Prologue

Ginger had no business being alone in a limousine with Elliot Hale.

As he slid into the seat opposite hers, still dressed in the charcoal-gray suit from his last on-screen appearance of the season, he gave new meaning to the phrase devastatingly handsome.

With a sigh and a loosening of his broad shoulders, he sank into the leather bench. As he ran a hand through his hair, the resignation in his dark blue eyes told her he was still coming to terms with the way things ended.

“You sure you’re good?” Ginger kept the words measured and soft. But if the only reason he’d asked her to grab a drink was to have a witness while he drowned his misery, she could find something better to do on a Friday night.

Their eyes met, and for the first time Ginger saw the toll the season had taken on him. When he’d arrived months ago, he’d been the charismatic bad boy everyone hated to love. Tonight, he was…changed. For the worse?

“I’m glad it’s over,” he said.

“The network will want you back next season.” It was only right to warn him. The higher-ups at Ginger’s job would stop at nothing to make Elliot their next star. He was a ratings goldmine.

His gaze sharpened, and half his mouth twitched into a diabolically sexy grin. “Will you be there?”

Her heartbeat quickened as her instincts went to war over whether to control the situation or let it run away with her. Control, of course, won. “Hard to know what I’ll be up to six months from now,” she said. “Where do you see yourself?”

“Cameras aren’t rolling anymore, Ginger. You can stop interviewing me.”

Ginger broke eye contact, his stare too intense. She picked at a loose thread on the edge of her sleeve. “Habit.” She took his advice though, attempting to relax in her seat, although her breaths deepened with anticipation, both from being alone with him and from the full awareness that she shouldn’t be. Since the season had wrapped, she wasn’t technically breaking any rules. Still, after-hours rendezvous with the talent were frowned upon.

But she was on vacation now. Ready to indulge. The limo pulled away from the curb as they left the studio, the show, the season behind for the last time.

“I’m good,” he said in answer to her original question. “No regrets.”

“You sure about that?” Elliot had looked appropriately wrecked during the final on-screen interview. It couldn’t have been easy seeing the woman he’d fallen in love with in her happily ever after Q&A with another man.

“I’ve been through worse,” he said.

The producer in her wanted to know how much worse, and when—get all the details. But the part of her that had been lusting after him for the last four months knew better than to delve too deeply tonight. Still, she was nervous. The thread at the edge of her cuff tickled her wrist and she went after it again, giving it a determined tug.

“Whoa—hey—don’t do that,” he said.

When she looked up, he was no longer in his seat, but on his hands and knees, dragging himself across the four feet of space separating their seats. Stopping at her feet, he pulled a red Swiss Army knife from his pants pocket.

“Is that necessary?” The higher pitch of her voice hinted at her slight alarm. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“It is if you ever want to wear that shirt again.”

Braced for the sight of a sharp, shiny blade, when Elliot painstakingly extracted the tiny scissors from the multi-tool, Ginger did something she never did. She giggled.

But when he took her wrist in his hand, the sound got trapped in her throat. People rarely touched her. According to her co-workers, she gave off a “vibe.” But Elliot’s grip was firm. Confident. Electric. He quickly snipped off the offending thread. “All better,” he said.

Her smile faded. She’d never seen such dark blue eyes. Time to find out if “a drink” meant just a drink. She uncrossed her legs, parting them, inviting him closer. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”

He handed the closed knife to her, and she turned it over in her hand, testing its weight.

“For what it’s worth,” Ginger said, “I think she made a mistake letting you go.”

It was a lot to admit, but worth saying. He was a dream guy, a fantasy, and a gentleman, despite the whole bad boy act he’d walked on set with that first day. It had been harder than she’d expected to watch his heart get broken. Along with the rest of America, she’d developed a bit of a soft spot for Elliot Hale. He deserved better.

But Ginger didn’t mind being his consolation prize. She waited, breathless, to see whether he’d take her up on the offer.

Hands on either side of her seat, he rose up between her thighs. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Ginger didn’t believe that for a heartbeat, but she refused to spare a single second thought for the woman who’d let all this go. It was her turn now. As the limo crept down the 405 to Elliot’s hotel, she capitalized on his proximity. Lifting her hand, she brushed her thumb along his cheekbone and cradled his stubbled jaw.

He leaned into her touch, his gaze falling to her mouth.

“Did you want to skip the drink?” she asked.

He smiled, a relatively rare occurrence. “You’re the boss.”

One day she would be. Tonight, though, she could take whatever she wanted.