Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club Book 10)

by Elise Faber

  She’d been there, been involved.

  As thus, the kids—or well, adults—stopped arguing and got into gear, grabbing plates and napkins, side dishes, and a platter from the counter and carrying them into the dining room.

  Ann appeared at his elbow, eyes slightly reddened, but a determined expression on her face, and he gently transferred Lacy into her arms. “She took the bottle?” she asked, surprise flitting across her face.

  “Like a champ,” he murmured.

  She glanced up at her husband, and they shared a look that said more than words. Then he nodded and glanced over at Jaime. “Hi,” he said. “Dave. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” Jaime said and nodded at Lacy. “She’s adorable.”

  Ann smiled and ran a finger down her daughter’s nose. “Thanks for feeding her.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said. “Babies are exhausting, and I figured you two could use a break. Thankfully, Kate got me set up with the bottle.”

  Kate came up to him, getting close, and instinct had him wrapping his arm around her, tugging her to his side. “Jaime bottle-fed kittens last spring,” she said then added in a stage-whispered, “and he promised me a rooster.”

  Two pairs of wide eyes on him and all he could do was chuckle.

  “I don’t know if it was quite a promise,” he prevaricated.

  “Told you,” Jake said with a sigh. “You’ve lost that negotiating power and—”

  This time, Steph was the one who tossed the dish towel. And with perfect accuracy, he might add. It landed across Jake’s face, muffling anything further he might have said, and then as though it were something she’d done a hundred times before, she turned to Jaime, stuck her hand out, and said, “Hi, I’m Steph. Welcome to the crazy.”

  He grinned as he shook it. “Jaime. And I have to say, the crazy is more than welcome.”

  Marabelle snagged his elbow, lacing her arm through his. “I’m glad you say that because—”

  “Mom,” Kate said.

  “I was wondering—”

  “Mom,” Kate repeated.

  “—if you’d like to see Kate’s baby pictures,” Marabelle finished, not acknowledging Kate’s groan, continuing to talk as though her daughter hadn’t said a word. “I have this great shot of her naked in the tub and—”

  “Mom!”

  She winked, released his arm, and began shepherding them into the dining room.

  “I’m kidding about the naked tub picture,” Marabelle added.

  Kate sighed, and he stifled a smile.

  “Because I have a naked spaghetti picture that’s so much better.”

  Jaime couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. Kate smacked him, grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt in the hall, and gasping in outrage.

  “Don’t you dare laugh!”

  Then there was another thing he couldn’t help, and that was turning and brushing his fingers over Kate’s cheek, bending down to drop a kiss to her lips that was semi-chaste. Chaste because there was no tongue, but semi because it probably went on longer than it should have, considering they were in her parents’ house and he’d met them all of an hour before.

  But she was like a drug.

  One touch, and he wanted more. One kiss, and he wanted to run his lips over every inch of her body.

  One night, and he wanted an eternity.

  The sound of a throat clearing had Jaime slowing the kiss. He dropped his forehead against hers, his breath coming in short bursts and whispered, “Sorry.”

  Warm whiskey eyes on his. “For what?”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I planned.”

  A heated smile. “Feel free to kiss me like that any time you want.”

  He lifted his head, brushed back some of the red silken tresses that had crept forward to tangle on her cheek. “I’m going to take you up on that.”

  Lacing his fingers with hers, he stepped away, saw that her dad was studying them closely, his expression fierce, though it gentled when it shifted over to his daughter.

  “Come on, Katie girl,” he murmured. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

  Those eyes, so like Kate’s, flicked to him, and instead of the rebuke Jaime had expected to see, Harry nodded at him approvingly.

  Kate squeezed his hand, whispered, “Ready for more of my family?”

  He nodded, having more fun than he’d had in ages. “Yeah, Red, bring it on.”

  They followed Harry into the dining room, and he was hardly one step over the threshold when Ann said, “Jaime?”

  He glanced her way, noted the mischief on her face, and braced himself.

  And found out approximately half a second later that it had been the wisest course of action because her next question was, “What does Kate have to do to get you to buy her a real diamond?”

  Ten

  Kate

  It had been the best night ever.

  Jaime reached across her after she’d sat down in the passenger’s seat and buckled her seat belt. She didn’t protest the action, nor the kiss he brushed to her forehead, too exhausted after the workday, after the emotional conversation with Ann, after the dinner filled with laughing and teasing and so much love, after . . . spending the evening living a lie that didn’t actually feel like a lie.

  She wanted it to be real.

  So fucking much.

  “You okay?” he murmured.

  Kate nodded, forced a smile. “Just tired.”

  Pale brown eyes holding hers. “Sure?”

  She nodded again, heart thumping when he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. But then he was stepping back, hand going to the door. “Well, then, let’s get you home.”

  “I—”

  The door closed, cutting off her sentence.

  Which was just as well because she was probably going to say something stupid like, “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  But she needed to go home.

