by Cari Quinn
“Why would you do that? My handling everything is more efficient. Streamlined.”
He ignored her. “But my time has been even more limited lately, and my parents think I need to alter my image a bit.”
“I can see that.” She toyed with her hoop earring and tried to push down her nervous energy. “But why does any of this concern me?”
“Have you considered the ramifications of those pictures?” When she just stared at him, he tilted his head. “We work together. Some people might make unflattering assumptions about how you got your job over other, technically more qualified applicants.”
“Who would think that?” She swallowed a groan. Oh, just two-thirds of the town. Damn that water tower. Still, that didn’t mean she had to buckle to his whims. “Fine, people may talk for a few days. I’ll handle it. But as for the rest? Your problems aren’t mine, so go bark up some other tree.”
Even as she said the words, she wanted to snatch them back. He was her friend, sort of—all right, more like frenemy—and the lines near his bleary eyes seemed to be multiplying by the minute. She wouldn’t leave him in the lurch.
“There are no other trees,” he said quietly, and the pulse fluttering in her neck turned into a flock of wings. He leaned forward, his expression more heated than she’d ever seen it. And hot damn, did her body react. Anytime now her nipples would give him a double-barreled salute. “My parents think I need a social life. A…woman.” He said the word as if it were a verbal STD. “Not that I don’t have one. A social life, I mean.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sure you’re a primo stud.”
Yet again he ignored her. It was a familiar pattern between them. “It’s only a temporary thing. Just a few weeks. I need an escort to functions who appears to be fond of me. And from those photos, you qualify.” While she blushed her fool head off, he tugged on his collar as if he were sweltering. “I’m not asking for much. My parents suggested Melinda, but that was before the photo situation.”
Her attention blinked out after the mention of her sister. Oh, hell no. The knife in her gut went straight through her vital organs and ended up handle-deep in her ribs. Despite Melly’s resistance to dating Cory, her sister would be perfect for him—icily beautiful, reserved, quiet Melinda. And Vicky so was not. And never would be.
But she was the one in the photos. The one he’d kissed and caressed and driven crazy.
She and Cory fought all the time. What did they have in common? He looked down his nose at her clothes, her exuberance, and her “antics,” yet sometimes he would do the sweetest things, like his involvement with Dillon’s charity. Now and then he’d make her laugh during one of their frequent arguments or tease her out of a bad mood. Those times were precious. And really rare.
Hell, he’d started something the other night she desperately wanted to finish. In her current state, she didn’t need to look deeper than that.
“There must be a reason you haven’t been dating.” Vicky casually examined her manicure. “Maybe you’re saving yourself for the right woman, and that’s so not me. I’m the reformed town bad girl. The one your momma warned you about.”
“I never indicated you were the right woman.” His smirk jolted her system with twin pitchforks of annoyance and lust. “And my momma loves you. As you well know.”
“Only ’cause she’s known me since my formative years. Though that hasn’t worked as well with you.”
“I never got to see your skills on the monkey bars during recess like she did. I’m sure that’s why I’ve never appreciated you the same way.”
Leave it to Cory. He might not seem to be paying attention, but he remembered everything right down to his mother helping out with her elementary school class. He could probably describe the dress she’d worn to the junior/senior dance where they’d first spoken. No wonder he was so damn particular about the layouts for his magazine. The man had a freakish computer for a brain. He made smart sexy.
At least sometimes. The rest of the time she wanted to kick him right in his hard drive.
“Or it could’ve been your fascination with Melinda. I was always cursed with little sister syndrome in your eyes.”
For an instant he looked uncomfortable. Then his expression cleared. “Melinda and I would suit. You and I wouldn’t. Which makes you—”
She licked her lower lip, her spine tingling at his sudden fascination with her mouth. “Interesting?”
“Trouble.”
Ah, trouble. She’d been christened with that name often in her life, until she’d finally redeemed herself in the eyes of the town. Well, mostly. The ex-naughty girl had turned good. And good she would stay, after a short, intriguing detour into bad.
An image of the two of them outside the charity event flitted through her mind and she instantly felt her body begin to warm.
“You want a fake lover,” she said, trying for nonchalance.
Cory winced. “I prefer short-term corporate functionary, but yes, as you wish.”
“And you need her, like, now.” The pictures had basically sealed his fate there. Their fate.
A hint of a smile lifted his ridiculously kissable lips. Now that she knew exactly how kissable, she couldn’t drag her gaze away. “Like, yes.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Somehow he’d turned what had seemed like the worst thing ever—her newly cultivated good-girl reputation sullied for public spectacle—into a proposition that was more than intriguing. In several ways.
It would definitely look better if they seemed like they were serious about each other and not just exploring pleasures of the flesh in the great outdoors. Her career and her community standing were too important for her to risk, even when the weather forecast was steamy with a chance of orgasms.
But since she could accomplish more than one aim by providing him a little assistance, why not go for it? She’d always been…curious about Cory unbuttoned, and the guy clearly was at the end of his workaholic rope. Heck, if the way he’d made her come the other day was any indication, maybe that hot sex forecast wouldn’t be a onetime thing. Those photos and his offer had given her an in to his private inner world, and she was taking it.
