RING ME: A Fake Fiancé Romance

by Flite, Nora

  Ring Me

  A Fake Fiancé Romance

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Nora Flite

  Copyright © 2020 Nora Flite

  All rights reserved. RING ME is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  RING ME: A Fake Fiancé Romance

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Other Books by Nora Flite

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Synopsis

  We met three days ago.

  Now we're getting married.

  Here are the facts:

  I hate weddings. I hate relationships. I don't believe in love.

  Lucky me, none of that matters to Conner Whynn. He's the gorgeous slice of beefcake I met up with for a single night of fun.

  And it WAS fun. Unforgettable, actually. But now that he knows all my secrets, I can't ever see him again. That's my rule.

  So why am I going to have to stare at his brutally handsome face every day for the next week?

  Because my mother is my world. I'll do anything to help her out—even snag a pretend fiancé. Conner is my only option on such short notice.

  Seven days with a stranger. After that, we can split.

  Which is what I want. Or . . . I did.

  Here are the new facts:

  I still hate weddings. I don't hate THIS relationship . . .

  And I believe our fake love can become real.

  Chapter 1

  The Agreement

  I NEEDED A SHOT OF whiskey.

  Something to burn my tongue and toast my blood, taking the edge off of the insane thing I planned to do tonight. But the bartender wouldn't fucking budge.

  “Sorry,” he said, giving me an apathetic shrug. “No license, no drink. That's the law.”

  “Do I look like I'm under 21?” I asked, sliding a hand over my face to pull my thick red hair out of my eyes.

  He scanned the pink and blue skater dress I had on. “Hon, you could be 14 for all I know.”

  I regretted the clothing. I'd picked it intentionally—I'd wanted to look cute and spunky. Clutching the ankle-length wool jacket I'd worn over the dress to hide it from my co-workers, I felt my face go hot. “Give me a break! I'm 25, not some teenager.” Fishing out a 20 from my purse, I slapped it onto the bar. “One shot of Woodford Reserve. I'm dying here. Do you want me to die?”

  “If your condition is that dire, take a minute to go grab your ID.”

  “I can't. I lost it on the way here.”

  “That's a shame.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I braced my palms on the bar, leaning closer to the older man. He had a length of beard covering his chin, giving him the illusion of a thicker jaw than he truly had. I knew men like him—all puffed up, faking their confidence. He wasn't a true alpha. Not even close. “Do you get off on this?” I asked. “Does telling me no make you feel like a big man?”

  The corner of his mouth tugged into a sneer. “Most girls try to butter me up to get what they want.”

  I held his gaze. “And that works?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Glad I didn't waste my time, then.” Sighing loudly, I dropped back onto my stool, holding the twenty up between us. “You really won't sell me one little shot?”

  “Not a shot. Not a dribble. Nothing without some ID.”

  “Well, dammit.” Tucking the money away, I set my forehead in my hands, elbows propped on the cool bar top. “Maybe this is a sign.”

  “Of what?” he asked.

  “Forget it.” Shaking my head until I felt dizzy, I tried to work the burning thoughts from my skull. You can't go through with this without a drink. Or five drinks. You're not brave enough, Maya. You know it. I'd barely managed to bolster myself into getting in a taxi cab and taking the trip to this part of the city—a section I was sure no one would recognize me in.

  But meeting a stranger... with no alcohol to give me liquid courage... I was a chicken.

  I had to bail.

  And I had to do it before it was too late.

  Hooking my purse onto my shoulder, I spun, hopping off the stool. My feet touched the floor just as the door swung open. One look at the face of the man who swayed into the room set my heart thumping. Not just because he was handsome—and he damn sure was—but because he was the person I'd hoped to slip away from.

  His winter-lake-blue eyes locked onto me. There was no question; he recognized me from the photos I'd sent. I didn't know it was possible for people to look better in real life than in their pictures.

  Broad shoulders made me think he'd need to turn sideways to get through the doorway. The neck hole of his beige shirt was wide enough to give me a glimpse of his delicious collar bone, and a hint of some midnight black tattoos. They glistened on his tan skin.

  His heavy boots trailed across the floor. His eyes never wandered from my face. I watched him approach, frozen on the spot, wishing I'd run while thanking fate that I hadn't.

  “Cherry?” he asked with an amused smile. I blushed at the name I used on the RingMe app. I'd thought it was cute, but hearing it out loud made me feel ridiculous.

  I cleared my throat. “That must make you Conner.”

  “What it makes me is lucky.” Heat swam up my body. I felt the bartender's stare burning into the back of my neck. Conner nodded at my purse on my shoulder. “I thought you'd want to sit, have a drink, talk a bit in person, but you look ready to go.”

  “I do want a drink,” I blurted.

  Chuckling, he moved closer. His shadow swallowed me up. “Then let's have one.”

  “I can't.” I looked at the bartender. “He won't let me.”

