Is he seriously trying to get me to give up this house right now? He can’t wait eighteen months to let me grieve in peace? Thunderclouds gather over my head.
“Straight to business,” Alina says, swatting his thigh. Her delicate laugh shakes loose a thousand memories. How many times did she do this when I was sitting next to her? Soften the blow of business proposals, charm the opponent, close the deal.
“I’m not interested in developing my parents’ land,” I say through clenched teeth.
Sean’s eyes narrow. “Things with you and Simone are serious, then?”
Oh. My uncle thinks I’ll get married. Of course he does. He thinks Simone will be the one to fulfill the conditions on the trust, and he won’t be able to get his grubby little paws on this land after all.
Shit. Oh, shit. I didn’t think this through.
When I put my arm around Simone, it was because I saw Alina and I didn’t want to be the loser who ended up alone. It was my dumb, misplaced pride. I didn’t consider what they’d think—that they would see it as a direct attack on the inheritance they’d been counting on.
Stupid—I’ve been stupid. I’ve put Simone in an awkward position.
Sean leans back, putting his arm around Alina’s shoulders. He pulls her close and she leans into him, a little show for my benefit. My uncle’s eyes glint. “Wes, think about it, son. Just because your little app didn’t work doesn’t mean you can’t start over with another successful business. You and that woman”—he waves a hand dismissively toward the door—“it’s not what’s best for you.”
Blood boils in my veins as I do my best to contain the anger threatening to spill from me. That woman? I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that. Instead, I respond through clenched teeth, “My little app?”
“You know what I mean. It was a venture, and it flopped. Move on. Real estate has been around forever, and you and I could do big things here. You just have to think clearly about the situation.”
“Simone and I live in this house.”
“Hmm.” Sean leans back on the couch, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “You need to have some ambition, Wes. Your parents’ passing was tragic, but there’s real opportunity here. Don’t let your pride or some piece of ass cloud your vision.”
Don’t punch him in the face. Don’t punch him in the face. Don’t punch him in the face.
The front door opens and a burst of cool air washes over me. Simone steps through, her cheeks ruddy and hair as wild as usual. A piece of ass, huh. She’s so much more than that. She closes the door and stomps her feet, shedding her jacket.
“Getting chilly out there!” she calls out as she walks toward me. Her hand lands on my shoulder and she grabs the wine glass from between my fingers, taking a sip. She glances at the glass with an approving nod. “I have to hand it to your parents, Wes. They had great taste in wine.”
“You’re still drinking from their collection?” Sean’s eyes move from me to Simone. “I thought you’d have made it through their bottles within a month or two. It’s not like they had a full cellar.”
“Keeping it for special occasions,” Simone cuts in smoothly with a smile. She hands me my glass and walks to the kitchen to pour her own. I watch her walk away, missing the weight of her hand on my shoulder. She’s handling this much better than I am.
I catch my uncle following my gaze, his eyes riveted on Simone’s ass. Protective, possessive fury whips through me before I can snuff it out. Where the hell did that come from? Alina’s presence and my uncle’s comments have me twisted up in knots.
When Simone returns, the room is quiet. She perches herself on the arm of the single-seater where I sit seething, her hip touching my side, arm slung across the back of my chair, smiling at our two guests. A standoff.
Alina breaks the silence first. She leans forward, her arms pressing her breasts together in a move I’ve seen a thousand times, and picks up one of the books on the coffee table. “Are you an interior designer, Simone?”
“Oh, those.” Simone smiles at the brand-new books on the table. “Wes and I have been thinking of remodeling the place. Small changes, you know. Make the place our own.”
My uncle’s gaze shifts to Simone, then me. His eyes narrow.
Simone puts her glass of wine down on the coffee table and picks up a book, flicking through it. “We’ve yet to agree on a style, but it’s fun to think about, don’t you think? We both love this house so much, we don’t want to change the bones, but it would be great to modernize it just a bit.”
