The Decoy Bride

by Lizzie Shane

  Maggie’s frown had morphed into something speculative on the first sentence, but she still looked skeptical, until Demarco announced, “I like it.”

  Maggie glanced at her sweetie, her expression softening. “It could work,” she admitted. She looked back to the screen. “You and Cross can play all lovey-dovey. Give them plenty to look at.”

  Bree flushed at the idea of faking a relationship with Cross. “I don’t know about that…”

  Maggie’s expression darkened instantly. “You didn’t have a problem kissing him before.”

  Bree flushed, glancing over her shoulder toward the bodyguard, who hadn’t said a word—even though it would be his lips she’d be using to sell this story. She appealed to him with her eyes, begging him to come up with some excuse why they couldn’t fake a relationship, but her pleading eyes must not have been nearly as eloquent as she thought because he said, “I’m in.”

  “Bree?” Maggie demanded, and she felt her face heat even more.

  It was her only shot at leaving here with the sixty thousand—and she owed it to Maggie after so royally screwing up—but what was Cross’s excuse? Why would he put himself in the middle of a media shitstorm like that? Because it would be him in the middle, not some character he was playing like Bree was.

  Her stomach roiled, but it was his call to make. Her choice had already been made. Kissing Cross had almost cost her sixty grand. She could sure as hell kiss him to get it back. “Of course I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent.” Maggie rocked back in her chair, her expression triumphant. She looked to her fiancé. “I guess our next step is drafting a press release announcing our breakup.” She cocked her head. “Maybe you can be overheard fighting on the phone and the press can get a picture of you tearfully begging Demarco to forgive you.”

  Bree’s stomach revolted at the idea of putting her acting to the test in that way, but Mel stepped into save her. “It will look too staged,” the manager argued. “You would never go out somewhere anyone could hear you to have a screaming, crying fight—and for the next two weeks, Bree is you.”

  Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Right. So I guess a press release.”

  “I’ll have something drawn up immediately,” Mel assured her. “They’ll be expecting a reaction to the photos.”

  “Excellent. Coordinate with Demarco’s team. I’ll leave it in your capable hands,” Maggie said, waggling her fingers at the video. “Good luck!”

  The call ended, but no one moved.

  Bree couldn’t speak for anyone else, but she was frozen by a mix of dread and relief that she’d never experienced before. She hadn’t ruined everything—that was good—but from here on out…

  She had no idea what she was doing.

  “Is Kaydee really staying?”

  “I don’t love it, but Maggie’s right. She can still be useful. You’ll have to talk to her,” Mel said. “Convince her you broke up with Demarco. Here, give me the ring.” Mel thrust out her hand and Bree tugged at the replica on her finger. The humidity made it tight and she twisted, scratching her knuckle when she finally managed to yank it loose. “Be upset that the news leaked,” Mel coached, accepting the fake. “But not too upset. Demarco wasn’t right for you. You’re crazy about Cross.”

  Bree blushed, avoiding looking at Cross. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It was your idea.” Mel frowned. “And at this point it’s the only logical thing to do. We make you two into a show, and then when Demarco and Maggie are ready, we reveal the truth. That she was with him all along, desperately in love, and you were hired to give her five seconds of privacy.”

  “You don’t think her fans will mind being lied to?”

  “We’ll spin it as a necessary evil. Which it is. But you don’t need to worry about any of that. I’ll handle all the press releases. You just keep Kaydee on the line for a couple more weeks.”

  “Right,” Bree agreed, still unable to look directly at Cross. She could do this. She had to.

  All because of one little kiss.

  *

  She was waiting for Kaydee when the girl came back from the world’s longest walk with Cecil. Mel had speculated that Kaydee was probably meeting with her media contact and getting instructions or giving another “exclusive” interview, but Bree was supposed to pretend that none of them suspected anything—though how Kaydee could actually believe she hadn’t been found out was baffling to Bree. She’d done a terrible job of covering her tracks, but the younger woman was smiling and confident when she walked through the patio doors with Cecil.

  “There’s my baby,” Bree cooed at the dog, who bounded over to greet her, his little tail sweeping the floor enthusiastically. Cecil had grown on her over the last few days and she’d actually started to enjoy having him around, when he wasn’t yelping like a dying seal. She scooped him up into her lap, cuddling him close and taking comfort in his soft weight in her lap. “Was he a good boy?” she asked Kaydee.

  She hadn’t had much direct contact with the girl over the last few days—at least not without Mel or Dominique around. Bree had made a practice of avoiding being alone with her, never entirely certain what to say, but Mel had insisted that she had to do this part herself.

  “He was an angel,” Kaydee promised. “He fell asleep on the beach and he looked so sweet I didn’t want to wake him, so I just stayed there until he woke up.”

  So that was her excuse for being gone so long. Bree pretended not to suspect the flimsy story, lifting Cecil up to her face. “Did somebody have a nice nap? Did you? Yes, you did.”

  Kaydee’s gaze locked on her left ring finger—and the distinct lack of a nine karat piece of bling. “Where’s your ring?”