  “No?”

  The bartender wilted under Conner's intense glare. “She doesn't have any ID. I'm not serving alcohol to a kid and losing my job, or worse.”

  “I'm not a kid,” I assured Conner as quickly as I could. “I lost my ID on the way here.” I didn't want Conner to think I was actually underage. I was a grown-ass woman... who just happened to want to be treated like I was a helpless toy.

  That was why I'd been talking to Conner online. It had started as some cautious, if flirtatious, chatter. A casual mention of being too nervous to ask someone I was dating to indulge in my fantasies. A bold suggestion—on Conner's part—that he'd be able to give me everything I wanted without judging me for it.

  If you were a woman on the RingMe app, you could see everything the men wanted to put on display. That usually meant awful photos and over-sharing in the many categories of interests you could fill out.

  In contrast, men—Conner, in this case—couldn't see anything but your main profile photo and whatever you wrote in your bio. Mine had been rather simple, though I'd agonized over it f
or hours before submitting it to the app.

  It said:

  I know what I want and I don't make concessions. If you expect me to pick you over my career, you're wasting your time. I'll also eat all your snacks.

  I'd done my best to self-sabotage my profile because, deep down, I was terrified of getting attention. I didn't like strangers; trust came hard for me.

  Then Conner had reached out with a simple query.

  Conner: What do you want?

  I'd spent a few days fretting over responding or not. I'd typed messages, then deleted them, more times than I could count. I was too curious not to respond.

  Me: Someone who won't reject my fantasies.

  That was it. I'd replied, so from then on, the channel was open. He could see my full profile, my extra photos, even take the same surveys I'd completed on the app. He insisted he liked my sense of humor. He also said I could come to his place and eat all the snacks I wanted.

  Amazingly, he felt... approachable. Like he already knew me. It helped that he was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. One night, while we chatted as I was stretched out on my couch watching a particularly hot movie—yes, Fifty Shades, why bother denying it—I felt naughty enough to let him in on what I was into. Things escalated quickly.

  Now, we were in the same room.

  He fingered the loops around his brown belt. “We can drink at my hotel room. It's upstairs, come on.”

  I didn't have to listen to him. I could sit back down. I could shake my head and politely explain I'd changed my mind, but thanks for coming all the way downtown to meet me face to face. I could end this before I did something I couldn't take back.

  Why come this far just to bow out?

  I pointed my high-heels towards the exit. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 2

  Special Words

  HE LET ME ENTER FIRST. I had to duck under his arm as he held open the door, the keycard tucked in the fingers of his other hand. Passing beneath his thick bicep was like traveling under the limb of a massive tree in a forest. Our eyes met as I glanced upwards. His lips were set in the same subtle smile he'd worn since leaving the bar.

  I knew he'd be big, but knowing and living it were very different. I'd always been short, but he made me feel fragile. Like he could break me if he sneezed. Still, I was strangely certain that he'd never lay a hand on me. Not unless you ask him to, I reminded myself with an excited shiver.

  The door swung shut, the noise making my heart race. “Nice room,” I said, eager to make conversation... to make this feel normal.

  He set the keycard on the table. “I guess. I've been in nicer.”

  “You book a lot of hotels?”

  His shrug made the delicious vein in his neck flex. “Here and there. Work stuff.”

  “Me, too. I mean, I only really book hotels for work.”

  Conner smiled mildly as he sat in the chair by the door. “Do you want to chat about work?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Then make yourself comfortable.” He pointed at the bed, so I sat on the edge of it. “Tell me, Cherry, what exactly you're looking for.”

  My heart beat even faster. “We talked about it online.”

  “Yeah. But I'd like to talk about it now.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure you're serious.”

  “Maybe you just want me to say it out loud.”

  “If you're implying I'm a pervert, I definitely am,” he whispered thickly.

  Flushing, I rocked my hips on the bed, trying to disguise my excitement as me settling in. “Fine. I'm looking for someone to indulge my fantasies. Someone who will play along, no matter how filthy the scene I want to do is, and not back off, or end it, unless I give a sign.”

  “A safe word.”

  Nodding, I crossed my legs. Conner's attention jumped to my bare knees. He hadn't tried to hide his attraction to me at any point. His open desire was making me want him more. “There are a lot of things I want to try.” I hadn't held back when filling out my kinks and sexual preferences on the app. According to the terms of service it was all behind the scenes data that was supposed to help match me with someone who had similar tastes. I kept reminding myself of that to give myself courage that Conner wasn't going to reject me.

  “I don't know where to begin,” I admitted.

  “Start with what you don't want.”

  “Nothing gross. Nothing that makes me bleed. I'm not into permanent damage.”

  He started to smirk. “Anything else?”

  “No... boyfriends,” I said. I saw his forehead wrinkle. “I don't want a serious relationship. I don't think I can date someone who knows my deepest, dirtiest fantasies.”