Sean’s eyes dim as he leans back on the couch. Alina glances back at him, an unspoken conversation passing between them. The tension in the room heightens.
With just a few sentences, some candles, throw pillows, and a couple of books on the coffee table, Simone has been more effective in discouraging my uncle than I could have been by arguing for hours. She’s made it clear that this is our home. But she bought those books before we agreed to pretend. How could she have known?
I glance at Simone, renewed admiration flowing through me. If she feels my gaze, she ignores it. Eli enters the room, topping up everyone’s wine. When he leaves, Simone shakes her head. “I have to say, I’m jealous of Eli. I need someone like that in my life. Wouldn’t mind a man to drive me around, organize all my affairs, cook for me… every woman’s dream.”
“You have Wesley, don’t you?” Alina’s eyes are sharp as she stares at Simone. “Is he not spoiling you? I seem to remember he was good at that, at least when he was dating me. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to be as doting with someone who’s…more experienced.”
Older. The word she’s looking for is older.
Simone returns my ex’s gaze, death sparking in her eyes. She sits down on the arm of the chair again, leaning ever so slightly against me. “Experience is a good thing, sweetheart. And I don’t need Wes to drive me around. He’s good for other things.”
My body grows stiff. Was that sexual innuendo? Blood pumps through my body, hot and thick. Simone puts her hand across my shoulders and I lift my gaze to hers, seeing something unreadable in her pale blue eyes. We stare at each other for a long moment, so long I nearly forget about my uncle and ex-fiancée.
There’s something so fucking erotic about her, especially when she looks just like this. Visions of sweat and sex and screaming flash through my mind. Red hair twisted around my fist. Simone panting my name, telling me she needs me to—
Eli appears at the edge of the room. “Dinner is ready.”
Simone looks away, and the spell is broken.
I tug at my shirt collar, trotting behind her toward the dining room. Who’s the panting dog now? In the minute before my uncle and Alina arrive at the table, I lean toward Simone. “How did you know to get those books?”
“You mentioned something about the house. I figured it would make you look like you intended to stay. Easy enough to make it sound like it was a project for both of us.”
Clever. Very clever.
My eyes flick to her lips as warmth floods my chest, then Alina’s hand ghosts over my shoulders and Simone stiffens beside me. Alina sits across from us, shaking her napkin out and laying it across her lap in prim, tidy movements.
I slide my hand over Simone’s thigh—I don’t even know why. To make sure she’s still there. To feel the heat of her body under my palm. To my surprise, she places her hand over mine and squeezes before starting a polite conversation about the local attractions my uncle might have missed since he was here last.
Somehow, I make it through the meal. When the plates are cleared away, Simone gets up from the table and follows Eli into the kitchen, re-emerging with a platter of pastries that had to have come from the café. Did she get those during her outing earlier, too?
“Dessert by the county’s best pastry chef and my very own good friend. Jen and I are part-owners of the café in town, along with two other friends. Please, help yourselves.” She puts the plate down and takes a seat, smiling like a gr
acious hostess.
She’s damn good, I’ll give her that. Even I’m almost convinced that Simone has lived in this house with me for months.
Simone’s eyes glimmer, and after a few more minutes of tense conversation, we finally make our escape. It’s not until we’re in our room behind a closed door that Simone lets out a long sigh. “I can’t believe I agreed to this. No wonder you’re a grump. I would be too if I had to deal with family members like that.”
My fingers work to unbutton my shirt as Simone frees her hair from its thousand and one pins. Grinning, I arch an eyebrow. “You did surprisingly well.”
“I’ve had lots of practice, sugartits.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“What, dinner?” She sits on the bed, leaning against her elbows. I try—and fail—not to notice the way her shirt tugs against her breasts as she angles her body back. “It was fine.”
