Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series

by Lilian Monroe

  “It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning yet.”

  “Jimmy Buffett once said ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’, and I tend to live my life by that mantra,” Andrew grins. I laugh, nodding.

  “Go ahead, then,” I laugh. “Got any orange juice for that? I wouldn’t mind a mimosa.”

  He pops open another hidden compartment and produces a full bottle of orange juice. I laugh again, shaking my head.

  “Color me impressed, Mr. Davis,” I say.

  “Banana bread-level impressed?” He asks as he hands me a flute of champagne and starts pouring.

  “Getting close.”

  We clink our glasses together and my heart flutters.

  I’ve been dreading this weekend for months. Ever since my sister called me and told me she was getting married, I knew the whole weekend would be torture. I’d have to endure questions and comments and insinuations about my past that just aren’t true.

  But now? Now I’m actually looking forward to it.

  I never thought I’d say those words, but it’s true. I actually want to go to Vegas for the weekend. I want to spend time with Andrew, and I want to see the look on my sister’s face when she sees me walk in with an NFL player on my arm.

  Call me immature, call me bitter and vindictive, call me whatever you want. When I sip my mimosa and stare into Andrew’s deep, blue eyes, I can’t help but be happy about it.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, holding my gaze. His stare is intense. A current of electricity courses through me.

  I clear my throat. “Thanks. You too.”

  “I look beautiful?” A grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

  “As beautiful as a summer’s day,” I nod. His grin widens. I sip my mimosa just to break away from the intensity of his gaze. The feeling of his leg against mine is driving me wild. Heat flickers between my legs, and I take a deep breath to steady myself. He leans back and drapes his arm across the back of the seats.

  I settle into the crook of his arm and my body relaxes into him.

  Well, it doesn’t exactly ‘relax’. It’s like my entire body is on high alert right now. My blood is pumping and heat is blooming in the pit of my stomach. I take another sip of my drink and then clear my throat.

  “Hey Andrew—” I take a deep breath and then look at him. “Thank you. For all this. You have no idea how much I’ve been dreading this weekend and now I’m actually having fun. I never, ever thought I would say that.”

  Andrew smiles, moving his hand from the back of the seats to my shoulder. He squeezes me closer.

  “I’m not just doing it out of the goodness of my heart, Meg,” he smiles. “You’re coming to my family function, too, remember?”

  I laugh. “It can’t be as bad as mine.”

  Andrew just grins. Before long, the limousine stops.

  “We’re here,” the driver says as he opens the back door. I clear my throat and hand him my glass before stepping out into the hustle and bustle of the airport.

  11

  Andrew

  Watching Meg explore her airplane seat is highly entertaining. She’s like a little kid, laughing with delight as she figures out what all the buttons do.

  I grin, nodding to the flight attendant approaching with a tray of drinks.

  “More champagne,” Meg laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll be wasted by the time we get there.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It’s probably necessary just to get through the rehearsal dinner,” she giggles. “You have no idea what you’ve signed up for.”

  “I’m happy with my decision so far.” My voice is no more than a growl, and I wish there wasn’t so much space between Meg and me. I miss the feeling of her body next to mine in the limousine. Now, with each of us having our own encapsulated seat, the distance between us feels massive.

  “Meg,” I say. She turns her head and smiles at me, but before I can speak, the flight attendant is coming by with a hot towel.

  I watch Meghan take it and pat her face with it. She wipes her hands and turns to me, smiling.

  “Were you going to say something?”

  “I was just wondering… you sure you don’t mind coming to San Diego with me? It could be very, uh, intense,” I say. “I have lots of cousins.”

  Meg smiles. “You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re coming with me. I know how much better it is to bring someone with you and say it’s your partner, even if it isn’t true.”

  My eyebrow arches. “Is this not the first time you’ve brought a fake boyfriend back?”

  Meg squirms in her seat and looks away. “I was the fake girlfriend,” she says quickly. “So yeah, it’s the least I can do.” She looks at me again and smiles. “At least we have the flight back to look forward to.”

  She laughs as she tilts her seat back, stretching out her legs. She shifts her hips and I’m mesmerized by the way they curve. She looks at me, biting her lip. My cock jumps.

  This is too much. This is the sweetest torture I’ve ever experienced. I take a deep breath and turn to the screen in front of me, waiting for the plane to take off.

  Keeping it professional is harder than I thought it would be. I steal one more glance at her, just in time to watch her cross those long legs.

  It’s a bit of a rush between the time we land and the time we have to be at the rehearsal dinner. I’ve booked a suite at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, but it’s not until we get there that I realize there’s only actually one bedroom.

  I glance at Meg. “Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll get us another room.”

  She laughs. “It’s fine. Usually they have two beds in the rooms, anyway.” She glances around the lobby at the gleaming marble and massive chandeliers. “Although this isn’t exactly the type of hotel I usually book.”

  I grin. “Let’s just check out the room and decide from there.”

  The elevator whizzes upwards. Meg and I are standing side-by-side. I brush my shoulder against hers, as if some magnetic force is drawing me nearer to her. She has her bag slung over her other shoulder and she’s staring straight ahead. All the walls of the elevator are reflective, so I catch her eye. She smiles.

