Free How to Sleep with a Movie Star by Kristin Harmel

strolling east at the bottom of Central Park. Amazingly, no one had recognized Cole yet. Sixty-story buildings soared around us, and the silence of Central Park was fast disappearing behind us, but we hadn’t been rushed by a single fan or even given a second glance. Then again, we were in an area of the city so ritzy that its residents were probably too self-absorbed to notice if a seven-foot green alien with three eyes wandered by.
    “Are we going to hail a taxi?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I still couldn’t figure out why being with Cole Brannon was making me feel so giddy. I had interviewed dozens of A-listers, and I hadn’t reacted this way since the first few A-listers I’d talked to. And that had been years ago.
    “A taxi?” he said, playfully nudging me. My skin tingled oddly where he’d touched it. “No way, Little Lady. We’re taking the subway!”
    “The subway?” I looked up at him incredulously. That was impossible. Every movie star I’d ever known had traveled by limo or chauffeured car—or at the very least, in their own luxury SUV. They never took the subway. Only anonymous nobodies like me took the subway.
    “Hell, yeah,” Cole said cheerfully, oblivious to my confusion. He looped his arm playfully through mine for a moment. “Look at this. No one recognizes me. Isn’t this fun?” It was true. I took a quick look around to make sure we were actually surrounded by live, movie-going humans. It looked that way. I was baffled.
    “In my defense, you’ve got that hat pulled so low I can hardly see your face,” I said, grinning up at him. From my vantage point, I had a perfect view of his cleft chin and perfect dimples, which grew even deeper every time he cracked a smile—which was a lot.
    “Excuses, excuses,” he said, grinning down at me. “But hey, you have to hand it to me. Am I the master of disguise or what?”
    “That you are,” I said.
Not that looks that good should be covered up,
I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. After all, I was Professional Claire.
Professional.
I tried to forget that I was also Sex-Starved Claire. It was totally beside the point.
    “You are aware, aren’t you, that you’re part of the disguise?” Cole asked conspiratorially.
    “Huh?”
    “Well, as far as all these passersby are concerned”—he gestured grandly to the people bustling by—“you and I are just a young couple out for a romantic stroll.” My cheeks were suddenly on fire. For a moment I forgot that Tom existed, as I realized that indeed I was out on what looked like a romantic amble with Cole Brannon.
    Hmm, I could get used to this.
    “I mean, all these people are expecting that Cole Brannon would be out with Kylie Dane, not a beautiful young blonde,” he continued, smiling at me as we walked. My jaw dropped, and I wasn’t sure for a moment whether it was because he himself had broached the topic of Kylie Dane, or because he’d referred to me as a beautiful young blonde. (Did Cole Brannon really think
I
was beautiful?) As a result, my response came out as a wordless gurgle, and he laughed again.
    “No worries,” he said quickly. He put a hand on my arm and stopped for a minute. I stopped too, and we stood there in the middle of a parting sea of oblivious passersby. He leaned down, his face inches from my right cheek. “I know you have to ask me about Kylie Dane,” he whispered. I could feel myself blushing again as his breath tickled my ear. In fact, I was surprised that the sheer heat emanating from my face hadn’t burned him by this time. “But it’s not true. I swear to God. Really, she’s a nice woman, but there’s nothing between us. I would never, ever, ever get romantically involved with a married woman. I’m so sick of all the rumors, you know? I mean, this sounds crazy, but it hurts my feelings sometimes.”
    I scrambled to dig my pen and notepad out of my shoulder bag and jotted down the words he’d just uttered.
    “I mean, I hate that anyone would