“Wow, that’s a fantastic offer. Thank you, Ms. Weaver,” George said. “We’d be delighted, of course.”

“Excellent.”

Jethro ground his teeth.

Despite his attempts to manipulate the conversation, he was in my shadow this morning. I had no intention of giving him the limelight. Jethro and his father had forced me to do this. But I would do it my way. I hadn’t broken any of Cut’s rules. I’d played along. I’d painted a picture for the world to eat up.

I’d just been smarter than they gave me credit for.

“When will the ceremony take place?” Sylvie spun on the spot, eying up the beautiful parlour. “Will you get married here or in a church?”

Jethro pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to plant a smile on his lips. “It wasn’t going to be announced for another few months, but I suppose it’s out now, so we can spill a few of the details. We’ll most likely have a garden wedding.”

“I can imagine how happy you are,” George said, fiddling with his camera and preparing to move from questions to pictures.

Jethro beamed, looking so young and carefree he took my breath away. “Extremely. I’ve never been so happy.” His eyes landed on mine; a thought flew over his face. Then he grabbed me, dipped me as if we were on a dance floor, and before I could breathe, his lips slammed against mine.

The world switched off. Completely. Utterly. Everything disappeared.

There was no sound.

No colour.

No fear or stress or panic.

Just him.

Crackling, sparking, all-consuming lust. His taste, heat, smell. My skin hummed, my lips melted, my core clenched.

For weeks, I’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him. To hold him and find that combustible connection. To bind ourselves together even in the face of debts and danger.

I moaned as his tongue nudged against my lips.

I opened for him, sighing into the passionate kiss, suspended in his arms in front of the press. He didn’t seem to care we had an audience. I loved that he didn’t care.

He’d changed so much—lived through something I didn’t understand. He’d become a stranger all over again. But no matter how he changed his thoughts and mind-set, he couldn’t change his body. That part of him I knew. His body belonged to me as surely as my body belonged to him, and I had no doubt that would enrage and petrify him. Because no matter what distance he tried to put between us—it disintegrated whenever we touched.

With another soft moan, I slinked my fingers into his thick hair, jerking his mouth harder against mine. His tongue dived deeper, wrestling for dominance. His muscles trembled, holding me in the dip as the coolness of his mouth switched to heat and for the barest of delightful moments his teeth nipped my bottom lip.

Then sound came back.

Colour returned.

Awareness of the outside world drove a wedge between us.

The kiss was over.

Jethro swooped me back onto my feet, his mouth glistening.

It was a set-up.

My heart hardened. He’d kissed me for the reporters.

George stood with his camera, busily clicking, capturing every second of our sexy ‘staged’ slip-up.

Good.

At least people would have half of the story.

The part not drowning in bullshit.

There was love between us; there was a story about connection beneath all the fakery. If only love was enough, I could be free. Jethro could be free. It could all be over if only love was stronger than debts.

“That was some kiss. Hot with a capital H.” George laughed, fanning himself. “I can see why your brother wouldn’t want you anywhere near Mr. Hawk, Ms. Weaver.”

My tummy flipped. “Why?”

Jethro stiffened, paying strict attention.

George grabbed a tripod from his duffel. “I have a younger sister myself and if I saw her kissing a man like that, I would want to break them up, too.”

Sylvie frowned, asking the question floating around in my head. “But why? It’s a dream come true for any woman to have such a compatible partner.”

George snorted, waving at Jethro and me with his camera. “Maybe women see it different, but from a guy’s point of view, I know what I just witnessed, and it scares me.”

Jethro cleared his throat, his natural intensity suffocating the room with power. “Explain. I’m not quite following.”

George rolled his eyes. “Come on. You don’t get it? Passion is incredibly dangerous if it’s not respected and you two…” He shrugged. “Forget it. I’m overstepping. All I mean is chemistry like that can’t be contained. It can bring great happiness but also destroy.”

A shiver ran down my spine. His words sounded oddly prophetic.

Dragging his tripod over to the window bay, he clapped his hands. “Now, Ms. Weaver, if you wouldn’t mind standing here. I want a picture of you with your diamond necklace in the sunshine.”

For some reason, my feet remained planted on the carpet. What did he mean? That Jethro and I were freaks of nature governed by sex and nothing else? That we were idiots in a game we didn’t understand?

George came toward me and manhandled me over to the window. “Perfect. Stand right there.” His fingers slipped into my hair, fluffing the now dried strands, then brushed a powder over my brow and cheekbones that magically appeared from nowhere. “I don’t know many women who look as stunning as you do without makeup.”

I had no reply as he backed away and clicked a few test images, moving the tripod around until he was happy.