Page 17 of Romance Is Dead

“I’m serious. Here, hang on.”

Determined to call his bluff, I reached up to the top of my head. To my horror, something crunchy skittered across my hand.

“Oh God, what is it?” I slapped at my head. “Get it off!”

“I was trying to,” Teddy laughed softly. He slid through the water, placing a calming hand on the back of my neck as he combed through my hair with his other hand. “Got it!” He threw my assailant across the patio. “Better?”

“Yes,” I breathed, focused less on my galloping heart rate and more on Teddy’s hand, which was still wrapped around the back of my neck. He was close, close enough for me to count the water droplets dotting his cheekbones and make out the sapphire streaks in his cornflower-blue eyes.

“Come here,” he whispered, his leg slotting between mine as he drew closer. My heart thudded as I let my hands travel up the damp skin of his arms and twine around his neck. His muscled chest pressed against my own, my soaking-wet bra the only thing between us. I held my breath in anticipation of the kiss, but when he finally dipped his head, it wasn’t to press his lips to mine. Instead, they landed on my neck, just below my ear. He hummed as he applied suction, his teeth gently scraping the sensitive skin. I threw my head back, dangerously close to moaning as I pulled him closer.

Footsteps.

Teddy yanked himself away as a woman entered the grotto. She was gorgeous, with long wavy red hair and wearing a flirty sundress.

“Teddy, are you ready to go?” Her expression cooled as she spotted us, her lips pinching into a polite smile. “I’ve been waiting.”

My cheeks flamed first with embarrassment, and then with anger. He’d flirted with me when he was already planning on taking a woman who looked like an honest-to-God mermaid home with him.

“Sure.” Teddy hopped out of the pool, and the woman smirked as he slipped an arm around her waist. He looked down at me. “Hey, maybe we can—”

“It’s cool,” I said, cutting him off. “Have a good night.”

As they left, the woman glanced at me over her shoulder as she whispered something in Teddy’s ear. He shook his head, and “. . .not my type,” was all I could make out in his reply.

Chapter Seven

It hadn’t bothered me that Teddy didn’t think I was his type. Not really. He wasn’t my type either—even if he did have a body like the ones that used to inspire statues. Naked ones. But pretending to forget the embarrassment of him bailing on me mid-kiss to sleep with another woman?

That was a tall order even for an Oscar winner. And I definitely wasn’t that. I’d already been reeling from the industry chewing me up and spitting me out earlier in the summer, and my humiliation at the party had now given me the final push I needed to throw in the towel on making movies for good. At the time, I was already under contract forHouse of Reckoningwith a sweet contract that would give me a cut of the box-office profits. I decided that once filming wrapped, I’d be done with Hollywood.

The day after the party, I’d called a realtor about selling my apartment, started packing my things into storage, and convinced Mara to let me crash on her couch until I’d figured out what I’d be doing with the rest of my life.

It remained unclear what that would be.

Now, Teddy eyed me suspiciously as I retrieved my phone from the ground. “Why exactly are you here?”

“Yeah, I. . . Can I come in?” If I was about to allege that whoever was in the background of Trevor’s Instagram photo had murdered him, I should probably do it behind closed doors.

“As long as you’re not here to yell at me again.” He stood aside and pulled the door open farther. “I promise I’ll put some clothes on.”

You don’t have to do that.The thought popped into my head as I stepped into his room, making my cheeks flush. Oblivious, Teddy followed me in and grabbed some clothes from a suitcase. “I’ll be right back.” He headed to the bathroom, clothes slung over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

I perched awkwardly on the chair next to his desk, trying to forget that Teddy was now very naked and just a few yards away. The room was a carbon copy of my own: one king-sized bed, a TV, and a tiny nook with a mini fridge they probably advertised as a “kitchenette.” It was generally neat, with the exception of an overflowing suitcase in one corner. A book had been left on the desk, open and face down. I picked it up and peered at the cover. It was a mystery—Tripwireby Lee Child.

But even as I scanned the back cover, my mind strayed back to Teddy on the other side of the bathroom door. It bothered me how quickly I was slipping into the same thoughts I had the first time I met him—wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch me. Wanting to know what his mouth tasted like, even as I was here to talk about a potential murder on set.

I shook my head, knowing better than to go down that path. Even if I didn’t already know that Teddy wasn’t interested in me, I’d dated celebrities before. I knew how it always went: a few short months of dating before they moved on to a hot new thing they met on a movie set or photo shoot, sometimes without breaking up with me first.

I didn’t live by many rules, but not dating actors was a firm one.

The door to the bathroom opened and Teddy stepped out, now dressed in gray sweatpants and a sleeveless tee that showed off his biceps. He sat at the foot of the bed, running a hand through his still-damp hair as he lowered himself onto the mattress.

Yanking my eyes away, I grappled for conversation that didn’t involve the size of his muscles. “You read?” I held up the book, still in my hands. “You actually know how?”

Teddy side-eyed me. “You know, I invited you in, trying to be nice.”

“Ok, ok, sorry. Do you like reading?”

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