“I meant your marriage. You were so good at pretending that I was almost convinced we were really dating.” I pull my shirt off, and maybe I flex a little as Simone’s eyes drift down to my chest. She snaps her eyes back to the wall and lets out a huff. “Like I said, I’ve had a lot of practice pretending to belong beside snooty rich people.”
I sit next to her, and we’re silent for a moment. Then I let out a sigh. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” She waves a hand. “We made a deal, and I told you I’d do it. You’re paying me for this.”
“I meant for everything. For the candles and pillows and books. For sorting out my cabin while I entertained them. For being so great at dinner.”
Simone holds my gaze for a moment, and the space between us seems to shrink. There’s that look in her eyes again, the feral need brimming just below the surface.
She’s the first to break away, shaking her head as she sighs. “Thank goodness it’s only for a week. That was exhausting. Oh, that reminds me.” She looks at me again. “Grant has a few things to talk to you about regarding the roof. He’ll be at the café tomorrow. Maybe we can all go there for breakfast in the morning. I’ve got some work to do anyway, and it’ll be a good time to let your uncle and Alina roam free in the town for the day.”
“Get rid of them while getting our own stuff done.” I laugh. “You really are an expert.”
“Never underestimate me again, sugartits.” She pats my thigh and stands up, heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When she returns, Simone climbs into bed, flopping back on the mountain of pillows with a happy groan.
I follow her lead and get ready for bed in the bathroom. When I come back, Simone has a silk eye mask propped on her forehead, her mane of red hair stark against the white pillows.
I head for the couch and take a seat. When I try to curl on my side and fold my legs to make them fit, I feel Simone’s gaze. “Wes.”
“What?”
She takes a deep breath. “Look, we’re both adults. You won’t sleep on that sofa, and you’ll need all the rest you can get this week. That couch is way too small and you look like you’ll break it if you turn around. Just sleep in the bed. There’s more than enough room.”
I hesitate, my eyes drifting down her body. Her thin T-shirt clings to her breasts, the outline of her nipples visible beneath the grey fabric. Her long legs gleam in the moonlight, stacked one on top of another. Her little booty shorts aren’t exactly modest. I shouldn’t get in bed with her. Not because I wouldn’t be able to control myself, but because I haven’t slept beside a woman in a long time. It would be crossing some invisible line in my mind that I have no business crossing.
She pats the bed again, giving me a pointed stare. “I promise not to jump your bones, Wes. I just want you to get a good night’s sleep. I’m considerate like that. Plus, we’re not twenty years old anymore. Sleeping on sofas should be a crime once you’re out of college.”
I huff a laugh, hesitate, and finally stand up. The pillow I’d carried to the couch lands beside her with a thud, and she holds my gaze for a few moments before turning her back to me. I allow myself one moment—just one moment—to let my eyes drift down the curves of her body, then I climb into bed and turn to face the other way.
7
Simone
Well, that was really clever of me. Here, sexy man, come lie down in bed next to me. No big deal, we’re both adults. I’m not currently picturing all the things we could be doing other than sleeping.
Right.
Except as soon as Wesley’s weight dips the mattress next to me, my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. I roll over onto my side, if only so Wesley won’t see how red my face is.
I need to get laid.
Last time I had sex was six months ago, when my ex-husband invited me out to lunch. I had a few too many glasses of wine and he had his charming smolder on full blast. The smile I fell in love with all those years ago.
Yeah, that was a mistake. I conveniently forgot to mention that little tidbit when I told Fiona about meeting up with him. She was worried enough about me having lunch with Nate.
Now I’m lying in bed next to a man about a million times hotter than my ex-husband, wearing nothing but a loose T-shirt and sleep shorts. He’s shirtless, as usual. If I rolled over, I could lay my arm across his muscled chest and feel his heartbeat under my palm. I could run my fingers over his pecs and lay my cheek against his skin. I could move my head lower and hear what kind of growls he makes when he’s turned on. I bet his arms would feel really good wrapped around me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to regain control over my rioting body. It’s not going well.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand on Wes’s side of the bed. I must have put it there before going to the bathroom. He lifts his head and glances at the screen. “Who’s El Bastardo?”
