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After her very public romance with superstar singer Cory Sampson nearly cost Emily Watts her career, she’s thrilled to be bouncing back with a new fashion column for the nation’s top entertainment website. More than that, she’s happy to be out of the media spotlight and is determined to never make tabloid headlines again. So when her new yoga classmate, Raine Kingston, wants to see Emily outside of class, she isn’t sure what to do. Raine is funny, madly attractive, and he’s one of the most charming men Emily has ever met. He’s also a sought-after actor who tops Hollywood’s A-list, and Emily knows being seen with him will destroy the privacy she’s worked so hard to get back.
She can’t deny their connection, though, and Raine is willing to spend time together in places they won’t be seen. Just when Emily is on top of the world with her new romance, her past finds its way back into the headlines, thanks to a music partnership between Cory and indie band guitarist Jesse Cinder, someone Emily counts among her enemies. With all eyes back on her, it gets harder to keep her dates with Raine a secret, and Emily is forced to choose: stay with Raine, who makes her the happiest she’s ever been, and have her life back in the headlines, or give up the best relationship she’s ever had to keep the privacy and normal life she craves.
“Good morning, Miss Emily,” she heard Raine say.
Damn him. Now she had to look at him again.
She turned her head in his direction, watching as he sat down on his mat. She’d only planned on glancing at him for a second or two—long enough to be polite—but his gaze locked with hers. It was as though he had some sort of magnetic pull over her, because she was finding it incredibly difficult to look away.
Raine’s sleeveless purple jersey shirt showed off his tanned and muscular arms. The hint of stubble on his chin told her he hadn’t bothered with shaving yet today, even though he was almost always clean-shaven in the movies and interviews Emily had seen, which admittedly, hadn’t been many. His dark hair was so perfectly mussed that Emily knew some guys would pay to have it professionally styled that way, although she was almost certain all he’d done was run a brush or maybe just his hands through it when he’d gotten up this morning. He was casually sexy without even trying. And then there was something else about him Emily couldn’t quite put into words. It was like a force field or some sort of invisible sparkle surrounded him, which would probably have made him appealing even if he hadn’t showered or shaved in a week and had shown up to class wearing his rattiest T-shirt. Charisma. Wasn’t that what they called it? The guy had it in spades.
If only he wasn’t famous. And not even just famous, but Raine-Kingston-famous. Emily wouldn’t have been surprised if paparazzi were strategically staked out somewhere in their yoga class, which was exactly why she shouldn’t be sitting beside him.
Except he’d sat beside her, not the other way around, and there was really no good way to change this now that they were both sitting there and he was talking to her.
“Good morning,” she echoed. “How are you?”
“Pretty rested for a man who supposedly spent the night in a no-holds-barred threesome with a film extra and a Playmate.” She caught the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
She chuckled. “And you still made it to class. That’s dedication.”
“Never let it be said that I can’t go all night and all morning.”
“My guess is something closer to a good night’s sleep followed by a cup of coffee?”
“You know how it goes. And close—it was two cups.”
He raked a hand through his hair, knocking a few strands more askew than they’d already been. Emily wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he’d just made himself look even more attractive. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she had a moment of self-consciousness. She’d thrown on the first long tank top she had pulled out of her drawer this morning, along with a pair of black leggings, and had wound her crazy mass of waves up into a messy topknot. That was it, pretty much. She definitely hadn’t gone all-out to look her yoga-best like some of the girls in their class clearly had, with form-fitting crop tops that showed off swimsuit-model-perfect abs and makeup that was flawless.
It doesn’t matter. You’re not here to impress anyone or to fawn all over Raine. She turned her attention back to their conversation.
“Please tell me it wasn’t Wally Hood who ran that underwhelming work of fiction,” she said.
“Underwhelming fiction? Are you saying it’s not plausible I’d have a threesome?”
“I wouldn’t dare to hazard a guess there,” she told him. “Starting my day by picturing you leading a threesome is pretty much the opposite reason of why I come to class.” She removed the cap from her water bottle and took a drink.
“What if you were part of the threesome?”
Don’t choke. She somehow managed to finish swallowing her mouthful of water.
“I’d much rather have my guy all to myself,” she replied, before realizing saying it that way could imply she thought of him as her guy. He was talking about a threesome that involved him, after all. She opened her mouth to correct herself, intending to say she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d be into a threesome, but he spoke before she could.
“So you’d be into a twosome, then?”
She eyed him with suspicion. “That would depend on who else makes up this twosome.”
“Am I being propositioned, Mr. Kingston?”
“I think you want to be.”
Hold his gaze. But she couldn’t do it. Her face felt very hot all of a sudden.
“You think quite highly of yourself.”
“Myself—and you. So do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Want to be propositioned by me?”
She couldn’t tell by the tone of his voice if he was teasing, and her cheeks still felt too warm to risk glancing over at him to see his expression.
“I can’t really say,” she answered.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because I haven’t thought about it.”
That was a lie. She was having problems getting an image of him without that purple shirt on out of her mind. She was sure he’d somehow planted it there. He had to have some sort of special power of mind-manipulation. Maybe it was something all big movie stars learned how to do.
“So think about it,” he said. “We have some time before class starts. I want to know what goes on in that beautiful mind.”
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Jennifer Farwell has been writing since the day she picked up a navy blue Crayola as a toddler and began scribbling on her parents’ freshly painted white walls. She’s the author of SEVEN WEEKS TO FOREVER, ROCK STAR’S GIRL, and HIDING OUT IN HOLLYWOOD. Her books have been featured by Cosmopolitan and Publishers Weekly, among others. When not writing novels, she can often be found at a Kundalini yoga class, cheering on the L.A. Kings during hockey season, or curled up with a good book. Her love of storytelling led to completing a Bachelor of Journalism degree and a Master of Arts degree in English, both from Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada. She grew up in Thunder Bay, Canada, and now lives in Los Angeles with her dog, Pico.