  “Even the elevator is nice. I can’t believe our room is on the top floor.”

  “Our room is the top floor,” I laugh.

  The elevators slide open and Meghan’s jaw drops. She takes a few steps inside, sweeping her eyes across the vast expanse of pure luxury. Her eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. She drops her bag to the floor and puts her hands on her hips.

  “Well, you can get another room if you want,” she grins. “I’m keeping this one.”

  She runs forward, throwing open big French doors that lead to the king-sized bed. Towels are folded to look like two swans, and there are red rose petals sprinkled over the duvet.

  A blush stains her cheeks, and she turns back to the massive living room.

  “I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,” she says, giggling.

  “Except you’re a physiotherapist, not a prostitute,” I laugh.

  Her blush deepens, and she clears her throat. “Yeah.”

  I frown. It feels like she’s holding back. But before I can ask her, she points to the bathroom.

  “I’m going to take a shower and get ready for tonight.”

  I nod, sinking down onto the sofa. “I’ll be here.”

  She smiles and picks up her bag before heading to the bathroom. As soon as she slides the door closed, my eyes widen. Her body is perfectly silhouetted against the frosted glass of the doorway. I should probably look away and give her some privacy, but my eyes are glued to the door.

  I watch as she peels off her pants, bending over to show me her figure. My cock is rock hard. I’d love to be right behind her while she’s just like that, with my hands on her waist and my length buried deep inside her.

  She stands up, and I watch as she takes her shirt off over her head. She drops it down be
side her and unclasps her bra. I inhale sharply as it comes off. I can see everything—even the hardness of her nipples as she stands in profile.

  My cock is throbbing in my pants. I’m not sure I can take much more of this. I exhale softly.

  What is my game plan here? I mean, I know I want her. Who am I kidding? I want to ravage her. I want to make her come so hard she forgets her own name.

  But how do I go from fake boyfriend at her sister’s wedding to ravaging her?

  I lean back in my seat as I watch her drag her underwear down her legs, and then I let out a sigh as she steps out of sight and into the shower.

  12

  Meghan

  The shower washes the dirt and stink of travel off me, and I emerge feeling fresh and light—not how I expected to feel when I was facing an entire weekend with my family.

  I find a fluffy white bathrobe that goes down to my ankles and wrap it around my body. Then, I pile my hair up on top of my head and wrap it in a towel before emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Andrew is still sitting on the sofa where he was when I went in.

  “Good shower?” He asks. His voice sounds strained.

  I nod.

  “My turn.” His voice a low growl, and it sends a delicious shiver down my spine. He stands up and walks toward me. Suddenly my feet are rooted to the ground.

  Andrew stands directly in front of me and puts his hands on my arms. He strokes them gently, staring into my eyes. I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for a brief moment.

  “Nice robe,” he grins.

  I make a noise to agree. I can’t speak. I don’t even understand what’s going on between us. I want him so badly but I know it would be messy. I’m dying to kiss him, but in moments like these, I hold myself back. I need to stick to the rules. Keep it friendly. Keep it professional. Keep my hands off Andrew Davis.

  His hands drift to my waist, and they slide along the bathrobe’s belt. For a second, I think he’s going to untie it. His eyes are low, moving from my eyes, to my lips, to my body.

  His fingers linger over the belt, and then he clears his throat and drops his hands to his sides. The moment is gone. He pinches his lips together in a thin smile.

  “I’d better get showered or we’ll be late.”

  “Yeah,” I croak.

  I turn to watch him walk toward the bathroom. As soon as the door closes, my eyes widen.

  His silhouette is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. He pulls his shirt off and I gasp. Then, he drops his pants and my mouth goes dry.

  I can see everything. Every muscular ripple of his body. Every curve and sinew. Every—ahem—appendage. Was he hard when he was standing here in front of me? Seeing his shaft silhouetted in the window makes my whole body thrum.

  I want him.

  I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything before, and I don’t know how to tell him that. I don’t know how to break down the barrier that exists between us. Instead, I just watch in awe as he moves slowly from side to side. His hand drifts down to his shaft and I bite my lip as he touches himself for a second.

  Then, he turns toward the shower and disappears out of sight.

  I let out a sigh and turn toward the bedroom to get changed. It’s not until I close the door behind me that I realize that I’m not the only one who got a show. He was just returning the favor.

  My cheeks immediately flush red. I take my hair out of the towel and dry it off, and then hold the fluffy white towel to my face.

  Embarrassment floods through me, but mingled in it is deep, red-hot desire. I like the idea of him seeing me like that. I like the idea of him getting hard as he watches me undress. The thought of me having that effect on someone as attractive as Andrew excites me more than I can say.

  The shower turns on and I listen for a few moments.

  What if I walked over there and joined him?

  I shake the thought away. I’m turned on, but I’m not that brazen. Not yet, anyway.

