by Vivian Wood
Chapter Thirty-Eight
There’s a little bit more of Ryan and Poppy, just waiting for you! Get this bonus story FREE — right now — when you sign up for Vivian’s mailing list! Head to https://bookhip.com/TNGVNT for more info.
Thank you for reading Claiming Her Innocence! I know if you liked this book, you will LOVE Samantha and Connor’s story, His To Keep!
Nothing this fake should feel so good.
CEO Connor Cavanaugh is a man in charge. He dominates in meeting rooms and at the gym, and his sinfully sexy body is proof. His upcoming wedding is supposed to seal the deal, putting his company in the spotlight and making it rain.
That all goes down in flames when he walks in on his bride-to-be with another man.
No one can know that a woman tried to make a fool of Connor Cavanaugh.
Cancelling the wedding is the only option… until he spots a gorgeous brunette at the wedding planner’s office. Samantha. The perfect fake fiancée.
She has a body that makes him want to walk her over the threshold, but she’s sweet. Harmless. She’ll suit the position perfectly.
The only problem? Samantha has a wicked smile that keeps him up at night. Every day, she’s more tempting than the last.
He swore he wouldn’t f*ck around with his fake fiancée. He signed a contract. He paid. But the more he sees, the more he wants… too bad Sam has plans of her own.
One-click His To Keep now!
His To Keep
1
Connor
Connor’s mother hugged him tight. She smelled of that familiar blend of vanilla extract and fabric softener. “Bye, baby,” she said. She held him out at arm’s length as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
“Mom, don’t be sentimental,” he said. “You act like I’m leaving forever. I’m thirty years old and have been on five deployments, and you’re sad that I’m going to my fiancée’s place?”
“You’ll always be my baby boy, no matter what. And I’m sure your dad and Sean will be upset that you’re moving out, too.”
“Right, heartbroken,” he said.
In his Mercedes-Benz, he revved up the engine and waved to his mom. She looked more like their housekeeper standing out front of the Georgian mansion, dwarfed by the soaring pillars. He angled the car out of the curving McLean neighborhood, and tried to shake off the dread that came from living with his parents and Sean again. All three are miserable in their own ways, he thought. Thank God I’m out of there.
Connor couldn’t forget how many glasses of whiskey Sean had knocked back during his homecoming dinner out. “Think you ought to slow down, bud?” he’d asked him. Sean had given him a hateful look he’d never seen before.
“What, you’re a SEAL for eight years, and suddenly you think you’re in charge of everyone?” Sean had asked.
“Connor, don’t be a prick to your brother,” his father had said without even lowering the menu. “Some of us are trying to enjoy a nice meal out. Oh, can you tell me where your halibut is sourced? It’s not frozen, is it?” his father had asked the waiter, who’d scrambled to satiate him.
His mom had done nothing but stare at her lap. When did she get so depressed? She’d always been emotional, but he thought returning from deployment would give her some sense of happiness.
He sighed as he turned a corner. A cyclist suddenly appeared, nowhere near the bike lane. “Jesus!” he yelled, and swerved into the suicide lane.
“Watch it, dick!” the cyclist shouted over his shoulder, speeding off down the hill in his padded red spandex.
Connor gripped the wheel, closed his eyes and counted backward from ten. That’s not an insurgent. That’s not an insurgent. That’s just an asshole, he repeated to himself. He maneuvered the car back into the lane, and his heart pounded. For just a moment, as that flash of red had shot out in front of him, he’d reached for the gun in his ankle holster. Maybe the therapist was right. Maybe you do need to stop being armed.
But he couldn’t help but see flashes of the war all around him. Last week he’d passed by a group of kids as they waited for their bus, and suddenly thought they were beggar children clawing at his coat. Just yesterday, the cashier at Capitol Supermarket looked exactly like the civilian in Kunduz who’d screwed him over for less than a dollar.
They were still everywhere.
Connor’s phone rang, his father’s name lighting up on the control panel. He pushed the talk button and the domineering voice filled the car. “Connor? Are you planning on coming into the office to finish up the paperwork today?” It was his annoyed tone, which came right before his raging lunatic tone.
Fuck. The papers. “Yeah, I’ll be there this afternoon,” he said. “I just need to stop by Sandra’s for a minute.”
His father sighed heavily into the phone. “I don’t understand what you see in that girl. She’s not quite up to par with what we expect of you.”
“You haven’t even met her,” Connor countered, though he knew he was opening a can of worms.
“Met her? I don’t need to meet her. Is she a member at Rolling Meadows? What does her father do—assuming she knows who he is? Where was her debutante gala held? You can’t answer a damn one of those questions because she’s nothing.”
Connor sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth. His dad wouldn’t get the best of him, not this time. “I’ll be there before five,” he said.
“You bet your ass you will. Connor, I don’t understand,” his father said. “I did all the work for you. All of it. Do you think becoming CEO of the country’s biggest security firm was easy? And all you have to do is waltz in here, sign your name, and you’re the COO of the company. You’re basically heir to the throne, and you’re pissing it all away on some piece of tail that doesn’t mean shit.”