And she was up for any and all sign-on bonuses.
Vicky grinned. “You need a short-term girlfriend. Well, you’re looking at her.”
Chapter Three
Cory undid the buttons of his suit jacket, unsure why Victoria’s golden-brown eyes gleamed. It was a little eerie, truth be told. He felt almost…objectified.
God, he needed sleep.
Though he’d come over for the very purpose of commandeering her into service, he’d sustained a bout of clarity since being confronted with Victoria—and her mile-long legs. He had sought a woman who would do her girlfriendly tasks with a minimum of fuss, but Victoria was an oncoming locomotive. Loud, full of steam, and liable to mow a man down if he didn’t move quickly.
She’d just had to answer the door in the skimpiest outfit he’d ever seen outside a bedroom. And of course her breasts plumped against her top just perfectly, and her caramel-blond hair curled enough to look wild, and the chain she wore showed off the silken curve of her neck.
Keep her talking. Don’t think about anything below her eyebrows. Hers or yours. “You know, despite the pictures, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. We work together, in case you’ve forgotten. The magazine’s success is paramount.”
“All that means is we already know how to accomplish things.” She shifted and the discreet diamond stud in her nose caught the light. “Besides, this is only a business deal, right? Just one more merger to broker. You’re not asking me to pretend to be your fiancée, for pity’s sake. Just your girl. I can do that.”
Just your girl. Those words shouldn’t have tightened knots in his gut, but they did just the same. “Interesting code you have. Fiancée is going too far. Girlfriend isn’t.”
She shrugged. “Call me weird all you want, but one involves planning a wedding. I would never pret
end about something like that. When I put on a man’s ring, you can bet it’s never coming off.”
The last thing he wanted to think about was her wearing a man’s ring. With effort, he gave her a mocking smile. His idea or not, coming there was a big frigging mistake and he had to rectify it. Quickly. “No rings here. But I suspect the requirements would still be out of your realm.”
“What requirements?”
Yes, what requirements? He didn’t have any, other than she be low-maintenance, capable of attending corporate functions, and a talented actress. She’d also be quiet and demure and laid-back. Victoria? Not so much.
She was just way too sexy. He needed someone to distract his parents from their matchmaking witch hunt, not distract him from his work with her tiny little dresses and her perky little ass and that smug smile he wanted to kiss right off her face.
Wait a second. Sex. That was the answer. She’d never go for that, and he could be on his way. No harm, no foul. He’d find someone else. He’d conjure them out of the ether if he had to.
“The woman I select will need to be comfortable with sexual activity with me as well. Not necessarily full intercourse,” he added as her mouth dropped open, “but enough to add veracity to the proceedings. Some level of intimacy will make things look more believable.”
She appeared to be busy trying not to swallow her tongue. “You expect your fake girlfriend to have sex with you? In return for some sort of benefits you’ve yet to reveal?”
“Actually, no.” This was what he got for working constantly. His senses felt duller than the worn-down nub of a pencil. “It would be consensual, of course. I just won’t stop looking until I find a woman open-minded enough to consider it.”
“So you’re looking for a high-class escort.” She nodded, her amber eyes dangerously bright. “I see.”
“Hardly,” he snapped, yanking at his shirt collar again. He was on the verge of broiling alive, and she’d even tugged down her jersey a little so that he couldn’t see every square inch of her luscious skin. But he could see that little winking stud in her nose, and the long line of her neck, and her delicate collarbone—
And if he didn’t get some sleep soon, he was going to make a serious mistake.
Deliberately, he stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, steeling himself for what was to come. Hadn’t he just said how important intimacy was to adding a layer of veracity to a fib?
When his fingers skimmed the ends of her silky hair, just barely brushing her shoulder blades, she startled as if he’d shoved his hand down the pants she wasn’t wearing. At least he hoped she was wearing underwear. With Victoria, nothing was certain.
“What’re you doing?” she demanded.
“Touching you,” he said lazily, though the nerves that strung tight inside him proved this was no casual exploration. “If you want to be my girlfriend, you can’t stiffen up every time I lay a hand on you. Or three fingers in this case.” He pressed his pinky against her spine and registered her shudder. “Four now.”
“Why not go for a full ten?” She tossed her hair and the honey strands fluttered over his hand like silk ribbons. Tickling him. Making him want to lean in and bury his face in them. In her.
God, he’d start by nibbling that spot between her neck and shoulder, that shadowy soft place just revealed by her top. Then he’d tug it down, inch by inch, and fill himself on the sight of her breasts, the slope of her belly, her shapely thighs, before he set about tasting every part of her.
Before he could stop himself, desire and fatigue pushed him further than he’d meant to go. He reached up, fisting his hand in all that softness, and dragged her closer. All he could see was her big, brown eyes and her wet, parted lips—
She shook herself as if she’d just emerged from a trance. “Yes.” When he only stared at her, she smiled slyly. “You’re on.”
No. This could not happen.
Firstly, she was almost a…friend. At least they’d had occasionally friendly conversations. He had business associates, of course, and people in town he could talk to about any number of banal subjects to pass the time. But ones he’d known since he was a kid and trusted with his most important project, Simply Home? No. There weren’t any.
