Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance) (Pretense and Promises Book 1)

by Jade C. Jamison

Just this one tiny thing…the one thing he wanted.

  But she wasn’t going to be sweet about it. “I want you to fuck me, Brock, and I want you to do it now.”

  The fierceness of her voice surprised her, but his response did not. His mouth consumed hers as he lifted her up against the wall. She spread her legs, ready to take him inside her, eager to feel him fill her. As he slid his cock inside her walls with primitive fierceness, she heard a moan escape her mouth.

  Why had she fought him so hard?

  She was on the brink already, and each stroke brought her closer. Something in the wall behind her was poking her in the back, distracting her, keeping her from that moment where she could let go, but she could tell now that Brock too was painfully near the edge. She adjusted her back, causing her core to grind against him and that change of angle was all it took. Her mind slid into madness as the earth shattered around her like bits of tinkling glass, and she buried her lips against his neck, hoping to muffle her cries of deliriousness, lest anyone in the building find out.

  “God, Erica.” Those were his last words as he let go, his thrusts slowing as he drowned in pleasure.

  For a few moments, all she could hear was their heavy breathing as they wound down.

  And the earth had not stopped moving while they’d been otherwise engaged. The intercom on the table buzzed, reminding them they had much work to do. “Mr. Ford, your next appointment is here. Shall I bring them back?”

  He raised his voice. “We need another few minutes to finish up in here.” As the secretary responded through the intercom once more, Brock stroked Erica’s cheek with his thumb. His eyes seemed softer for the moment, but in another five seconds, he was completely back to business—and back to his usual arrogant self. “Feel better now?”

  * * *

  As his brain cleared, he realized that he saw Erica in a whole new light. Yes, she was smart, beautiful, sassy—but they were also compatible. He’d never had sex like that before. Awesome sex? Yes. Even shitty sex, so long as it culminated in climax, was good enough—but soul connecting love making was something else entirely.

  He could honestly say he’d never before felt this way after copulation.

  What the hell was going on inside his head?

  Was it because she’d said she really wanted him? Yes, it was under duress…but he believed it just the same. Erica was the kind of woman who would have refused had it not been true, on the verge of orgasm or not. She was too stubborn to give in with a lame lie.

  No way could he let her know what the fuck he was feeling now. Even he didn’t quite understand it—and, besides, this shit wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t part of the deal. She was supposed to help him continue his bachelorhood, not make him want to be hitched to a girlfriend.

  But that was okay. As soon as they could “call off” the engagement, he could settle back into his old life.

  His slacks were zipped up and he ran his fingers through his hair while Erica tucked, smoothed, and pulled her clothing back into shape. As he came to his senses, he wondered to himself what the hell appointment he had waiting for him. He went to the desk and pressed on the intercom button on his phone. When Harriet answered, he asked, “What appointment do we have waiting? I thought we were done for the day.”

  “Mrs. Fierro is here, remember? She had some questions about the deposition tomorrow and you were going to meet with her this afternoon.”

  He vaguely remembered telling his client to come in “sometime after work”—her job in which her hours varied. “Okay. We need just a couple more minutes. I’ll let you know.” He hung up and then said to Erica, “You might as well stay for this appointment, too. I can go over the things I usually tell clients when they’re put under oath—it’s something you need to know.”

  That was good. Calm, collected—like nothing had happened a few minutes ago.

  Like they hadn’t both just had the best fucking sex of their lives.

  “No, thank you. I have to go.”

  “What?” He walked over to the desk and wiggled the mouse to wake his computer back up.

  “I said I have to go.”

  She was fiddling with her shoe, and it seemed as though she was doing it just as a refusal to make eye contact with him. “We have work to do here, Erica.”

  Then she stood up, her earthy eyes full of venom. “No, you have work to do. I don’t know anything about your client. The people we interviewed today? Any discussions we might need to have about their cases will wait till morning.” She marched over to his desk and picked up the files and legal pad she’d been taking notes on before shoving a pen in the crook of her ear.

