Falling for His Fake Fiancée (Book 2, Girls' Night Trilogy)

by Gillian Blakely

  They stared at her as if she’d grown an extra head.

  “What?”

  None of them spoke.

  “Is that okay? I can make something else.” Frantically she tried to think of what else she had on hand that would feed three hungry men.

  “That’s what mom used to make for Sunday dinners,” Greg said quietly.

  “That’s our favorite,” Ronny added, his voice sounding a little strange.

  Gretchen remembered, now that they’d mentioned it. She’d attended a few of those dinners during her college days.

  It was Sunday. Was it taboo to fix spaghetti and meatballs on Sunday? Sacred or something?

  “That sounds wonderful,” Thomas said.

  Gretchen exhaled and all three Fairchild men smiled at her. Holy smokes, that was potent. She needed more oxygen. Space. Room to breathe. Why did her skin feel so tight? And why was Greg looking at her like he wanted to hug her?

  “Well, you’re welcome to stay for dinner. The more the merrier. I’ll go get started.”

  “We should run by Greg’s condo,” Thomas said, rising the same time she did.

  “Good idea.” Ronny pushed to his feet and joined his brother in the front hall. “Is there anything we can get you? I hate that we’re imposing like this.”

  “You’re not imposing. How about an extra bag of salad mix and some garlic bread. I have a feeling you three could clean out my breadbox.”

  Ronny smiled and nodded and then they were gone. She felt like she could breathe again.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  She spun around and focused on Greg who’d lifted his legs onto the couch and was massaging the muscle just above his knees.

  “This?”

  “Adopt my whole family,” he said flatly.

  If he’d thrown a glass of water in her face, she couldn’t have been more surprised.

  “Is that what I’m doing?” she asked as tears sprang to her eyes. Darn. She must be PMSing. Normally a terse word didn’t make her blink. But when those words came from Greg’s lips…

  So she was happy to have some company. To have someone to help and take care of. It made her feel useful. Why was that a bad thing?

  “Gretchen―”

  She was feeling punchy and a little bruised. But instead of saying something she’d regret like ‘next time I’ll be sure to leave your fine fanny in the hospital to rot’ she escaped to the kitchen, knowing it’d take tremendous energy and pain for him to follow.

  Like he’d follow. Greg wasn’t going to hobble down her hall and apologize for hurting her feelings. She had a better chance of winning the lottery next week.

  She crossed her fingers and said a quick little prayer for that. She’d love to be able to spend more time on her volunteer projects. And really start her business. It made her day to provide beautiful designs that made people happier in such simple ways.

  After a steadying breath that managed to hold the tears back a little more, she opened pantry and stared at the contents. Stared and stared until her vision blurred once more and she couldn’t make out croutons from crackers. She bit the inside of her lower lip and told herself to get it together. She couldn’t be a wreck when his brother’s got back. She didn’t want anyone to see her with tears rolling down her cheeks like a ninny.

  What she wouldn’t give for a big bottle of wine right now. But there was nothing to be done about that now. She had dinner to make and getting sauced before using a sharp knife wasn’t a good idea.

  Luckily, spaghetti was one of her favorite things to eat so she always had a good stock of noodles on hand. And once every few months she’d make up a giant pot of sauce along with a few dozen meat balls and freeze them. She peered into the freezer, hoping that she still had plenty.

  The burst of cold air perked her up.

  She needed to get over it. Over herself. Over him. He was a friend in need. She needed to think of him like a friend. But how in the world was she supposed to do that when being with him, near him, felt so right?

  She pulled three gallon sized bags of spaghetti sauce and another full of meatballs from the freezer and closed the door with her shoulder. After putting the bounty on the counter she used her fingers to count. Her, plus Greg, Thomas and Ronny. Four. But Trevor and JJ would probably get here right in the middle of dinner, so another two. Plus Joe. She couldn’t forget Joe.

  She’d only met the tall, dark and dangerous bodyguard a handful of times but it was obvious that he cared for Trevor and JJ and took his job of handling their security very seriously. Plus he just seemed like an all-around nice guy. A little brooding for her taste, but then, she supposed that being able to stare a bad guy into submission had its advantages. So, seven for dinner then.

  Once she had the sauce on to heat, she turned back to the pantry for the croutons and pasta but the tears were still in her way. She swiped at them impatiently, annoyed with herself. What was wrong with her tear ducts today?

  He’d been short with her. So what? Parents chewed her out on a yearly basis because their little darlings didn’t pay attention in class and then took home a subpar report card.

  Besides, she was turning over a new leaf. She had no time for tears or regrets. No man was going to want a quivering, self-conscious woman.

  “Am I really so unlovable?”

  Greg’s voice startled her and she spun around, almost careening into him. He’d braced one hand against the cheap laminate counter top and was leaning on it heavily. Even in a set of slept-in-sweats with dishevelled hair, he was sexier than any man she’d ever seen. And three days’ worth of scruff on his jaw? Who knew she’d find that so attractive?

  But mostly, it was the pain in his eyes that drew her.

  “Wha-t?” Gretchen stammered.