  She needed to remind herself that Jaime wasn’t hers, not really. He wasn’t her man, the one whose gaze had connected with hers over Lacy’s head, the longing in his eyes no doubt matching hers. He wasn’t her man who’d charmed her mom and sister, who’d calmed the overprotectiveness of her brother and father.

  He wasn’t even her man who’d fallen for her over a ketchup bottle.

  But he was the man who’d thought to bring her a ring, who’d bought her lunch and looked at her with open desire, who laughed and smiled freely, who touched her gently and frequently, who buckled her seat belt and showed up at a restaurant after a long and complicated procedure because he was worried that she hadn’t gotten his message.

  He was a good man.

  And that probably should have been enough to slap her fantasy-addled mind into reality.

  Because good men didn’t want her.

  Her door opened again, and suddenly Jaime was there, his mouth inches away from hers, hot breath on her lips, hands holding her face.

  “Don’t be sad, Red,” he murmured.

  Embarrassed, she started to turn away, not liking that he could read her so easily, abruptly hating that he’d been able to insert himself into her life so effortlessly. That was dangerous because she was going to miss him when he was gone.

  “I’m fine,” she said, deliberately not meeting his eyes, not when he saw so much.

  His stare she was avoiding felt heavy on her face, but she still didn’t turn to meet it, didn’t offer up any more words, and after a moment, Jaime brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I like you, Kate,” he said. “A lot. Your family, too. And that has not one fucking bit to do with the fact that the ring you’re wearing isn’t real.”

  Her lungs had frozen at the first statement.

  By the time he’d made it to the end of his words and had dropped his hands, stepping back and closing the door for a second time, they burned from an utter lack of oxygen.

  He paused as he rounded the hood, eyes locking onto hers, and she found that she could breathe again. Sucking in much-needed oxyg
en, she watched him continue on, heard the slight pop from his door opening, felt the car move as he sat down and buckled in, heard the rumble of the engine as he pressed the button to start the ignition.

  What she didn’t hear?

  More words.

  The man, the good man, was giving her time to process.

  He pulled out of the driveway, the path slightly more difficult to maneuver as Ann and Dave had ridden home together, leaving Dave’s car parked behind them and bundling a sleeping Lacy into the back seat of Ann’s SUV.

  Whatever was going on with them had been somewhat tempered by the conversation on the back porch. Ann’s eyes were slightly reddened from tears, Dave’s lined in exhaustion, but they’d held hands throughout dinner, and Kate had approved of the fact that Dave hadn’t left her sister’s side.

  Ann didn’t have Kate’s asshole superpower.

  It needed to stay that way.

  Only one McLeod should have that particular ability, and it definitely shouldn’t be her sweet, lovely sister.

  Nope, the burden alone was Kate’s.

  You know what they say, she thought snarkily, with great power comes great responsibility.

  Ha.

  “My ex messed me up.”

  She had let her eyes slide closed, her brain sinking in a soft haze, full of reality, but also full of pleasure. Because she’d seen joy in her mom’s face, approval in her dad’s. Because Jaime fit.

  His words, however, had her eyes flying open, had her shifting in her seat to look at him.

  So fucking handsome.

  A strong jaw, a straight nose, plump, kissable lips, short—frown—hair.

  And gorgeous.

  As though her brain had conjured every action star fantasy in her brain and had mashed them all together into her living, breathing dream man.

  Who was nice. Who was sweet.

  Who was sharing.

  “What happened?” she asked softly. “What did she do?”

  His fingers shifting on the steering wheel, gripping tightly as he maneuvered the car around a turn. “It’s been long enough that I know that it’s what we both did,” he said, the half of his mouth she could see curved up into a smile. “She was really good at getting under my skin and could be mean as a snake, but I was also really good at letting her manipulate me and didn’t cut ties and run at those first red flags.” His gaze shifted to hers then back to the road. “And those first red flags were plentiful.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching over and squeezing his leg, before adding lightly, “What’s her name so I can hate her properly?”

  He chuckled. “See?”

  Her brows drew together. “See what?”

  “You’re nothing like her,” he said. “I knew that from two minutes into dinner, knew that even though I wanted to paint you with the same brushstrokes—because even though I wanted to know you better, it was safer for my heart if I didn’t—that I couldn’t.” He took one hand off the wheel, covered hers where it was resting on her thigh. “You’re lovely and sweet and funny, and have that quintessential human feeling called empathy.”

  Wow.

  “Was she that bad?”

  Another glance. “Take what you’re imagining and make it a hundred times worse.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel again. “But I still stayed for too long. So fucking stupid.”

  “No,” she whispered. “That’s called human.”

  “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” he muttered.

  She giggled then sobered. “I am sorry, you know? I’ve dated some men who—” She shuddered.

  “What are their names, so I can hate them properly?”

  Her heart fluttered.

  “Scratch that, what are their names, so I can kill them properly?”

  She touched his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

  He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm. “You’re used to giving a lot of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your heart is generous,” he said. “You see someone hurting and you jump in, you make it better.”

  Kate shrugged. “I have a weak spot for people, I guess. I like to see them happy.”

  Silence.

