make them wonder. Always leave them questioning and wanting more. Don’t tag me, and definitely don’t geolocate yourself. The questions and comments will start, and they’ll bring a lot of buzz to your post.”

I do as she says and then slide my phone back into my trousers pocket. “You’re good at this. But why am I not tagging you?”

She throws me a sideways grin before returning to the road. “Because Brooks will already be checking into you, so that side of this is handled. He knows my brother-in-law is friends with you and I believe I yelled out your name as you so artfully commented. But having me be a woman of mystery, a woman you want to be photographed with but don’t want to be known by name, will bolster this up for you and create a buzz that’s not entangled in your current issue.”

“I should hire you to be my new PR manager,” I quip, but my joke falls heavy with a thud between us as a frown mars her lips, and I let it die there. We drive the rest of the way to a brunch place I pull up on my phone in relative silence and I have no way to fill it. This wasn’t what I was searching for when I got on the plane yesterday, but somehow, it’s so much better than being alone or festering in my wounds.

Yet something is sticking with me. Something I can’t quite place.

It isn’t until we park on the quaint western-style street with its upscale yet small-town feel that I realize I’m having fun with her. And I can’t remember the last time I had that. Not with Elise. Not in my day-to-day life. I’ve been writing and creating music on an endless cycle where it became more work than love or passion. Touring that consisted of endless months on the road and longer than long days. And then back in the studio for the next round.

A joyful flutter hits my belly and swooshes through my blood, making my muscles jump and my bones content.

When was the last time I took a break? When was the last time I stopped to simply go out for brunch?

Not even when Mum was alive did I do this with her—a regret I’ll now carry to my grave. I have a week of total freedom with a woman who isn’t the least bit interested in me for much of anything. I can relax. I can be myself. I don’t have to try and impress her.

It’s bloody fantastic.

Tossing on my ball cap that I picked up in the airport and my aviators, I hop out of the SUV and onto the quaint street, taking in the scene around me. “Motherfuck is that an arch made out of horns?”

Faina stares down the street toward the green area. “I believe they’re antlers.”

“Is there a difference?”

She shrugs. “No clue, but it’s kind of creepy and cool all at once. Let’s eat. I’m starving.” I join her on the sidewalk, and she peers up at me. More than a head shorter than I am, she comes up to my shoulder. “Also, you might want to cool it with the British accent. It’ll do nothing but call attention to you.”

I snort. “Sure. Yeah. I can talk like an American. Yeeehah!” I bark out, doing my best American accent that has her cracking up.

“That was horrible.”

I smile, staring down at her, taking in the different shades of blue in her eyes and the way the cold turns her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“You’re welcome. Thankfully you come with a car and money, as you said, so it’ll work out. It might be a bit strange and certainly awkward, but what the hell? We’ll drink and cook and hang out, and I even heard there are hot springs nearby.”

“Hot springs?” I like the sound of that. “Will mentioned a hot tub in the garden.”

“That sounds—” Her voice cuts off as her phone pings. She pulls it out, checks it, and then frowns. “Well, Brooks saw your post.”

“And?” My eyebrows shoot up as I try to angle myself to see her screen.

She shakes her head, chewing miserably on her bottom lip. “Let’s go in.” Without waiting on me, she walks into the restaurant. “Two, please. Somewhere in the back, if you can,” she says to the hostess.

I linger back a few steps until she’s seated, and then I join her, keeping my head ducked down, though no one here is paying much attention to me. It’s a dream. I want to press her about the text, but I don’t think she’d consider me a friend yet, and frankly, I’m not sure how far I can push her. We peruse the menu, but I can tell her mind is still on whatever her twat of an ex said.

“Can I start you with some coffee while you’re going over the me— Oh my gosh! You’re Dex Chapman, aren’t you?”

Bollocks. Here we go.

“You’re a jerk,” the waitress exclaims, growing angry on behalf of a woman she doesn’t know or perhaps on behalf of all womankind.

