by Anna Durand
Dane comes up beside me, his expression neutral, like none of this opulence affects him in the least. "What should we do? To show the world we're a couple."
"Hang out, I guess. If I stay here for a while, everyone will probably assume we banged each other all day long."
"I'm not sure---That's, ah---" He scrubs a hand over his mouth. "Do we really want to give people that impression? You're not my mistress."
"Sure I am." I turn toward him and wave my hands at my body. "Arm candy here, remember? I'm just an ornament to help you prove your manliness."
"I don't like that description."
"Neither do I, but that's the deal. Right?"
"Yes, but---" He scrunches his whole face in the cutest expression of frustration and annoyance. "I don't want the world to see you that way."
"Ugh, Dane." Now I sound frustrated and probably look it too, like he had a second ago. "You can't have it both ways. I'm your fake girlfriend, but you don't want to use me as a body ornament. That's the point of this charade, isn't it? I mean, you told me this would be a business arrangement because Celeste insists you must have a woman on your arm at public events."
"You remember exactly what I said? That sounds verbatim."
"It is. I have an excellent memory."
"Yes, I can tell." He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and ambles over to the glass balcony. While he gazes out at the view, he sighs and removes his glasses. After staring at them for a minute, he puts them back on and slumps his shoulders. "This sounded like a good idea when I suggested it."
I approach him, slipping my arm under his. "Well, you can always fake dump me."
"Would you mind not making jokes about our...arrangement?" He hunches his shoulders, his gaze veering down to the floor. "I don't like to think about it."
"But you have to. We're in too deep to back out. You got me a new job and everything."
Maybe I'm secretly afraid I won't see him again if he calls off our phony relationship. I work in Connecticut now. Dane has a new PA. He won't need me anymore if we're not pretending to date. I love spending time with him, like last night when he'd brought me dinner and we sat on the sofa talking. He even put a blanket over me when I fell asleep.
He groans. "I know we can't back out of it. The wheels are already in motion. I told Celeste first thing yesterday that you and I are dating and that's why I needed a new PA." He scrunches up his face again. "I'm sure Celeste has already told Reese to start a new marketing campaign all about you and me and a lot of bollocks about how well I satisfy you in bed."
Maybe he would satisfy me---if we had sex.
Not maybe. He absolutely would fulfill my every desire. Those two make-out sessions heated me up in all the right ways. No man who kisses like that could be anything less than stellar in bed. It's not "bollocks."
"If you're so miserable," I say, "you should talk to Celeste. She cares about keeping her employees happy."
He leans against the glass balcony, his eyes aimed toward the view but his focus clearly on something much farther away. "I'll think about it."
"Okay." I'm pretty sure that when he says he'll think about it he means he's never going to do it. He seems shy about telling anyone how he's really feeling. So I decide to distract him from his worries. "Let's do something fun, like order room service. A whole bunch of totally fattening, cholesterol-laden goodies."
He eyes me sideways. "Is that meant to make me feel better? Getting nauseous from eating too much doesn't appeal to me."
"Who said you have to eat too much? Let's order everything on the breakfast menu and try all of it. No overeating unless you feel like it." I nudge him with my shoulder. "What do you say?"
"All right."
Dane makes the call to order our late breakfast. I already had breakfast when I got up this morning, but I ate light, so I've got room left for a decadent brunch. Besides, Dane needs cheering up. And I want to make him feel better. Want to so much. I would hug him, but I'm afraid that might embarrass him.
Dane says he needs to take a shower while we wait for our food. He looks clean to me, but I figure he needs some alone time. He emerges from the bathroom about a minute before the elevator doors open and a hotel employee wheels a cart full of our food through the suite and out onto the spacious balcony. The polite young man sets our food on a table. Dane gives him a tip and sends him on his way.
We don't talk much while we eat, but we do feed each other. He surprises me by starting it, holding a forkful of pancake to my lips, then slipping it inside my mouth when I open up to accept the food gift. I never would've expected Dane Dixon to do something like that. He acts so serious most of the time, but feeding me pancakes and French toast and eggs Benedict doesn't jibe with that. He knows how to relax. Huh.