“I said I’ll be there before five,” he said.
“Oh, I know you will. Because I’m sure Sharon is just bursting at the seams to tie the knot with her meal ticket.”
“It’s Sandra,” he said, curtly.
“You just make one bang-up mistake after another, don’t you? First the SEALs, now her,” his father said with a deep sigh. “Although, you can’t really compare the two. The SEALs worked out for you, but that was sheer luck. You won’t be so fortunate this time around.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Connor said. He looked at the black screen of his phone. “I’m getting a call, I need to take this.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s wildly important. Don’t be late,” his father warned.
Connor’s knuckles didn’t return to normal from their blazing white color until he was safely parked at Sandra’s condo. He jogged up the stairs, foregoing the elevator. At least someone will be truly happy to see me, he thought.
As he walked down the familiar hall, he pulled out the spare key Sandra had given him when he’d returned. “My place is yours,” she’d told him with a smile. He debated where to take her for a surprise lunch. Luke’s Lobster Penn Quarter, or maybe Bub and Pop’s? He loved that she didn’t need to be constantly wined and dined, unimpressed by his family’s money.
When Connor walked into her condo, he froze at the door. A large man with skin the color of obsidian stood in the living room holding his shirt up to display perfectly carved abs. The man’s trousers were at his ankles. Sandra was on her knees, going to town on the man’s cock. Her red nails dug into the man’s thighs.
“What the fuck?” he said, involuntarily taking a couple of steps back.
“Jesus,” Sandra said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What are you doing here—”
“Who the fuck is this?” the man asked, yanking up his pants.
“Who am I? I’m her fucking fiancé,” Connor said.
The man’s eyes grew wide. “I’m out of here,” he told both of them. As he squeezed by Connor in the hallway, he got a whiff of sex and L’Homme Ultime. By the time he turned back to Sandra, she’d already turned on the waterworks.
“Oh no,” he sai
d. “Don’t you go turning this around—”
“Turning this around?” she said, tears gushing down her cheeks. She choked, struggling to find her words. “How can you say that? You can’t even give me a chance to… to…”
“To what?” he asked. “Finish him off? Swallow? What are you trying to say, Sandra?” He leaned against the console table and hung his head. But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Sandra once again on her knees.
“You’re such a jerk!” she shouted while snot bubbled at her nose. “You only like me for my looks, you’re always getting inappropriate with me, and now you’re trying to make it sound like—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked as he looked at her pointedly. The anger bubbled inside him and threatened to spill out. Calm. Stay calm.
“You barely know anything about me!” she yelled. “It’s not exactly cheating when you know the other person only wants you to be a nice little military wife.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Connor asked quietly. The rage burned deep inside. “I come here and find you blowing some guy, and suddenly it’s my fault? You’re a real piece of work, you know that? My father was right about you.”
Connor couldn’t stop the words from coming. He hated himself, hated his father, and hated Sandra for doing this.
“What did you just say?” she asked, grabbing onto his arm. He looked down at those blood red nails and saw them digging into the man’s muscled thighs once more.
“Take your hands off me,” he said as he turned to leave.
“Connor! What about us?”
He turned as a mean laugh tore out of him. “Us? That would imply there was something going on between you and me. Which there isn’t, as of thirty seconds ago. We’re done.”
“Wait,” Sandra said. She shifted her weight from side to side. “What about… what about the ring?”
He glanced down at her left hand and saw it was bare. Of course. “Keep it,” he said. “I can buy all the rings Tiffany’s can make, but I can’t buy loyalty.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her smile.
Connor raced down to his car, slid into the driver’s seat and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel. What the hell am I supposed to do now? He couldn’t get the image of Sandra working that guy’s cock out of his head. Is it going to become part of the reel now? The nightmare movie that plays nonstop in my head?
He couldn’t believe his father had been right. And what was he going to tell them? Already, the wedding preparations were in full swing. They’d booked the venue, the catering, and ordered the cake and flowers. Suddenly, Connor realized that he was the one who had put down the deposits on everything. Sandra had been playing him all along.
You’re a fool, he told himself as he started up the car. He didn’t know where he was going, but when he found himself en route to his father’s company, he wasn’t surprised.
Just like a kid, he thought. Running back to mommy and daddy the minute things get tough. At least his father would be pleased that he got to the office early.
As Connor walked through security, the female employees overtly sized him up. “Hi, Connor,” one of the front desk girls said shyly. She bit her lip and turned bright red when he returned the greeting.
“Connor!” his father’s receptionist said. She was a whip-smart woman in her fifties. “I wasn’t expecting you until later this afternoon.”
“Is my father here?” he asked.
“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” she said. “He had a lunch appointment. Did you need to see him, or is there something I can help you with?”
Connor looked at his father’s closed door and sighed. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m just here for the paperwork.”
“Excellent,” she said. “You know, your father is so happy that you’ll be joining the company. Likes to ‘keep it in the family,’ he says. And I’m sure all the young ladies around here are pleased with the decision, too,” she said in a low voice, giving him a wink.