  There was that feisty streak that, by God, he was not willing to tamp out. It was becoming one of the things he loved the most about her, especially because her defiance was sexy as hell. Was it because something inside him wanted to break through that, capture her heart despite her stubbornness? He didn’t know.

  Fortunately, he’d had years and years of practice at remaining calm in courtroom after courtroom amidst flying emotions. This was nothing. His voice was as smooth as silk when he said, “What makes you think I won’t fire you for leaving without permission?”

  Her hand on the doorknob, she turned. Her head was tilted, her lips curled in a smirk when she answered. “Go ahead. You do that, I’ll call off the engagement. Simple.” And, without waiting for a reply, she marched through the door and shut it—firmly but without slamming it. He sensed restraint—and some undercurrent he couldn’t quite pick up on, particularly because it was hard to focus. His body was still swimming with endorphins and some stupid lovey-dovey reaction. He had to find his balls so he could focus on his client.

  But, first, he had to will down the semi-erection that had perked up when Erica had shown more fire. This woman was gonna kill him. His dick thought it was fifteen years old again.

  Drink of water. One walk around the office. Thoughts of sitting in a boring deposition with a bland court reporter and a know-it-all attorney.

  He was set.

  “Harriet, please send in Mrs. Fierro now.”

  Business first. Contemplation later.

  * * *

  Brock was back in the office at seven, still having worked in two miles and a light breakfast afterward. He was on his third cup of coffee an hour later when Erica strolled into the room. Yes, she’d rapped on his door but hadn’t waited for him to invite her in.

  He knew it was her, but she was going to have to wait before he looked up from his work. He wanted her now, more than ever, but there was no way he was going to let her know that. He’d thought about her all night—the way her skin had tasted under his tongue, the way her pussy had gripped his cock like she’d been waiting all her life for him, the way she’d dug her fingernails into the flesh of his neck like she was claiming him as hers.

  Push those goddamn thoughts out.

  Cool and calm. He didn’t even raise his eyes off the papers he was perusing. “Yes?”

  Her voice was as cold as an ice cube. “I need to ask you some questions about one of the cases from yesterday.”

  He looked up then and saw that her face was as frozen as her words. She was still as beautiful as ever, but her hair was pulled back tightly, her makeup stark and severe. Her gray dress was somber, communicating as much as her voice. But she was either pretending to ignore what had happened between them yesterday or she was angry about it. Either way, there were emotions there she was trying to pretend weren’t there—and that was probably a good thing. It likely meant that it had seemed like more to her, too.

  So no way in hell was he going to go easy on her. No way.

  He straightened his back as though he’d been hunched over this particular case file for days and said, “Hmm. You need my help already, huh?”

  Her eyes began to glower again, a look he loved entirely too much. “If you’d rather, I can make a misstep and let the firm pay for it.”

  He smiled, suppressing a laugh. “Relax.
Sit down and let’s take a look at it.” Acting as though she wasn’t sure she wanted to, she reluctantly sat in a chair on the other side of the desk. “Have you had coffee yet?”

  She nodded but wasn’t interested in small talk. “So the Frahley case, the one where she was working overtime but not clocking in and out?”

  Brock didn’t forget cases, but now was not the time to say so. “Yes, I recall.”

  “You know how she said it started out with her deciding to clock out before counting the drawer or when she’d already gone over the time she should have?” Brock nodded. “So I called her yesterday afternoon and asked her when her employer started requiring her to do it. She said it was voluntary for about a year and it’s been the last six months that they’ve been making her—because when she stayed clocked in, it was her actual time, which took quite a bit longer than when she gave them time for free.”

  “So what’s your question?”

  “I clarified because I thought maybe we could only sue from the time the employer knew…but the law—”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. They’re liable either way—but it’s even worse with them being fully aware and demanding it.”