When I take a sip of milk, I get clumsy and wind up dribbling some down my chin.
Dane grabs a napkin and wipes the milk off my skin, then he rubs his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
I feed him too, but he doesn't dribble anything on himself. I kind of wish he would so I can lick it off. Seeing him this way, at ease and enjoying our brunch, makes me want him even more than I already do. Okay, pretty much everything he does makes me hot for him. Yeah, I'm still massively crushing on him, and it's still pathetic.
After our meal, Dane tells me he has work to do. I point out that it's Saturday, which means it's the weekend, but he dismisses that with a shrug and a grunt. I let him have his alone time, only because he fed me breakfast, literally, using his own hand and fork.
On Sunday afternoon, I call his suite instead of just going there like I did yesterday. He informs me he doesn't have time for a visit because he has tons of work to do. Jeez, will he never take an entire day off? I don't ask him that. We're not a couple, so it's none of my business.
Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?
Sunday evening, I'm in the middle of cleaning the toilet, elbow deep in the bowl, when the doorbell rings. I jog through my apartment and pull the door open, realizing too late that I'm still wearing big rubber gloves. At least I remembered to put down the toilet brush.
Celeste Arnaud smiles at me. "Good evening, Rika darling. We need to have a chat about Dane."
"If you've got a problem with Dane, why not talk to him?"
"Because you're the only one who can get through to him."
Me? If she knew about our make-believe relationship, she wouldn't say that. Celeste believes Dane and I are a legitimate couple and that I have some kind of sway over him.
"Come on in," I say, moving out of the way so Celeste can walk inside. "My apartment is messy right now. I'm in the middle of cleaning up."
She walks past me, turns around, and glances at my gloved hands. "Yes, I can see that. If you still worked for Bonsoir, I'd make sure you had a cleaning crew to take care of those jobs for you. Hasn't Dane offered to do that? I pay him enough that he could afford to hire you an entire team of cleaners, housekeepers, cooks, and anything else you need."
She pays him that much? I have no idea exactly how much it is, but I get the picture that it's a lot. My fake honey has no obligation to pay for anything for me. I wouldn't want him to even if we were a couple because it would make me feel weird.
Celeste and I sit down on the sofa, and I take off my big gloves.
"Dane is very stressed," she says. "I called him an hour ago, but he didn't pick up his cell, so I tried the direct line to his suite. When he answered, he sounded...rough."
"What does that mean?"
"He said he hadn't slept much last night and he's too busy with work to talk to me. I asked what work he has to do on the weekend." She smiles a little, like what she says next is almost funny. "He growled at me, then said he's working on the 'bloody devices' that I 'commanded' him to create."
"Did you command him?"
She waves a dismissive hand. "I asked him to create two new devices. That should be easy for a smart, talented man l
ike Dane. But he's clearly more stressed than I realized." She touches my knee. "He needs your tender loving care."
"Me? I have no idea what to do to help him." But yeah, I've noticed how stressed he is too. I did my best yesterday to make him feel better. What else can I do? We're not actually dating.
Celeste doesn't know that.
Should I tell her? Oh no, not in a million years. Dane would freak if I did that.
"I told Dane I'm sorry," Celeste says, "if I put too much pressure on him. But honestly, he should've told me he was struggling. Since he's not comfortable discussing the problem with me, you are the only one who might get through to him."
Can I? No idea. Should I try? Not sure.
The clock on the wall tells me it's nine p.m., which is way too late for me to dash over to Dane's hotel and do...whatever. I need to go to bed so I can make my early morning train to Stamford. For my new job. The one Dane insisted on getting for me. He made a few passing comments yesterday that suggested he and his new PA aren't exactly hitting it off like a house on fire.
After what Celeste has told me, I'm positive the friction between Dane and his new PA isn't Noah's fault. Dane is simply too anxious to get along with anyone.