  “But who makes sure you’re happy?” he asked. “If you only give of yourself and never take, who cares for you, Red?”

  Her breath caught, that question hitting way too close to the vulnerable center of her. Giving meant she controlled the interactions, controlled how much of herself she gave, and meant she could always keep a piece back.

  She’d learned long ago she always needed to keep a piece of herself protected and safe.

  Because sometimes it was only that single piece that remained, that single piece she had to hold tightly on to as she rebuilt herself brick by brick.

  But she couldn’t tell him that.

  She could barely accept it herself, preferred to pretend everything was light and easy.

  “Empathy is an important life skill,” she said, her tone teasing as she added, “So your ex had an inhuman lack of it?”

  They slid to a stop at a signal, and Jaime turned his gaze on hers.

  Then studied her for a long moment.

  Panic bubbled up because, damn, he wasn’t going to let her go.

  “Alien, maybe,” he muttered. “Because I’ve seen more empathy in animals than my ex had.”

  Kate squeezed his leg again. “Her name, please, good sir,” she said, relieved he hadn’t pushed enough to joke. “Hate will be commencing shortly.”

  He snorted. “Lori.”

  “Ugh,” she muttered. “I knew a Lori in high school. She was the worst sort of bully.”

  He laughed. “Must be the name.”

  “Maybe.” She bit her lip, a tendril of guilt weaving through her. She actually had a Lori on her design team, and design-team-Lori was really lovely.

  “That.” Fingers lifting from her hand, drifting over her cheek. “That’s how I knew you weren’t like Lori.” A chuckle. “You were feeling guilty for lumping the whole of the Lori populace into one group, weren’t you?”

  “I work with a nice Lori and—”

  He burst out laughing. “Fuck, but I like you, Kate.”

  Her heart somehow managed to swell with pleasure and also curl in on itself protectively. God, she liked him, too. But—

  “Don’t say that,” she murmured. “You can’t. You can’t like me, can’t make me like you because then when it’s over, when you’re done with me, it’ll hurt too much.” She pulled her hand back, sat up straight in her own seat. “I can’t like you, not like that, not enough to want a future.”

  Silence.

  Long, drawn-out silence.

  Then the car shuddered to a stop on the shoulder, and he turned to face her. “Why can’t you want a future, Kate?”

  “Why do you care?” she snapped. “This is a fake relationship. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  A deadly calm. “Doesn’t it?”

  “No!” She tossed her hands up. “We’ve gone on one date—”

  “Two.”

  Frowning, she stopped. “What?”

  “Technically tonight was the second.”

  That threw her for a loop, and she froze. “Okay,” she said, unfreezing after a couple of seconds. “So, two dates. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  She crossed her arms, sighed heavily. “You already asked that.”

  “And you’re sticking with the answer no?” More calm, his voice so smooth, so even, but below the surface she could sense a fury boiling, and she knew, just knew, that the asshole was going to rear its head.

  Still, she might like this man too much, but she wasn’t a fucking weakling. She held his gaze, straightened her spine, and braced herself for the impact that was sure to be lobbed her way.

  And stayed braced.

  And stayed a little longer.

  Then longer still, waiting, knowing he was going to blow up at her.
<
br />   Eventually, he shifted in his seat, and she jumped, not wanting to, knowing it gave away too much, revealed how brittle and on edge she was.

  But she hadn’t been able to help it.

  Jaime ran the back of his fingers over her throat, making her shiver, and his words when he spoke after that long moment of silence were gentle, were light. “Then I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

  She swallowed hard, missing his hand when he brought it back to the steering wheel. “Prove what?”

  Eyes locked onto hers for a searing moment. “That you mean something.”

  Those words, said in that gentle, light tone, wafted across the console to her ears, but when her brain processed them, their impact might as well have been a bullet to her gut.

  They seared into her, branded themselves on her heart.

  He leaned over and slanted his mouth against hers.

  It was a quick, hot touch of his lips to hers . . . and it still scorched her down to the bone.

  “You mean something to me, Kate,” he murmured before pulling back onto the road and driving her home, as though he hadn’t just rocked her to the core.

  Eleven

  Jaime

  He woke up the next morning to a text that made his heart—the one that was thinking he’d pushed Kate too hard the night before—swell with hope.

  The truth was that he was all in for her, and seeing her stare at him, wariness written in the lines of her pretty face, made him feel like shit. He got that it was less to do with him and more to do with her past, but part of him was worried that he wouldn’t be able to break through the barrier she’d placed between them.

  Maybe not a deliberate barrier. Perhaps she’d been hurt often enough that the barrier was a permanent fixture.

  “Patience,” he murmured to himself, rolling onto his back and sitting up.

  Because . . . the text.

  Sent at two in the morning, even though she’d been exhausted on the drive home, even after he’d deliberately turned the conversation to something light—movies and favorite restaurants.

  The dark circles had seemed to get darker as he’d driven.

  Dark enough that he’d eventually stopped talking, stopped trying to think of easy conversational topics that wouldn’t put her on the defensive, and he’d thought there was a real possibility that she might fall asleep on the drive.