  “You’re doing it again, Brock.”

  He was going to play innocent. She didn’t realize that, while they were working, every minute was money—so he tended to rush through things that didn’t matter. Technically, yes, Erica could bill for the case she was working on, but her rate wasn’t as high as his. “What?”

  “Interrupting. It’s awfully rude.”

  No apologizing. No giving away how he really felt about her. “I knew what you were going to say, Erica. In this business, time is money.” Her brows furrowed, the inside corners of her eyes squinting. “Am I wrong? Was there something else you needed to get off your chest?”

  She was holding her tongue, much like he’d spent his entire life doing with his family, and he could see her grappling with her emotions and thoughts. Finally, she said, “No.” Her eyes were searching his and he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she was thinking—and what the fuck was wrong with him. Jesus. It wasn’t like he’d never had sex before—great sex, amazing sex, mind-blowing rip-the-sheets-off-the-bed sex. What the hell was going on with him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her that way?

  He needed to focus on work and get her out of his head, but she interrupted his thoughts. “I just want to know why you’re being such an asshole.”

  Brock couldn’t help the chuckle that tumbled out of his mouth. “Asshole? What did I do to deserve that moniker? You don’t appreciate honesty?”

  “I don’t mind honesty—but you can do that without being a jerk.”

  It wasn’t going to be good if he gave away how amused he was, so he tried to make sure his face looked more serious. “If it makes you feel better, I can try.”

  He could tell she almost smiled. “That’s all I ask.” After a cleansing breath, she asked, “So what are you working on?”

  “I’ve got a trial tomorrow that I’m preparing for.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it? It’s good for me to learn strategy.”

  “I don’t know how much strategy you’ll get from me. This is pretty cut and dry…but come on over.” No, he didn’t really need for her to look at his computer screen or the file to get an idea of what he was referring to, but he wasn’t going to miss the chance. She wore some spicy perfume—he had no idea what the notes were, because fragrances weren’t his thing, but it reminded him of cinnamon or cloves with a touch of pepper and maybe even a pinch of sugar. Most women he’d dated wore floral scents—of course, leave it to Erica to be a little different. “My client owns several restaurants in Arapahoe County. He’s been accused of murdering his wife.”

  “And you’re defending him?”

  “Yes. All I have to do is plant doubt in the jury’s mind, because the burden of proof is on the state. Most of what they have is circumstantial. She fell over one hundred feet off a cliff in Rocky Mountain National Park to her death.”

  “Was he with her?”

  “He said he lost track of her—that they’d been hiking and he’d paused to take some pictures with his phone. He heard her screaming and ran over to see her falling to her death.”

  “Oh, that poor man.”

  Brock couldn’t help the smirk spreading across his face. “Not so fast. His first wife apparently died suspiciously, drowning in a pool at a resort in Las Vegas while my client slept through the night.”

  “Maybe he’s just unlucky.”

  “Can I have you on my jury?”

  “Seriously, though. The man’s lost two wives. That must hurt.”

  “Well…he had her covered with five million dollars in life insurance.”

  “Wow. That seems excessive.”

  “The police thought so, too. It didn’t help that he had a map with markings on it, markings that end about the place where his wife fell to her untimely death. And her friends and family say the last thing she ever would have wanted to do was hike.”

  “Ouch. So you think—?”

  “I think the man needs an attorney. And that’s why I’m here.” He closed the file folder. His arguments weren’t going to get any stronger. He was going to push the fact that all the cops had was circumstantial evidence—and conflicting statements from his client.

  “Did he have pictures on his phone? You know…to corroborate his statement that he was off shooting pictures while she was slipping on a ledge or whatever?”

  “Actually, he does. But investigators think those were taken afterward.”

  “Can they prove it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out later this week.” He smiled at her. “But I think I need to try to lean toward a female jury. He’s the crushed widower who’s had the misfortune of losing not one but two wives in his lifetime—and here we are making a mockery of it.” His eyes lit up. “I wonder how big an insurance policy he had on himself.” Snapping his fingers, he said, “That’s it. Thank you, Erica.”