Except me. We hit it off just fine.
"Okay," I tell Celeste, "I'll talk to him. But it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I need to sleep, or I'll be useless at my new job. I will stop by Dane's hotel after work."
"Perfect." Celeste pats my knee and gets up. "I know you'll straighten him out. Every woman understands how to help her man relax."
She winks.
"Uh, sure," I say, pushing up off the sofa. "Somehow I'll relax him. Maybe a massage will help."
Celeste slants in to stare straight into my eyes from inches away. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough. Dane needs sex. Relieve his stress with an orgasm, darling, not a massage."
Then she walks out the door.
Sure, the idea of getting it on with Dane makes me tingle all over, but I can't do that. Our "relationship" is a business arrangement. I want us to give each other fantastic orgasms, over and over, like Celeste thinks I should do. I want it so much that my sex is getting slick and hot just thinking about it. I want him.
Maybe a good night's rest will help me figure out what to do. Give in to my lust and seduce Dane, or talk him down off that emotional ledge---then rip his clothes off and ride him until we're both sweaty and satisfied.
I give up on cleaning and relieve my own stress the Celeste Arnaud way while I fantasize about Dane Dixon.
Chapter Ten
Dane
For the entire weekend, I hide in my hotel suite and struggle to come up with ideas for the new devices I promised Celeste I'd create. I made that promise months ago, and I still have no ruddy idea what I'm going to do. I used to excel at creating sex toys that would make women feel good, but now I can't think of even one thousandth of an idea.
Why can't you be as exciting as your toys?
Those words still echo in my mind on Monday morning when I head for my office. The call I received from Celeste yesterday keeps replaying in my thoughts too, and I wonder if I am as pent up as everyone seems to think. I never used to be, but the re-launch is fraying my every nerve.
"Good morning, Mr. Dixon, sir," Noah says as I walk past his desk. He smiles too. "Can I get you some coffee?"
"Yes, please. One sugar, no cream."
While he retrieves my coffee, I shuffle into my office and drop onto my chair. My shoulders sag. I brace my elbow on the chair's arm and rest my head in my raised palm, which forces me to slump to the side. I have no energy whatsoever, not for what I need to do today. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings.
Noah brings me a cup of coffee, setting it on my desk in front of me. "Anything else I can get you?"
"No, that's all. Thank you." I sit up and glance down at my desk. "Where's the agenda for today? Rika always has it on my desk waiting for me."
"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Let me print that out for you."
He leaves, shutting the door.
And my phone rings. Will I never get a moment's peace?
I snatch up the phone. "What is it, Noah?"
Maybe I sound a touch irritable. And maybe I should apologize for that, but Noah speaks again.
"Your brother Reese is here to see you."
"Send him in, please."
I hang up the phone and wait for Reese.
He walks through the door, a casual smile on his lips and his eyes bright and clear, unlike mine which are bleary and bloodshot. Not sleeping well doesn't agree with me. My new position at Bonsoir doesn't agree with me. Noah certainly doesn't agree with me.
Rika does. Always.
"What do you want, Reese?" I ask.
He sits down in one of the chairs across the desk from me. "I hear you have a problem with the new packaging. Celeste asked me to talk to you about that."
I groan and let my head fall back against my chair. "Go on, then. Talk to me about it."
Reese sets his ankle on the opposite knee. "What's your bloody problem with the packaging?"
Though his words suggest he's annoyed, his tone of voice contradicts that. He's still smiling too. My cheerful, smiling brother waits for me to respond.
"Well, uh, I..." Now I stammer when I speak to my brother? Christ, I need a tranquilizer or...something. "I don't want my picture on the ruddy box. Or my name on it either."
Reese keeps smiling at me, though he tips his head to the side like he's trying to figure me out. "You didn't complain when Chance's girlfriend promoted you and your devices on her blog."
"That was different. She didn't show my face on the package with the words Dane's Delights printed next to it, and she didn't label me 'the man behind the O's.' She didn't order me to get a girlfriend either."