“He’s not,” Faina defends, and I can’t stop my shocked expression. Faina signals the waitress to come closer, as if she’s about to tell her a secret. “He never cheated. His ex did, and then when he broke up with her because of it, she set him up with an old video and a bunch of lies. Trust me, he’s the one who's been wronged, but he’s a man and a rock star, right? No one believes him, and everyone believes her because that’s how our world works.”

The waitress blinks at Faina, and then her head twists in my direction, suddenly appraising me with sympathy like I’m a lost dog in need of saving.

“Oh, you poor thing. That’s so awful that she did that to you. I’m so sorry I called you a jerk.”

“No bother,” I say because, frankly, I’m used to it already.

“As you can imagine, things have been tough,” Faina continues, laying it on a bit thick. “Listen, he’ll sign anything you want as long as you don’t let on that we’re here.” Faina blinks prettily at the waitress, who is now one hundred percent Team Dex. If Faina has this sort of power and charm, all jokes aside, I might need to hire her after all. “We’re trying for a quiet getaway and heard you have the best brunch in town. Dex is a real sucker for brunch. And handsomely tipping agreeable waitresses. Aren’t you, buddy?”

Buddy? “Um. Yeah. Sure.” Then I think better of it. “I am actually. My lovely friend here enjoys baking, but we both prefer to brunch out. Since we’re here for the week, we’d love to be able to return.” I let the full meaning of my words rest on her shoulder, and she quickly starts nodding.

“Of course! I won’t say anything.”

She’s all of seventeen, so I’m not sure how much I believe her.

“This is my family’s place,” she tells us conspiratorially. “If you put in a good review and possibly mention how amazing the food was at the end of your week, I won’t say a word to anyone. I’m trying to save up for college,” she tacks on, and I nearly chuckle.

“If you keep that promise, I will help with those savings, and we’ll be sure to make a special post about your family’s restaurant.”

Her eyes light up like the Christmas trees lining the square. “I promise.”

“Fantastic. Are you ready to order?” I ask Faina, gesturing in her direction. She orders a cheese omelet with wheat toast. That’s it. And though I’m loathsome to use the word, it’s a boring order. Perhaps she does need a bit of an… awakening. I decide here and now to do that for her. She’s already helping me, and she’s right, there isn’t much benefit for her in that. I’ll help her discover the woman I know she is on the inside. I’ve seen glimpses, and those glimpses are enough to tell me that she’s in there.

Just hiding.

Maybe if she lets go a little, the sex will naturally follow—even if it’s not with me.

“I’ll have the Spanish omelet with sourdough toast, strawberry jam, sausage, and bacon, please. And coffee. For both of us.”

“You got it.”

The waitress skips off, gleeful as one of Santa’s elves.

“No tea? You’re English. So very, very English.”

I ignore Faina’s not-so-thinly veiled jab. “I only drink tea in the afternoon. Coffee in the morning.” And because I have issues keeping my mouth shut and my curiosity at bay, I ask her, “What did the git say in his text, and can I find a new way to torture him for it?”

I’m not actually jesting about that. I’d love to ruin him for hurting her. She’s this tiny, sweet little thing who I can’t help but want to take care of and protect. The way she’s done for me this morning.

She purses her lips and stares out into the restaurant I have my back to. That’s another thing she did for me. She sat in the position to face out, giving me more privacy. Considering how our morning started, it’s more than I deserve from her. She could have already exploited me ten different ways, but she hasn’t.

She’s been kind and protective, and though trust in my world is hard to come by—even more so now after what my ex did—here I am trusting her and sharing a cabin and my holiday with her. I didn’t even have to think about it. It just happened, and I never once questioned her intentions or motives.

Maybe because we grew up together and I know her sister Ava as well as I do. A woman who married a billionaire for love and not money.

Faina seems just as loyal and guarding as her sister. A quality I both like and admire.

I wait her out, and once our coffee is delivered and we both add in our cream and sugar, she surprises the fuck out of me by asking, “Were you serious when you offered your bedroom knowledge and services to me?”