  He wanted to kiss her right then and there. She was gorgeous, and just engaging in discussion about the case had helped him come up with what could be a perfect defense—provided his dumb ass client had either no life insurance or a small one for a couple hundred thousand.

  “I guess I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Erica began to stand when Brandon walked in the door. “Ah, just the people I wanted to see. Lisa wondered if both of you would like to come to our place for dinner tonight. She said she loves Erica and really wants to get to know her better. Oh, and if you say no, I’ll have hell to pay.” He smiled and then said, “But no pressure.”

  Brock looked at Erica while saying, “It works for me, but I don’t know what Erica’s got on tap. I need to be home relatively early since I have the Cool trial tomorrow.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good luck, bro. I know you’ll kick ass.”

  Brock tried not to let his jaw hit the floor, because this was one of the first genuine compliments Brandon had given him as an adult. It was…touching, to say the least. “Thanks, Bran.”

  Erica said, “Yeah. I think that works for me. Besides, I need to give Saffy a kiss. I miss that little sweetie.”

  “Lisa will be thrilled to hear it. See you guys around—I dunno—seven tonight?”

  Both agreed before Brandon slipped away. “Thanks, Erica. I appreciate it.”

  She turned to him, jabbing her pointy finger into his chest—and why did his cock consider perking up at that? With a hiss, she said, “But No. More. Sex.” A smile spread his cheeks wider than it should have. “Keep your dick in your pants.”

  He put his hands up and said, “Whatever you say.”

  “Pick me up around six-thirty?”

  “Try six. We’ve got rush hour traffic to contend with, and they live in Highlands Ranch.”

  “I’d say it’s a date, but I don’t need you getting any m
ore bright ideas.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” And he wondered, as he watched her fine ass sashay out of his office, just exactly how he could go about making her his—or if that was even a possibility.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ERICA WAS MOST definitely along for the ride, but she didn’t know how much longer she could keep up with this charade. This afternoon had finally settled back into something she might call “normal” when it came to the relationship between her and Brock, but it had been strange and weird at first. Finally just ignoring their indiscretion, she was able to concentrate on what mattered most—her career.

  But that indiscretion—holy hell, it had been too damn good. And, in spite of the fact that it had been hurried, upright, and all but fully clothed, she could admit to herself that it was some of the best sex she’d ever had. She’d been analyzing it over the past twenty-four hours and come to the conclusion that Brock was an amazing lover. He’d known which of her buttons to press and he’d read her like a book.

  He was a genius when it came to her body—but she’d never admit it to him in a million years. In fact, it made her despise him all the more.

  Traffic was bumper to bumper and slow but not at a standstill as they made their way down C-470 for the last little stretch. Five minutes later, though, Brock was winding down a quiet road. On all sides, even though they were shrouded by darkness, the street lamps were able to illuminate ostentatious homes—not quite mansions, but Erica knew just by looking that these places were easily worth half a million or even double that, way out of her present price range. But why would that be surprising? One of the reasons she’d settled on becoming an attorney (as opposed to, say, a private investigator or a college professor) was that, once they’d paid their dues, they made bank. This wealthy neighborhood Brock’s brother had chosen for his home gave her hope for the future.

  Brock pulled in front of a beautiful house adorned with either multicolored bricks or flat stones—she couldn’t tell which in the low light—but it was breathtaking. Two stories and a two-car garage were adorned by lovely though bare shade trees in the front and short well-manicured bushes inside a modest flower bed nestled up against the house. From the front, the place looked like what Erica would consider normal, but from the side, she saw that the house went far back, and she couldn’t even calculate how many rooms that might possibly mean, but her guess was that it was between three and four thousand square feet. She knew her apartment wasn’t even one thousand. Hell, she’d be lucky if it was eight hundred.