  Conner arched a single eyebrow. “Ah. You're telling me not to fall in love with you.”

  Hearing him phrase it that way made me flinch. Stupid, I thought, scolding myself. You sound like an insufferable, egotistical bitch. “Sorry! That came out wrong.”

  “No.” Waving a hand, he set both palms on his spread knees. “It's good to be straight forward. I don't want either of us expecting things that aren't on the table.” His smile put me at ease; I sank back onto the mattress. “We can keep this a no strings attached deal. That works.”

  For a minute, I wanted to ask him a selfish question—did he not worry I might fall in love with him? But I shook the thought away as fast as it came. No strings. Just sex. That would be our deal. Just like we'd discussed online in our late-hour messages.

  “Let's set a safe word,” he said.

  “I thought about that. Subway.” There weren't any in Nashville. Their lack of existence was appropriate; it served as a sad, mood-sobering word if our roleplay got out of hand.

  Conner didn't question my choice. “And a word to signal we're in a scene.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. “I hadn't thought about a signal for that. Good call. Can you pick something?”

  “Neptune. I doubt we'll be talking about planets or the king of the sea in each other's presence.”

  A tiny, nervous giggle escaped me. “Is now a bad time to tell you about my Little Mermaid obsession?”

  “I'm an Aladdin fan, myself.”

  “Noted.” Shifting my legs, I crossed my ankles, feet kicking back and forth. “So... what's next? Do we just... I mean...”

  “I figured you'd want that drink I promised, first.”

  “God, yes,” I laughed.

  When he pushed himself to his feet, the chair groaned, as if it was relieved to be free of Conner's heavy, muscular body. With his back turned to me, I took the opportunity to study him closer.

  Blue denim jeans strained over the shapely curve of his hamstrings and quads, highlighting his delicious ass. I had a weakness for 'gym rats' as my friend Aubrey so snarkily called them. But sue me—I thought men who lifted weights were hot. Conner sure was. That was part of my early interest in him when we began chatting online; he'd sent a few photos at my request, and among them had been a gym selfie.

  The crack of a bottle cap being twisted open startled me. “Gin alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, showing me the tiny bottle of Bombay Sapphire he'd pulled from the mini bar.

  “I love gin.”

  “Lotta people don't,” he chuckled, filling two glasses, then adding some fizzing tonic. “They think it tastes like pine needles.”

  “I don't trust the opinion of someone dumb enough to chew on a pine tree.”

  Grinning with clear appreciation, Conner came back, handing me a glass. I expected him to sit in the chair against the wall. Instead, he pulled it forward, erasing the distance between us. When he sat down, his spread knees blocked me in on either side of the bed. His head was level with mine. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I replied, my voice breaking. I tapped my glass on his, then tilted my head back so I could drink over half my gin and tonic in one breath.

  “Jesus,” he whispered. “You're either dehydrated, or desperate to get drunk.”

  “A little of b
oth,” I admitted. Wiping my mouth, I stared at my lap. It was hard to look him in the eye when he was so close I could smell him. Brown sugar and oranges, for the record. And a hint of juniper from the gin. “I've never done anything like this before. I can't pretend I'm not freaking out a little.”

  “Then don't pretend. Use it.”

  I watched him from beneath the fringe of my thick eyelashes. His face was flat. Emotionless. No, I thought, looking closer. There's arousal in his eyes. He's excited, like I am, he's just not squirming all over the place. Conner had more control than me. I'd been right to choose him for this meet-up.

  He'd come off as calm, even reserved, in our talks. That was what I needed—someone who could fulfill my fantasy of being taken by a cocky, domineering beast of a man.

  Why was I hesitating now?

  He reached out, pulling my glass from my tight grip. “There's still another mouthful in there,” I argued.

  “I know.” He placed it carefully on the dresser nearby, then put his glass next to mine. “Cherry, I'm not going to do anything with you if you're wasted. I refuse to get involved with someone who doesn't want to be present in the moment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you're drunk, you can't make clear choices.” He folded his hands under his chin, covering his mouth, watching me intensely. “To be blunt, I never, ever fuck drunk girls.”

  My whole body tensed when he said fuck. I've got a fantastic imagination, and it worked against me now, creating vivid images in my brain of Conner bending me over the bed and railing me with his thick, rigid cock. I swallowed loudly. “You're right. I don't want to do anything without knowing I'm really okay with it.”

  He nodded slowly. “Do you have any questions you want to ask me?”

  “I feel like I asked you a lot already.”

  “Online and in person are different. This is your chance, or we can skip to the part where you outline the scene you want to do.”

  I got his meaning. Last chance to talk before we begin. I squirmed nervously, rummaging through my head for any questions I'd regret not voicing. Sure, I could ask him things later, when this was... over... but this was my last shot at full disclosure. His, too, before we did something neither of us could take back.