Pretend It's Love

by Stefanie London

Getting him out of the house before he caused the guy some serious damage had been tough.

  Tightness gripped his chest. She wasn’t his to protect, in reality, she wasn’t his at all. So why did he feel that roar of desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her? He did not comfort women.

  That was a job for real boyfriends.

  But the question hovered on his tongue, needling at him. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “You’re right. He’s a total jerk…sadly, I’m used to it.”

  “So this isn’t just because you’ve dropped out of med school?”

  “No, it’s not. He treated my mother like crap for as long as I can remember.” She turned and closed the fridge, leaning back against it while she sipped water from a bottle. “They only got married because she got pregnant at nineteen. They fought most of the time while I was growing up, and they ended up divorcing when I was ten.”

  He listened as her history tumbled from her mouth in a rush of words as if she’d been trying to get it out for a long time. Normally this would be his idea of hell—being a shoulder to cry on wasn’t exactly his forte outside the sob stories he occasionally got at the bar.

  But he found himself wanting to listen to Libby, wanting to be the person she turned to…not that he had even the slightest clue as to what to say to her in return. He’d always been better with actions than words.

  “Mum got nothing out of the divorce. Dad had made her sign a prenup, and she ended up working crazy hours to make rent in the area where I went to school. Dad paid for my education, but he made it hard for her whenever he could. I think by the time she remarried and had another kid she didn’t want to see me much because I reminded her of all that.”

  “And your Dad remarried?”

  “He’s onto his fourth wife. It’s no wonder I don’t believe in marriage.” She rolled her eyes.

  Paul let out a long, low whistle. “Fourth? At some point you just have to admit that something’s not working.”

  “I swear, each one gets worse than the last. It’s like he purposefully tries to find these vapid, gold-digging wenches without a brain in their head. This current one could be on one of those Real Housewives TV shows.”

  Paul cringed.

  “My mother wasn’t like that, but she has a new family now.” The sadness in her voice hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably bored to tears.”

  “Not even a little bit,” he said, motioning for her to continue.

  She picked at the hem of her dress, her brows burrowed into a deep frown. “Dad’s good at forcing people to do what he wants. It’s one of the reasons I want to make this business work. If I make my own money I can do what I like. I never really wanted to be a doctor.”

  “What did you want to be?”

  “You know, I have no idea. I poured so much energy into trying to please him I never thought about what I actually wanted. Then by the time I decided I wanted to do my own thing I had no idea which direction to take.”

  “It’s not too late, you’re still young.”

  “So are you,” she pointed out.

  He shrugged. “I’ll be fine so long as I can get the family off my back.”

  “They don’t seem that bad.”

  “It’s more the extended family. They’re old school, they think anyone who doesn’t have a degree or some form of qualification is going to be a loser their whole life.” He leaned back against the couch, reducing the space between them. “I don’t care, I do what I like.”

  “Obviously you do care, since I’m playing the role of happy girlfriend.” She paused. “Unless there’s more to the situation than you’re telling me.”

  “I’m helping you out.”

  She grinned, like a cat who’d caught the scent of a mouse. “Nah, there needs to be something in it for you. It’s not just judgment from your family, is it? Who’s going to be at the wedding that you’re so worried about?”

  He clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening until the muscles ached. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” She held up her hands in retreat. “I just thought since I poured my heart out to you that you might want to reciprocate.”

  “There’s no point talking about it. It doesn’t change the situation.” He needed to change the topic, stat. “Actually, I had an idea that I wanted to discuss with you.”

  She raised a brow. “Sure.”

  “I want to start up my own mixology school at First.”

  He sucked in a breath, annoyed at how nervous he was about sharing it with Libby. The idea had come to him like a bolt of lightning when one of the new waitresses had asked him to show her how to make a cosmopolitan. He suspected the request was a ploy to talk to him, but after he’d started teaching her about the proper way to mix cocktails she’d seemed genuinely excited to try it on her own.

  “We could run classes on how to create professional cocktails at home or for parties, teach people the theory behind mixing the perfect drink. Since you’re trying to get your product in there, we could pitch it as a branding partnership.” He tried to keep his face neutral, but waiting for her reaction was killing him.

  “I love it!” She clapped her hands together and laughed. “It’s perfect. It will make my product look more attractive, and I could include some promotional gifts as an incentive to customers…and Des.”

  The genuine excitement on her face made his blood rush. Ideas for how they could pitch the mixology school to his brother came tumbling out, their energy and creativity matched. Eventually, when the well ran dry, Libby motioned for him to follow her into the living room.

  “By the way, I wanted to say thanks for getting my dad out of here earlier. Whatever you said seemed to have worked, but you don’t have to play white knight.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve been the bouncer at First on more than one occasion.” He shrugged it off, but deep down her thanks warmed him.

  “Oh yeah?” She smiled, the white dress swishing around her knees as she walked.

  The straps were like two thin strands of spaghetti, leaving most of her shoulders and chest bare. A hint of cleavage tempted him, the creamy expanse of her skin dotted with a few freckles. He wanted to connect them by drawing lines with his tongue.