Yeah. That’s exactly what I need, he thought as he scribbled his life away.
2
Sam
“I don’t care if the peonies bloomed late this year!” Sam said in exasperation to the florist on the other end of the line. “And the client certainly isn’t going to care. You’re going to have to find them from somewhere because I expect sixty arrangements ready by Friday afternoon.”
“And where do you think I’m going to get sixty arrangements in three days?” the florist snapped back. “Trust me, American Beauty roses are a perfectly acceptable replacement. I don’t make the seasons, honey.”
Sam groaned and tucked her dark hair behind her ears. This job is a freaking nightmare. Since when did planning parties mean going to battle daily with idiot vendors? “It’s not my job to figure out where the flowers come from. That’s your job,” she said slowly.
“Look, you’re an event manager,” the florist said. “Manage it, because I’m not going to work a miracle and pull a dozen fully blossomed peony bushes out of my ass.”
“Listen, pretty much everything else has gone wrong with this banquet so far, and I’m not going to tell the client that they’re not going to get the flowers they paid thousands of dollars for the week of the event.”
“I don’t know who you think you are,” the florist said. “And I’ve certainly never heard of you, and I’ve been working with your company for ten years. You must be new.”
“I’ve been here six months,” Sam said.
“Well, that explains a lot,” the florist laughed.
Sam rolled her eyes and caught a glimpse of a gorgeous blond walking through the door. He was built like a machine, broad chest and shoulders. She remembered him from sitting in on his consultation appointment weeks ago. Connor, that’s it. He was getting married in a few months—lucky bitch. Through her glass office walls, she watched him as he looked around the office, until finally Jenny—the event coordinator assigned to his account—scrambled up to him.
“Are you there?” the florist asked.
“Yes. Are you getting the peonies?” she replied. Jenny was flustered, and Connor rubbed his temples. She watched as he dropped his head into his hands and began to shout at Jenny. From the other side of the room, she couldn’t make out what was being said.
“…Beauty roses are of a higher quality, so I’ll need an additional payment…”
“I’m going to have to call you back,” Sam said.
“Are you kidding me?”
Sam hung up the phone and made a beeline for Jenny and the guy. Connor is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, she thought. And that counted the male models she hung out with on the regular. They were gorgeous, of course, but so svelte and fragile looking. Connor looked like he could pin her up against the wall and keep her there.
“I’m really sorry,” Jenny said to Connor. Her voice trembled. “But the order has already been placed with the florist—”
“Is something wrong?” Sam asked. “Can I help?”
“Yes, something’s wrong,” Connor said to her curtly. “And I doubt you can help, but why don’t you give it a go? My fiancée cheated on me, so this five-thousand-dollar deposit I put down on this godforsaken wedding needs to be charged to my ex and her family.”
“Oh,” Sam said. Her mouth snapped shut. She hadn’t expected this.
“I tried to tell him—” Jenny started.
Sam brushed her away. “I’ll take care of this,” she said. “Hi, my name’s Sam. We met briefly during your consultation.” She reached out and shook Connor’s hand. It was huge and callused on the palms from weightlifting. She swallowed hard.
“I’m not trying to be rude here, but I don’t have time for these niceties,” he said. “All I want is this mess to be over with and to not get stuck with thousands of dollars worth of flowers and cake.” He looked down at her, and his steely blue eyes bored through her.
“I, I understand,” she stammered.
“Do you? Are
you married, engaged?” he asked.
“Well, no—”
“Then how in the hell can you understand?” he asked.
Her face burned. “I’ve been cheated on before,” she murmured. She felt the eyes of her colleagues shoot toward her, even as they pretended to be hard at work at their desks.
“We’ve all been cheated on,” he said. “It’s a little different when your credit card is involved, and you just walked in on your fiancée with some guy’s dick in her mouth.”
From behind Connor’s shoulder, Jenny watched and her eyes bugged out.
“I, um, I guess you’re right,” Sam said. “Look, let me go talk to my boss for just a moment. Why don’t you come wait in my office, and I’ll smooth things over?” As she led him toward her glass enclosure, she could swear she felt his eyes on her ass. She couldn’t help but put a little extra swing in her hips.
“This you?” he asked, looking around her sleek office with a view of the Pentagon. “Fancy.”
She blushed. “I’ll be right back. Help yourself to some water if you’d like.”
Sam hustled toward her boss’ office at the other end of the building. “He’s hot!” Jenny said as she flew by.
She knocked at the door. “What do you need?” Mrs. Whiteworth called from the other side.
“Mrs. Whiteworth, it’s Sam. I have a situation.”
“Come in.” The owner of the company sighed and put her glasses on the mahogany desk. “Yes, what disaster has struck now? Did someone’s fondant cake show up with whipped buttercream instead?”
“Um, no,” Sam said. “There’s a client here and he… well, he caught his fiancée cheating on him and he wants the deposit he put down for their wedding transferred to her and her family.”
“When was the wedding?”
“I don’t know.” Mrs. Whiteworth frowned.
“Have any of the orders been placed?”