  “We’ve called off the wedding.” Bree gave a mildly irritated sniff—as if the change in her relationship status was a minor inconvenience—and settled Cecil into her lap, stroking his silky head. “Demarco and I rushed into things so fast and we really wanted it to work—but I think we both knew it wasn’t right. I’m sure you could tell I was having second thoughts and he was too.” She sighed. “Then when those pictures came out this morning…”

  “Pictures?” Kaydee asked with forced innocence.

  Bree flapped a hand as if they were nothing. “Just some sleazy photographer hiding in the bushes who got a shot of Cross kissing me. Can you imagine a grown person skulking around prying on private moments for money?”

  “You were kissing the bodyguard?” Kaydee asked, in an impressive imitation of surprise.

  “We’ve been talking some since we arrived on the island,” Bree admitted, not having to force her blush, “and he’s a really great listener, you know? I just feel like he understands me—like the deeper me—and when Demarco saw the pictures, he wasn’t even upset. I think he knew that we were never meant to be.”

  All of which was true, for Bree. And somehow lying to Kaydee didn’t feel quite so wrong. Maybe because the younger woman had been sneaking around taking pictures behind her back, but Bree felt absolutely no guilt about selling this particular story. Though she did try to stick to the script Mel had given her.

  “I think we were more in love with the idea of one another than actually in love with each other, you know?”

  “Absolutely,” Kaydee agreed, nodding eagerly. “I was wondering if something was wrong when you suddenly stopped talking about Demarco. You haven’t been talking to me at all.”

  Because I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you. “I know. I’ve just been so conflicted. And now…I don’t know. Maybe Cross is the one I’m really meant to be with. Maybe he’s my soulmate and Demarco was just the man I needed to help me see past the bodyguard to the man, you know?” She gazed out over the crystal blue waters. “Maybe this is my love story.”

  “Maybe it is,” Kaydee agreed, the perpetual yes-woman.

  It was all part of the script Mel had given her, but Bree was afraid of how real the words felt. They didn’t feel like a lie—and that was terrifying,
because Cross hadn’t spoken to her since he slipped out of the theatre room that afternoon. She didn’t know how he felt. She only knew that she felt entirely too much.

  And that scared her like nothing else.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The ocean glittered like aquamarine gems in the morning sunlight, so exquisitely beautiful it didn’t need to say anything, it just reached into your soul and spoke—but Bree couldn’t enjoy the view. She was too busy scanning the landscaping for the telltale twitch of a palm frond or reflection off a lens.

  The press release had gone out last night. Mel had informed her that morning that it was having the “desired effect.” Whatever that was. The manager had also met with Dominique, discreetly informing the woman that due to their current circumstances there would no longer be a wedding, but they had decided to stay for the rest of their planned vacation regardless.

  So now it was on to phase two. No more fake wedding prep—which was good. But now she had a fake relationship to worry about—which was not so good.

  Mel had decided on the balcony off the master bedroom for their first “appearance” as a couple. Apparently several members of the press had been stopped trying to get close to the villa and Mel was confident at least a couple had slipped through the cracks and were now lurking in the bushes, waiting for their chance.

  It was a decidedly unsettling thought.

  Bree wanted to make things up to Maggie—and God knew she didn’t have a choice if she wanted to walk out of here paid and unsued—but she couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of faking it with Cross. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to him. Obviously. It was…she didn’t know what it was, but she was excruciatingly uncomfortable as she donned her padded bikini for the staged Sunbathing with New Beau on the Balcony scene that Mel and Maggie had agreed should be their first photo op.

  She added a sheer white cover up and was fussing with her hair, trying to make it look like the stylists always managed to, when a soft knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” she called without turning from the vanity, hyperaware of the sound of the door opening and closing behind her.

  “You almost ready?” he asked, his voice deep, and Bree swallowed, forcing herself to turn away from the mirror.

  “I feel like I ought to feel guilty for lying to Kaydee,” she said as she turned and caught sight of the man in her room—and her mouth went dry.

  Bree had overheard him arguing with Mel about whether or not he needed to “show off the goods” during the photo op. Apparently Mel had won.

  Cross was wearing the same board shorts he’d worn on the jet-ski two days ago, but this time there was no t-shirt covering the impressive muscles of his chest and abs. He looked like something out of a men’s health magazine. Or Playgirl.

  Bree blushed, unable to meet his eyes—and trying desperately not to stare at the cut of muscle that angled down into his shorts. The David had nothing on Aaron Cross, Jr.

  His body was art in motion, sensuality in every shadow, and she shivered at the beauty in his strength—though he might not appreciate being told how beautiful he was. Guys could be so touchy about things like that, especially big strong macho men.

  “Don’t feel guilty,” he said—and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t forgiving her for gawking at his abs. “She hasn’t exactly proven herself trustworthy.”

  “True.” Bree swallowed thickly. “You ready for your close up?” she tried to quip.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” There was a note in his voice, a note of resignation, a let’s just get through this tone, and suddenly Bree realized why she was so uncomfortable playing lovey-dovey with Cross.

  He didn’t want to.