  Instead, I pull out the dress that I’d chosen for my sister’s rehearsal dinner and lay it on the bed. I take out my makeup and start putting it on, concentrating on the task in order to forget about the flood of hormones that seem to fill my veins whenever Andrew is around.

  By the time the shower turns off, my makeup is almost done. My ears perk up at the sound of the door opening, and my heart beats harder as I hear his footsteps getting closer.

  Andrew appears in the doorway beside me. He leans against the door jamb and crosses his arms over his bare chest. My eyes travel from his piercing blue eyes to his chiseled jaw, and down every ripple and bulge from his biceps down the powerful ‘V’ of his lower abdominals. His towel is perched precariously on his slim hips, and my breath hitches.

  “You look nice,” he growls.

  “So do you.”

  He grins and takes a step toward me. He stands behind my chair and puts his hands on my shoulders. I watch him in the mirror, my eyes trailing over his bare chest as his fingers slowly pull apart the neckline of my bathrobe.

  When his fingertips touch my neck, I let out a sigh. I lean back into him as he pushes the fluffy white fabric off my shoulders, trailing his hands across my collarbones.

  I close my eyes and enjoy his touch. My body is on fire. His fingers drop down under the bathrobe and brush the space between my breasts. A soft moan escapes my lips, and I lean my head back onto his stomach.

  His shaft is throbbing and my mind starts spinning. I can feel the wetness gathering between my legs. With every second that goes by, Andrew is tearing down the barriers that I’ve put up around myself.

  More and more, my desire for him eclipses everything else. It eclipses my professional responsibility, it eclipses my past, it eclipses the reservation that I usually have when men try to get close to me.

  His hands drift back up to my shoulders and he groans.

  “Your skin is so soft.”

  I whimper. I don’t want him to stop touching me. If he let his hands wander further down, he’d feel my nipples hard as rock. Further down still, he could feel the honey dripping between my legs.

  We both freeze when my phone rings. I glance at it and sigh.

  “It’s my mom.”

  “You should probably answer,” he says in a low voice.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I probably should.” I look at him in the mirror and smile sadly. “Sorry.”

  “Never be sorry,” he answers as he squeezes my shoulder. I watch him grab his bag and wink at me before disappearing through the doorway.

  Only then do I turn back to my ringing phone.

  “Hey, mom,” I say when I answer it. “How’s it going?”

  13

  Andrew

  I’m not going to survive the weekend. I don’t even know what happened just now. I saw her sitting at the makeup table and she looked so beautiful, I had to touch her. Her hair was still wet, and her face was all done up. She almost disappeared in that massive bathrobe.

  I just want to be close to her. I wanted to feel her skin under my hands. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and feel the heat of her body next to mine.

  If her mother hadn’t called, I wonder what we’d be doing right now?

  I listen for a moment as Meghan sighs on the phone. I grab my bag and walk back toward the bathroom. I need some relief, otherwise I won’t last another ten seconds beside her.

  I close the bathroom door beside me and start the sink running. I drop my towel from my waist and grab my rock hard shaft in my hand. I lean my hand against the shower wall and close my eyes. As soon as I start pumping my hand up and down my length, I know this is going to be quick.

  All I have to do is think about that little moan she made when I touched her chest. I wonder if she’d have been louder if I’d have reached down and stroked her breasts. Would she like me to pinch her nipples?

  My cock throbs in my hand at the thought of Meghan gasping at my touch. I imagine running my tongue up through her slit and finally, finally tasting her. Then
, I would tangle my fingers into her hair. I’d pull her down to kiss her hard, and let her taste herself on my lips.

  I’m panting, jerking off furiously as I imagine burying my head between her legs. Maybe she’d grab my hair as she came. Maybe she’d scream. Maybe her back would arch and she’d grind her hips into my face and—

  I explode.

  With a grunt, I come all over the shower wall. I lean my head against my hand and take a few deep, gulping breaths before sighing and opening my eyes.

  I wash the shower wall down before giving myself a quick rinse. It only takes a couple minutes for me to towel off and throw on some clothes. I put my dress pants on and pull out a white button-down shirt. I frown at all the creases, and set it to the side while I do my hair.

  When I step out of the bathroom, Meghan is ready and she takes my breath away. She’s wearing a little black off-the-shoulder dress that comes down just above her knees. It nips in at the waist to show off her incredible figure. Her legs look long and slender as she bends over to slide on some black heels.

  She grins at me. “You going to wear a shirt at all today?”

  “Needs an iron,” I say, holding it up. I grab the iron and ironing board from the cupboard and set it up

  Meghan whistles. “Nothing sexier than a good-looking man with an iron,” she grins.

  “No?”

  “You’re doing all kinds of things to my insides right now.”

  I hold her gaze for a few moments and chuckle. “Maybe I should iron more often.”

  “Just make sure you do it shirtless.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I laugh.

  “Noted.”

  Meg’s eyes linger on my chest and then she clears her throat, turning away. She fiddles with her phone until I’ve finished ironing and put my shirt on.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep,” she says, finally meeting my eye. Her cheeks flush and she looks down. I think about my time in the shower and take a deep breath. At least it’ll help me get through an evening with her.