Secondly, he craved her in ways that were probably illegal in thirty states.
Thirdly, he was so damn hard he couldn’t even think anymore, never mind come up with reasons not to do something he really fucking wanted to do. Specifically—her.
She was looking at him now, waiting for his response. If he didn’t get this right, she’d end up like so many of the other women in his life: an ex determined to ignore him when she saw him out socially unless a glass of champagne found its way into her hand. And then onto his head.
Deliberately he reached down to adjust his erection. It was the sort of cocky move he figured Dill probably had used on women before Alexa. Maybe even on Alexa, too. He followed it up with a slow smile, more than a little flattered when Victoria’s pupils dilated.
Down, boy.
“Look, Victoria, I know I suggested this fake dating arrangement between the two of us but the more I think about it, the more I’m afraid it’s not going to work. We still have certain incompatibilities.”
She stared at the hand he’d rested on his thigh. “What incompatibilities?”
Rather than rattle off his laundry list, he quirked his lips. “I don’t think you could handle me.”
That part at least was true. He ached to do things to her she’d never go for. A control freak like Victoria, consenting to a power exchange in bed? Never. That was even more unlikely than their coming through this insane plan he’d hatched in desperation unscathed. Better to make it clear—crystal—that they were mismatched in every possible way.
And before he had any other genius ideas, he’d get some damn sleep.
She wet her lips and dragged her eyes from his hand to meet his gaze. The intent in hers was clear. “Somehow I doubt that, CEO.” She pursed her mouth and tilted her head. “Besides, it’s not as if you want to tie me up and drip hot wax all over me, right?”
The laugh she let out was breathy and sexy. And just a little nervous. That he could still unnerve her after all the years they’d known each other added another stack of kindling to his already blazing fire.
That she’d inadvertently guessed exactly what he wanted to do to her was even better.
The fingers in his lap flexed, an unmistakable tell he couldn’t hide. He held her gaze for a moment. Two. Awareness built between them, throbbing like a heart.
Finally she whispered, “Oh.” She swallowed hard and he watched her throat move, drawn to the jerk of her flesh like that damn moth that didn’t know any better than to get burned. “Okay,” she whispered.
There were objections right there on his tongue. He tasted them, as bitter as dandelion wine, and closed his eyes before they could spill out. This could be so simple. He could handle the problem of the photos, his parents, and his errant, unquenchable libido in one fell swoop—
He gripped the edge of the couch cushion as she leaned forward, feeling trapped in the honey glow of her eyes. He couldn’t breathe through the wanting of her, couldn’t turn away from what had been rising between them all these years. Didn’t want to.
Easy. For once he just wanted something to be easy.
Damn his parents for putting him in this position. It was all their fault he’d gone outside last night to begin with. If he’d been a few minutes later he wouldn’t have met up with Victoria and all this photo drama would’ve been avoided. He should just say to hell with it and see what happened. She’d be his fake girlfriend—though who would believe the two of them fit as a couple?—and maybe his real lover, and then once his parents left, he could get back to his regular life. And his work. All of this would just become a distant, not-so-fond memory.
But it’s Victoria.
The girl he’d first seen in pigtails outside the library, stapling leaves onto the bulletin boar
d. The young woman dancing in the middle of the gym by herself, just because she could. The gorgeous, alluring woman who looked as sexy in a football jersey as she had the night before in her gold barely-a-dress.
At the last second, he lurched to his feet. He glanced at his watch and tried to see the numbers through the blur of his need. “I have to make some calls,” he managed.
“This late? It’s practically bedtime.”
“Not for an insomniac,” he said in undertone, crossing the room.
“Cory, take some damn downtime for once,” Vicky called after him, sounding surprisingly worried. “If you want, you can crash here—”
He was already on his way out the door.
…
Monday morning, Vicky approached Cory’s closed office door with her usual full-on swagger. Well, almost. That she wore ice-pick boots and carried a special surprise for her pseudo-boyfriend only slowed her down slightly. Her nerves slowed her down more.
She’d worked so hard to shed her rep as the town bad girl, and now with just a few pictures she was right back in the thick of it. Partially by choice.
That morning she’d awakened to a phone call from Jill, even before their scheduled breakfast meeting to discuss that week’s design consultations. Her BFF had wanted to clue Vicky in about the photos just in case she still hadn’t heard the gossip column chatter. No chance of that. Shortly after Cory left last night, her sister Melly had called from her location-scouting trip upstate to ask her what the hell she was doing. It was an excellent question.
Why was she doing this again?
It wasn’t just about the photos. Oh sure, reputation preservation always counted as a valid reason, but that wasn’t the only one. Cory needed help. He needed her. The guy was running on fumes and his showing up late looking like death’s dark-headed stepchild had driven that point home. They were friends, right? Sort of. In a manner of speaking. And not-exactly-friends assisted each other.
Heck, maybe she’d even bring some fun into his staid existence. While doing so, she would also avail herself of all potential sexual opportunities in his direction, just to cross another item off her bucket list. Doing an uptight smerd—smexy nerd—check!