  “I’ve kicked out a fair share of drunks, broke up a few fights. It can get a little crazy on a Friday night.”

  “But there must be perks…I bet you have your pick of the ladies.” She dropped down onto the sofa and kicked off her heels, crossing her legs demurely.

  “Why? Do you think I’m hot?” he teased.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to cover it by pressing her water bottle to her neck. The air hung heavy with summer heat, despite the churn of an air conditioning unit overhead. Condensation from the bottle dripped onto her skin. A lone droplet ran down the length of her neck and made a beeline for the sweet valley between her breasts.

  “No comment,” she said, fanning herself.

  He took the spot next to her on the couch. “So you felt absolutely nothing when you kissed me?”

  “You kissed me.” She gestured with her water bottle. “I was happy to play the polite, conservative girlfriend.”

  “They would never have bought it. I don’t go for conservative types.”

  “So you prefer med school dropouts with a penchant for expensive shoes?” She lifted her hair from her neck and wound it into a knot on top of her head.

  “That’s quite a niche.” He tilted his head, watching her closely. “There hasn’t really been anyone in a while, to be honest.”

  “How come?”

  He shrugged, pushing his fingers through the inky black curls on his head. “I don’t want to be in a relationship, but the dating scene got old. Too many games for me.”

  Nodding, she secured her hair with a hair band from her pocket. Wispy sections escaped around her face, framing those sharp hazel eyes and her perfectly pale skin. “I
know what you mean. I haven’t dated anyone in…forever. But I didn’t really like the idea of constantly jumping from one guy to another, so I stopped altogether.”

  “Relationships aren’t a very good alternative, though.”

  “I can see why so many people do the friends with benefits thing. You just take a good personal connection and add sex, but there’s no emotion. No messy stuff.”

  “There’s some messy stuff.” He chuckled and she rolled her eyes.

  “You’re such a guy.”

  “I try.”

  “So are you going to find a new place?”

  She looked as though she might call him on turning the tables on her, but she didn’t. “I should but that would require me to be making some money of my own. I sank a lot of what I had into the business. I didn’t want to be saddled with a loan so I used my savings. I don’t have enough for a deposit on a new place.”

  “I will do everything I can to make sure you get into First and get your business off the ground.” The words slipped out before he could think to stop them. “You know, since that’s what a boyfriend would do.”

  “I appreciate that. But you know you don’t have to play boyfriend if we don’t have an audience, right?”

  “Why? Don’t think you can handle me if it’s just the two of us?”

  She shifted on the spot. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Are you worried you wouldn’t be able to say no to me?” A surge of desire flooded him as she blinked, her cheeks flushed. “Just like you melted into a puddle when I kissed you.”

  “I can say no to you, Mr. Cocky.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re not God’s gift to women, you know.”

  “I’ve been told things to the contrary.” He grinned, enjoying putting her on the spot. It was like the adult equivalent of tugging her pigtails.

  “You’re far more tempted by me than I am by you.” She shoved her chin up into the air and looked him square in the eye.

  “Is that so?” God damn if he didn’t love a challenge.

  “Yep.” She nodded, spurred on by her own false bravado. “You came up with the excuse to kiss me in the kitchen, and you’re the one who turned up today out of the blue.”

  “You say that like you haven’t been debating whether to call me all week.”

  “I haven’t.” She blinked rapidly.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll need to start speaking English again. I don’t understand bullshit.”

  Her mouth formed a shocked O, and she shoved him in the shoulder. “You’re so unbelievably cocky.”

  “You love it.”

  “I definitely do not.”

  An impulse shot through him, the desire to do something totally wrong and stupid and oh-so-worth-it. “We’re going to settle this with a game of chicken.”

  “Chicken?”

  He nodded, raking his eyes over her so she knew exactly how much trouble she was in. “I’m going to kiss you for a whole minute, and you’re going to tell me to stop when the timer goes off.”

  She raised a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m one hundred percent serious.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket and opened up the stopwatch app. “One minute. Then you can put me in my place.”

  “No way.”

  “Think you’re going to lose?”

  Her hazel eyes sparked. If there was one thing he’d learned—and deeply enjoyed—about Libby, it was her competitive streak.

  She took a swig of her water bottle as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I never lose.”

  “Then you’ve got one minute.” He set the phone on the table and purposely didn’t switch on the timer.

  But before Libby noticed, he turned to her and cupped her sweet face with both his hands. He made her look at him—really look at him—before he brought his mouth down to hers. Her breath hitched at the light kiss he planted on the corner of her mouth, at the gentle swipe of his tongue as he taunted himself with the barest taste of her.

  Going slow seemed impossible when his whole body screamed more, more, more.

  “I’m not even a little bit tempted,” she whispered, though her eyes fluttered closed the second his lips came back to hers.

  “Bullshit.”

  He captured her mouth, opening her up like a flower under the first beam of summer sunlight. Her lips were cool from the water bottle, but her mouth was hot. Thrusting his hands into her hair, he pulled her head back with a swift tug, exposing her neck. Floral perfume mingled with the scent of soap and skin.