  The idea that a man she had a huge crush on was being forced to pretend to like her was demoralizing in the extreme. Yes, he’d kissed her before—or rather he hadn’t shoved her away from him when she’d kissed him—but she still couldn’t escape the niggling doubt that he’d only done it because he saw Maggie when he looked at her. The movie star, the goddess, the fantasy.

  Now he had to pretend to want her, the pale imitation of Maggie—and it was her fault they had to do it.

  He crossed to the balcony doors, but she stopped him before he opened them.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He froze at the soft question, turning back to face her, frowning gently. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

  Right. He’d warned her about microphones that could be aimed at windows to hear inside. Telephoto video cameras with lip readers. Not to mention Kaydee simply eavesdropping. There was nowhere in the villa that was one hundred percent private, but she needed this answer before they started this.

  She came closer, until they were separated only by inches, and then repeated beneath her breath, barely moving her lips, so low no microphone could possibly catch it. “Why are you doing this?”

  She wanted him to say he didn’t mind. That it was okay. That pretending to fall in love with her wasn’t such a hardship.

  He met her eyes, something in his gaze softening, gentling, compassion in the look. Compassion and a kind of connection, acknowledging this thing that lived between them, the live-wire of want.

  Say it, she willed, not certain what she wanted him to say. But then he spoke, the words barely audible. “This account is important to EP.”

  She rocked back on her heels, feeling the words like a slap. “Right.” The job. He was all about the job. She nodded. “Time to get to work.”

  He opened his mouth, as if he would say more, but she was already moving around him, past him, out onto the balcony to do her freaking job—which now involved playing the freaking lovers on the balcony like Romeo and freaking Juliet.

  Joy.

  *

  He shouldn’t have lied.

  When she’d asked him, point-blank, why he was doing this, he could have told her the real reason, but some self-preservation instinct had kicked in instead and he’d gone for a simpler truth.

  He was doing it for the job, for Maggie and EP, but that wasn’t why he’d said yes so damn fast when Maggie had proposed the idea. Bree had looked so crestfallen when she realized they’d been caught on camera, so broken by the idea that she’d let Maggie down. She’d hunched down on that couch in the theatre room like a prisoner waiting for her turn at the gallows, her expression so perfectly miserable he would have done anything to wipe that look off her face.

  Which was a dangerous line of thinking. He needed to be focused on doing the best job he could for Maggie and EP, not on the way Bree’s heartbroken eyes had made his chest ache.

  His inability to ignore the way Bree made him feel was what had gotten them into this situation in the first place—lounging on a balcony, pretending to trade sweet nothings as they basked in the sun and waited for the paparazzi.

  It would be easier if he could keep this about the job. Cleaner.

  They would play the couple for two weeks, and then they would reveal the truth. Bree was the decoy and Cross had been hired to feed into the distraction. Admittedly, he hadn’t originally been hired to kiss her, but a good security specialist knew how to adapt to evolving situations. He was still doing the job he’d been hired to do.

  He was just doing it shirtless on a balcony now.

  While Kaydee was walking Cecil this morning, they’d been coached by Mel in the theatre room—the room with the best soundproofing in the house and therefore their chosen strategy chamber. They would lounge—lazy, comfortable, two new lovers with nothing better to do than bask in the sun—which would apparently drive the gossip websites crazy because how could Maggie possibly be lazing around with her new lover when she’d just jilted poor Demarco.

  More exposure. More focus on them. More cover for the real Maggie.

  He strode over to the long, low lounge chair with its thick white cushions and stretched out on it. It wasn’t really big enough for two people, but he slid to one side and jutted his chin at her. “Come here,” he rumbled
.

  They’d planned this, choreographed the shot they would give the paparazzi—provided any of them had managed to find a perch high enough to see onto the balcony. He knew what was coming, but he still found himself not entirely prepared for the sight of her crossing the distance between them. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but he could feel them on him as he stretched out a hand to her. She took it and he tugged her down against him, half on top of him, folding his arms around her as she smiled against his lips.

  The kiss wasn’t heated. It wasn’t a repeat of the other night, with tongue and hands everywhere and that crazy rush of desperate need. This one was sweet. Temptingly so. Drawing him in. Alluring in its slow, lazy exploration, until he forgot about cameras and plans and just kissed her.

  When she lifted her head, he wished the sunglasses hiding her eyes would vanish. He wanted to see if she had that same dazed soft-focus look she’d had the other night. If she would look at him in that way only Bree had. But the sunglasses blocked her eyes from view—and that was probably for the best. This was a job.

  She settled against him, cuddling against his side, gazing out over the water, and he reached for one of their props—a crossword puzzle they were supposed to pretend to do together. Which, according to Mel, would demonstrate that their connection was mental as well as physical.

  Bree lay against his side as he idly studied the clues.

  “Did you talk to your mom?”

  *

  Cross stiffened beneath her and Bree knew instantly that she’d said the wrong thing. Always blurting out the wrong thing. Her thoughts had been spinning after the kiss and she’d needed to say something, but she regretted it as soon as she felt him somehow pulling away from her even though there was no room for escape on the lounge.