Oh. Right. Them.

I pull back, reeling. Dash still has his hands possessively on my back, so I duck out of his embrace. “I… I’m going to get settled in,” I blurt, cheeks flaming. “See you later!”

I bolt from the party, my pulse still racing. What the hell was that? I ask myself, as I try to find my way back through the house. A simple kiss was the plan, to sell the whole fake relationship.

And instead, I just dove head-first into a red-hot make out that felt way too real.

I wander blindly, still dazed from the kiss. Who knew Dash could do that? Well, aside from the hundreds of women he’s been kissing.

The thought brings me back down to earth with a bump. It’s just like I told Georgia: he’s been honing his skills.

With her? I swear, if she’s the one who taught him that thing with his tongue…

I don’t know whether to slap her or send a thank you note.

“Miss? Can I help you with something?”

I whirl around. An older British man in an impeccable dark suit has materialized. “I’m Mason, the butler. Would you like me to show you to your guestroom?”

I exhale in relief. “Yes, please, thank you.”

“Right this way.”

I follow him through a dining room with a table big enough to seat twenty and into a second gigantic living area, decorated in shades of sand and turquoise. He leads me up the marble staircase grand enough to be featured in any movie and down a hallway wide enough to drive through. I’m considering asking for a map before he stops in front of a doorway somewhere a mile from the stairs. He opens the door with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “I hope you’ll find these accommodations to your liking. Your bags are already inside. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

I step inside, more relieved to have a moment alone than anything else. Then I clock the room and my jaw drops. It’s huge and sunny, at least the size of my entire apartment, decorated in soothing shades of blue and cream with French doors that lead to my own private patio complete with ocean view. The bed is a massive four-poster affair worthy of a Harlequin cover, draped in billowing white gauze, and in the bathroom, a huge, claw-footed tub dominates the room, and the shower could easily fit half a dozen people.

So this is how the 0.001% live.

My bag is waiting in the middle of the massive closet, so after quickly changing out of my wet clothes, I pull on a fluffy robe and sink onto the deliciously comfortable bed to call Lorelei.

“Help,” I say, the minute she answers.

“What’s going on? Is he baking you into key lime pies yet?”

“No, worse!” I exclaim. “This place is insane. The kitchen alone looks big enough to feed the entire population of my home town, and my room could be on the cover of a home décor magazine.” I lower my volume. “They even have a butler.”