Reese chuckles. "Celeste told me about that. But you're with Rika now, aren't you? So that's one problem solved." He angles toward me and smirks. "Get Rika to shag your brains out, mate. That'll relieve all your stress."
I clench my jaw. Celeste suggested yesterday that all I need is "one good night in bed with Rika, alone and naked." Now Reese tells me the same thing, as if sex will cure all my problems.
I can't tell either of them Rika and I are only pretending to date.
So I scowl at my brother. "You always claim sex solves everything, but it's not the panacea you say it is. And I do not want my face or my name on the sodding package." I slam my fist down on the desk. "Do you understand, Reese?"
He raises his hands, palms out. "Take it easy, Dane. We'll remove your picture from the package, but I'll have to talk to Celeste about whether we can change the name. She won't agree to Bedroom Buddies, but if you came up with an alternative---"
"Get my name off it, Reese. Now. You're the vice president of advertising, so come up with a new name yourself."
"All right, all right. Let me work on that." Reese stands, then bends over my desk to look me in the eye. "You need a good shag, Dane. Trust me."
My brother leaves my office---while humming cheerfully.
What is wrong with me? I never yell at anyone. Certainly not my brothers. Yet here I am acting like a wounded wild beast, snarling and gnashing my teeth at anyone who gets too close.
I rest my arms on the desk and stare down at the surface. Maybe I do need a good shag, but I can't ask Rika to give me one. She doesn't really want me. She's doing me a favor by acting like my girlfriend.
What have I gotten myself into?
Groaning, rather loudly, I drop my head onto the desktop.
"Are you okay, Mr. Dixon, sir?"
Noah's voice makes me groan again.
I wave a hand in the air but keep my face on the desk. "Fine, thank you."
He doesn't leave, despite my assurance I'm fine. It's a lie, but he doesn't know that. Does he?
"Uh, I have the agenda for today, Mr. Dixon, sir." The shuffling of feet on the carpeting te
lls me he's moved closer. "Here it is."
I force myself to lift my head, and I see the paper he's set on my desk, just above where my head had been lying. "Thank you, Noah."
He turns to leave.
Groaning yet again, I mutter, "I need to get pissed."
Noah stops halfway to the door, turning toward me. "You're really mad, huh?"
"What? No, not really. I said I want to get pissed."
His eyes flare wide for a split second. "Oh, I get it. Sorry, I don't do that."
"You don't do what?"
He gestures toward his groin with both hands, flapping one hand with his fingers curled like he's cupping his dick. "You know, the golden shower thing. I don't do that."
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. Then the meaning of his statement hits me like a snowball lobbed at my face.
I growl, and that's not a metaphor or an exaggeration. I literally growl at him. "I don't want you to piss on me. I want to get pissed. Which means I have a strong urge to get drunk."
Not that I think it will help. Can't hurt, can it?
"Oh, sorry," Noah says. "I don't do that either."
I brace my elbows on the desktop and cradle my face in my raised hands. "That will be all, Noah."
His footsteps assure me he's left my office.
After several minutes of sitting here with my head in my hands, I realize what I need. Not sex. I just need to see Rika. Why, I have no bloody idea. But I need it so badly that once I think of the idea, I find myself getting up out of my chair and stalking out to Noah's desk.
"I have a dentist appointment," I say, lying much more convincingly than I'd thought I could. "I'll be back this afternoon."
Noah glances down at his desk calendar, and the corner of his mouth crimps. "I don't see it on the agenda."
"That's because I made the appointment myself on Friday, after Rika left. I forgot to tell you."
"Okay, sure. Have a good dentist appointment."
Does anyone have a good time at the dentist?
I hurry out of the building and drive all the way to Stamford, breaking the speed laws the whole time. I don't get pulled over by a policeman, thankfully. By the time I park in Eddie Masters' driveway, I'm beginning to feel odd about this. What will Rika say when I turn up at her workplace? She'll probably think I've lost my mind.