  “Earlier, when you snatched your hand back and dissolved into giggles.”

  She stared deep into his eyes, took in the slight frown turning his lips down.

  “No,” she whispered honestly. “I think you’re perfectly lovable.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. You’ve been nothing but sweet and caring and I was rude just now.” He looked as miserable as she felt. Well, at least she was in good company.

  He stepped forward slowly, closing the distance between them trapping her between the door and his impressive chest. She sucked in a startled breath when he reached out and swiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The action was intimate, the air between them thick. Somehow she resisted the almost overwhelming urge to lean into his touch.

  “My brothers will damage my other leg when they find out I made you cry.”

  She closed her eyes and her nose twitched. It must be nice to be so cared for. To have respect and honor demanded of you. To have so much pride in yourself and your family.

  It would be nice to have someone hold you and cuddle you and reassure you and wipe your tears.

  But the thought of any more harm coming to him...she couldn’t stand it.

  “Then we won’t tell them.” She opened her eyes and pegged him with a steady look that broached no argument. Quickly, she swiped at her cheeks until the last remnant of moisture was gone. Once that was done she pasted on a brave smile and licked her lips.

  Greg’s eyes tracked the movement and he leaned closer, crowding her, overwhelming her senses. He continued staring at her lips as his hand slid from her cheek into her hair. Heat and desire coiled in her belly and she lifted her hands to his chest. There was no way she’d push him away; she craved the promise in his eyes. A kiss. Passion. Fireworks.

  He ducked his head, blotting out the overhead light. As his lips touched hers every thought fled her brain. They stayed like that, lip against lip, for a long moment and pleasure ricocheted through her system.

  More.

  She flexed her fingers against his chest and he groaned. Gretchen pulled back immediately, an apology tumbling out.

  “Stop apologizing,” he muttered and sought
her lips again.

  The dark, demanding tone allowed no rebuttal, no back tracking. Just complete obedience. Did he know she would follow wherever he led? Did he know all he had to do was ask?

  Her shoulder blades touched the pantry door and he braced a hand against it, just to the left of her hip. He trapped her there with his body; the close proximity left nothing to the imagination. His muscles were as hard and built as she’d always suspected.

  He deepened the kiss, not so much asking for entrance as storming his way through. Seeking, searching, invading her senses until there was nothing left but him. Him and his hands, his mouth and tongue. And heaven help her, she was right there with him jumping head first into lust.

  Why didn’t he touch her? Didn’t he want to? She was dying to get her hands on him, to explore as she had in her fantasies but settled for one hand lightly braced against his magnificent chest while the other curled around his lower back. She held him carefully, ever aware of his accident even though he seemed like he’d momentarily forgotten all his injuries.

  He severed the kiss and took a stiff step back. Gretchen sucked in a lungful of air and saw him do the same. Blue eyes blazed into hers and she wanted to call him back, to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her skin. But he braced a hand against the counter and pulled the other down his face.

  “Sorry. I got―”

  “Who’s apologizing now?” she asked, almost choking on the words. He couldn’t apologize for one of the best moments of her life. He just couldn’t.

  After a few heartbeats of thick silence he asked if there was anything he could do to help.

  “Rest. Your brothers will be back to wear you down shortly.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before he nodded and turned for the door.

  She watched his retreating back, alternately astonished that he’d followed her to apologize, that he’d kissed her so thoroughly and then apologized for that too. It wasn’t a simple attraction like she’d felt before. His closeness had made her whole body flush with heat. That had never happened before, not with her first boyfriend and not with that mistake two summers ago. No, this was different, purely physical of course. But the kind of thing she’d only read about in books and then snickered at the ridiculousness of it.

  The water had just come to a boil when she heard Ronny’s voice in the entryway. It didn’t surprise her how much she adored the chaos. Just the sound of voices coming down the hall eased the tightness in her chest.

  “Salad and garlic bread delivery,” Ronny called as he stepped into the kitchen. She swiped at her cheeks to make sure that all remnants of her tears were gone and turned toward him. His arms were laden with bags.

  She turned from where she’d been stirring the sauce. “Are you planning for an army?”

  Ronny chuckled in that happy go lucky way of his and proceeded to unload bags of chips, another twelve pack of beer, two baguettes of French bread. Was that salsa? And ice cream? Had she been starving Greg and not even realized it?

  “And this is for you. You might need it.” He handed her a bottle of wine. “I don’t know if it’s any good or not. You know, I’m a beer guy.”

  She felt a little like she’d been caught up in a whirl wind. Ronny had so much energy.

  He opened the fridge and started piling stuff in. On one hand, she liked how he made himself at home. Easy going people like him were always fun to be around. But on the other, her system was a shocked and overloaded by so much…testosterone.

  “Hey Greggo. You want a beer?” he called once the counter was clear and everything was put away.

  “Ronny―” she scolded.

  He turned toward her with an eyebrow quirked up.

  “He’s on pain medication.”

  “Oh.” He grabbed a brew for himself and called “nevermind. Like your hair by the way,” he said just before he stalked back down the hall.

