5. The Fantasy

Chapter five

The Fantasy

I ’m hunched up against the hedge on the side of the maze when Kent finds me. I’m in shock, I think, staring at my phone, at my bank balance. There’s still no reception, but the balance is visible from when it last connected. I’m up five million dollars. The contract is real.

My mask lies discarded on the ground beside me. I’m not in the mood for playing masquerade right now.

“Hey there,” he says, and draws me up from the ground. I flick my screen off so he can’t see it. He puts his arms around me, then pulls back. “What happened, little lady?”

“I…” I stare at him as he rubs my arms. For one of the first times in my life, words fail me. I’ve felt like screaming or crying in the past few minutes, but I absurdly don’t want to ruin my makeup.

I’m glad about it now. It’s easier to take a breath and pull myself together when I know mascara isn’t running down my face. I’m sure as hell not confessing to my favorite country star that I signed my virginity away.

And Kent is easier to deal with compared to the naked man with the freaky mask and the giant cock I was facing a few minutes ago. I pull myself together and take a deep breath, stepping back from him.

He looks down at my chest again. Irritation rises in me, before I understand why.

A million women would kill to be in my position. But he just found me freaked on the floor. It’s really not the right time to be looking at my tits.

My irritation snaps me out of my shock. “I got claustrophobic,” I say. “I’d prefer to get out of here.”

“Sure thing,” he says, and he takes my hand as we walk. His guitar is slung over his other arm. He looks over at me. “That sure is a nice dress,” he drawls. His thumb swirls patterns on my wrist and he shoots me a side-eyed look with that half smile of his.

I’ve spent too long as the sharp-tongued protective friend not to pick up on the red flags of a guy who’s got one thing on his mind. It’s almost instinctive when I drop his hand and say, “For someone who’s won awards for lyrics, you really don’t do well with impromptu pickup lines.”

He looks taken aback. And annoyed. I guess he’s not used to his fans heckling him when he’s trying to pick them up.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I don’t want to look at him anymore, so I don’t. The sky is reddening from the setting sun, and the path ahead through the maze is empty. “I just want to get out of here. It’s been a rough night and I need to get home to cancel a contract.”

I expect him to fall quiet and sullen. Or call me a bitch. That’s what I’m used to. But I guess he’s not used to taking no for an answer. He grabs my hand, pulls me towards him, steps in with a hand on my face, and kisses me. “Maybe you just need to relax, sweetheart,” he says. His other hand grabs my ass.

It takes a moment for my mind to catch up. Kent Edwards is kissing me. And it’s not good. He’s breathing hard, moaning into me, lost in his own desire, but he’s totally misread mine.

I push against him, trying to get free, but my dress is binding, and he holds me fast. I’m breathless with shock when he lowers his hand from my face and gropes at my breast.

Panic rises in my chest as I squirm. He’s surprisingly strong. Who would believe me if I told them Kent Edwards assaulted me and I didn’t want him to? It’s like a fantasy turned sour.

A loud bull’s roar cuts through the air.

Suddenly Kent is gone, ripped sideways away from me, and I’m thrown back. He’s pinned to the ground by a naked minotaur, then punched hard in the face. His guitar is thrown to the side. “Not the face!” Kent splutters around a bloody nose.

“I said to make her feel special, not to take liberties,” the minotaur says, and punches him again, knocking him out completely.

The bull looks at me, chest heaving, and stands before me. I want to faint, or scream, or cry. But instead, I stand silently in shock until he swings me up into his arms and runs.