Speak of the devil…
“No one. Pass the phone over, I’ll put it on silent.”
Wesley’s fingers brush mine as he hands me my phone, his eyes gleaming with interest. He rolls over onto his side, facing me. “Is that your ex-husband?”
“Mm.”
“What’s my name in your phone? Mr. Sex on a Stick?”
Oh, he remembered that comment, did he? I tap on my phone screen and turn it his way.
“Scowly McScowlerson?” His eyebrows inch together.
I grin. “I think it’s appropriate, no?”
Wes’s scowl deepens.
I laugh. “I rest my case.” Flicking my phone to silent, I slide it onto the nightstand and blow Wesley a kiss. “Night-night, sugartits.”
A rumble sounds from his side of the bed, sending a hot thrill rushing down my spine. It takes a long time for sleep to come.
My Birkin bag in paradise blue looks pristine when I slide it over my shoulder. It feels weird to be wearing the bag for a simple breakfast in town, but I know Alina will notice it. Maybe it’s the way she touched Wes at dinner last night, or just some latent feeling of insecurity I’ve carried over from my marriage, but I want her to know she’s not any better than me.
I run my fingers over the bag’s straps, glancing at myself in the mirror. With a fitted shirt-dress and classy flats, I look like I belong next to Alina and Sean—but I feel like an imposter.
I mean, I am an imposter. I have no money, my online marketing business is barely making enough to keep me afloat, the café needs at least six months to start turning a profit, and I’m pretending to date the man I’m sharing a bed with. Everything about me is false.
If it weren’t for Dorothy and Marge hiring me to run the hotel’s marketing, I’d be living off ramen noodles and condiments. But sure, I’ll wear a bag worth twelve grand.
“You sure you want to do this?” Wesley walks into the bedroom rubbing a towel over his wet hair. “I can make an excuse for you to skip breakfast. Going into town together might raise some questions. I’m sure Agnes will have told half the town we arrived together by the time we have our coffees ordered.”
I shake my head. “If I don’t go, it’ll lea
ve a bad impression. I told you I’d do my best to pretend to be your girlfriend, and if we were really dating, I’d be going to breakfast with you all. Plus, I need to talk to Candice about the café’s social media pages, and Grant needs to talk to you about the roof. If we were a couple, we’d go down to the café together to take care of business and have a meal. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.”
“You’re taking this surprisingly seriously. I expected you to be flippant about the whole thing. You haven’t said anything sarcastic to me all morning.” He frowns. “Did you hurt your head? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Quiet, you.” I roll my eyes to hide my grin. “Let’s get this over with.”
Even though I slept surprisingly well last night, considering the hunk of man meat who took up three quarters of the bed and hogged all the covers, I can’t shake the nerves. There’s so much tension between Alina, Sean, and Wesley, and I feel like I owe it to him not to make his life more difficult than it already is.
Call me a fool, but I actually like him. Even though he’s gruff and scowling most of the time, I still want to help him. Fiona and I would have left town if not for the café lease, so I owe him a bit of effort at least. This town is my fresh start.
I shouldn’t care. He’s our landlord at the café—nothing more. But something about the way Wesley’s teeth ground at dinner last night, the tension in his shoulders, and then the way he relaxed with me afterwards…it makes me want to stand by him. I know how difficult it can be to feel like the odd one out at family events. I can help him through it.
We walk downstairs together. Alina is waiting in the front living room, tapping her fingers over her phone screen. She’s wearing a tight cream sweater complete with headlights on full blast, and a brown leather skirt that hits her mid-calf. Her hair is coiled into a bun on top of her head, with a few delicate tendrils framing her oval face. She looks classy and sexy and so much more elegant than me.
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 7