  Gretchen shook her head, clearing the disbelief. Though his brothers cared, maybe they shouldn’t be taking care of Greg. At least until he was off the pain meds. Mixing, adjusting, or failing to complete a dosage of medication was not something Gretchen messed around with.

  There were too many stories in the news of people dying and overdosing. The thought of passing out, let alone dying in her sleep because of a silly mistake, scared the wits out of her.

  She debated taking Greg a fresh drink but was having enough trouble controlling her emotions without being in the same room.

  Giving herself a few moments, she stirred the sauce, pleased that the packages of frozen sauce had melted so quickly.

  “Everything all right in here?” Thomas asked from the doorway.

  She shot him a quick smile and noticed his gaze on her hands where she was ripping open two boxes of pasta. Or trying to, rather. Her hands shook.

  “Everything’s dandy. Should be ready in twenty minutes,” she told him.

  She felt his gaze on her but refused to give into the urge to glance over her shoulder at him. The middle Fairchild brother was far too watchful and all-seeing. Of the three, he was the most quiet and reserved. And she often noticed him sitting back and taking stock of everything. Being the only person in his line of sight was a bit disconcerting.

  “You’ve been crying,” he murmured. Not accusing, but simply stating a fact.

  She wasn’t going to deny it. Facts were facts. “It’s just PMS.” And a whole host of other things she didn’t want to examine today.

  “Something Greg said?”

  She sighed as she straightened her shoulders, ready to defend the man on her sofa. “He’s injured, on heavy medication and not thinking clearly. I think we can give him a pass, don’t you?” she asked, raising a brow.

  Gretchen wasn’t going to mention the kiss. She shouldn’t have gotten so carried away or let emotions enter the picture.

  He studied her for another long moment and this time she met his gaze head on. His eyes were lighter and grayer than Greg’s and his brows were a little thinner. There seemed to be a constant pinch between them as if he was always thinking hard about something.

  He nodded slowly, as if he was still convincing himself. “What can I do to help? I’m pretty good at toasting bread.”

  His offhand comment surprised her and she laughed softly. “By all means. Help yourself. I was just about to start on the salad.”

  They worked side by side for the next few minutes. Him, warming the oven, slicing it into hunks, slathering it with butter. And her washing lettuce and veggies, tossing it all together while she carefully sidestepped one Thomas Fairchild.

  As he waited for the butter to melt, he leaned against the doorframe. She glanced over at him as she tossed the salad with her hands. He was right off the cover of a GQ magazine. From his dark jeans and laceless sneakers to the sweater and button-up shirt. He kept his hair on the short side and didn’t have a single strand out of place.

  He projected an aura of control and intensity. From what she knew about him, he was a sought after accountant and was the youngest partner in the firm.

  “You got your hair cut.”

  It was a statement, not a question. The lettuce fell from her fingers.

  “I can’t believe you noticed.” But then again, he seemed to see everything.

  “That story earlier,” he said, stepping closer.

  She knew exactly what he was talking about and used salad dressing as excuse to escape his scrutiny.

  “It was true, wasn’t it?”

  Gretchen knew what he was asking but kept her gaze carefully fixed on the salad.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes.

  She glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway. It wasn’t that she thought Greg would be standing there or could hear her from the living room…

  “Don’t tell him.”

  “Why haven’t you?” Thomas pressed, hedging closer.

  She took a step back and put the spaghetti noodles into the boiling water. Once that was done she wiped down the counte
rtops. They didn’t really need cleaning, but she needed to focus on something other than the disturbingly observant man in her kitchen.

  He covered her hand with his, halting her movements.

  “He chose Baby,” she said without meaning to. Greg had said nothing happened by that didn’t change the crushing fact that he’d been attracted to her best friend.

  “That’s what you think? Is he staying with Baby? Do you see her here caring for him?” he asked quietly.

  “It’s not like he had much choice.”

  “Don’t you think if my brother really wanted to be with her he would have found a way? Before now? If he wanted to be with Baby he’d be with her. Ask him why he’s not.”

  “But―”

  He cut her off again. “Here’s what I know. Any man would be lucky to have you staring at him the way you stare at my brother. Some of us would kill for love like yours. He deserves to know.”

  Her mouth hung open as she stared at him, thoughts and emotions rushing through her. Was he right? Did he know something she didn’t?

  But one resounding question wouldn’t leave her alone.

  “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” she whispered, scarcely able to push the words out, much less believe they were having this conversation.

  “Try him.” He squeezed her hand and then turned to take care of the bread as if he hadn’t just turned her universe upside down. She noted that her body didn’t have any particular reaction or excitement at Thomas’s touch. All of which confirmed the flutters and increased heart rate she experienced with Greg.

  Years ago she’d thought Thomas handsome and dependable. And then Greg had slowly entered the picture until Gretchen had been able to see little else.

  He was still all that she saw.

  How was she going to move on and forget him now that she’d had a taste? Was that still the plan, she wondered as the doorbell rang.

  14

  “Ronny, would you mind—” she called and he cut her off with a “sure thing.”

  Gretchen poured the pasta through a strainer and steam billowed from the sink, surrounding her in a hot, gray mist.