  He trailed a line from her jaw to the base of her neck, feeling her pulse flutter wildly beneath his touch.

  “You’re a terrible kisser.” Her words came out raspy, broken.

  Terrible? He brought his mouth back to hers and punished her for the lie. The sensation of her tongue against his made him so hard he might never recover, not till he satiated himself deep inside her. God, he wanted her. Every time he saw her that want grew, expanding and consuming the areas of his mind that should be used for other things.

  Like motor skills. And breathing.

  She moaned, the raw sound of pleasure setting off every alarm bell in his head. But there would be no stopping him unless she called for an end. Which she wouldn’t, of that he was certain.

  The bare skin of her shoulders and chest tempted him. All the creamy, smooth porcelain in contrast to the rich tan of his hands. Like they were made to complement each other. He moved down to the base of her neck, tracing the line of it with his thumb. “Still think it’s terrible?” he asked, the gentle curve of her breast filling his palm. His thumb caught a hardened nipple, rolling it gently as he nipped on her lower lip. The light fabric of her dress couldn’t conceal the life radiating from her like heat shimmering off smoldering tar.

  The ache for her built; with each breathy little moan his need grew. He grew.

  Her tongue clashed with his, her back arching to increase the friction between them so he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her down until she was beneath him. He pressed her into the couch, the sweet heat from her parted legs making his blood fizz and hiss.

  “Paul,” she gasped, as he pressed his cock against her. “We agreed…”

  “What?” He fought the urge to tear off her underwear and plunge deep inside her. This was his game, he had to maintain a modicum of control. But it dangled by a thread, her sweet hands digging into his back. Pressing him against her.

  Pushing his limits.

  “No sex.” The words trailed off into a soft moan.

  “This isn’t sex.” Burying his face into her neck, he nipped at the smooth flesh there while his hands pushed her dress up. “We’re just kissing.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  Under the frothy layers his hands found her, damp and hot. He pressed the heel of his hand to her center, his insides roaring as she ground against him. Libby was so sweetly responsive, so sensual.

  So unbelievably sexy.

  “Oh Paul, it’s…” She bucked her hips as he hooked a finger inside her underwear. “This is a terrible idea.”

  But as he stroked her slowly, feeling her desire as she trembled beneath him, she pressed against his hand. He’d barely touched her and already she was close. Cool air hit his skin as she pushed his T-shirt up, her nails scraping along his chest.

  “That’s got to be longer than a minute.” She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip as he slid a finger into her.

  Heat radiated from her. The muscles of her sex clenched around him, urging him on. Drawing him deeper.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “You better not.” Her eyes clamped shut, a moan escaping her mouth.

  Pink flashed as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he captured it. Sucking on it as he stroked her.

  He pressed his thumb to her clit, the tight bundle of nerves swollen and needy. Another tremor ran through her. She rolled her hips, trying to take control of the rhythm. But he was in charge here�
��for now she’d have to follow his lead. His touch.

  Clenching his bicep, she rocked against his hand. He’d have the mark of her nails in his skin soon, and that knowledge made his cock swell to bursting point. But he wouldn’t deny her, not when she was so close.

  No matter how desperate he was to feel her shatter while he was inside her.

  “Please.”

  “What do you need?” He drank her in, slipping a second finger inside her and feeling the muscles tighten.

  “I need…” she gasped. “Paul, make me come.”

  He dropped his head beneath her skirts and shoved her underwear aside. The sound of delicate fabric ripping cut through the air but nothing mattered except getting his mouth on her. His lips barely touched her before she shook, a sharp cry echoing through the house as she came.

  Watching Libby orgasm was the most gratifying thing he’d ever experienced. As she released her grip on his hair her eyes fluttered open, a smile curved on her luscious lips. She opened her mouth to speak when a sudden knock at the door shattered the mood.

  Chapter Seven

  There were bad life decisions, like bleaching your hair to within an inch of its life. Then there were the kind of decisions that were not only colossally stupid, but had immediate ramifications. Like letting your fake boyfriend give you a “dare orgasm” while someone knocked at your front door.

  Libby resisted the urge to curl into a ball. The last waves of her climax still washed through her, though Paul had withdrawn his hand and—thankfully—returned her dress to its rightful place.

  The knocking sounded again. She’d recognize the owner of that knock anywhere: three sharp raps that weren’t melodic or careless in any way. Nina.

  “Should I hide in a cupboard?” Paul looked at her with a wicked glint in his eye.

  “It’s fine, just…” Libby pushed up from the couch and tried to fix her appearance. “Act cool.”

  He laughed. “Says you.”

  She caught her reflection on the way to the door. Pink cheeks, a rumpled dress, and disheveled hair…she may as well hang a sign around her neck that said, “Hey, I just had an orgasm. It was great!”

  As she opened the door, Nina burst forth. “I thought I was going to have to send a search squad. You’ve been avoiding me. What the hell is going—”