Her hand snakes between us to cup my cock. She squeezes, and I moan into her mouth. She fumbles with my zipper, and I step away and undress. Our gazes are glued to each other as we hurriedly remove the rest of our clothes.
Marian falls on the bed, and I follow her. I lie down on my back, and she straddles me. She runs her hands over my chest, teasing my nipples and palming my belly.
I reach out to cup her perfectly round breasts. She positions herself over my cock and then lowers herself on it. She closes her eyes as my cock disappears in her sweet heat. A groan tumbles out of my mouth as her pussy walls clamp around my cock.
“Oh God,” Marian says when my cock is completely buried inside.
“How does that feel, babe?” I ask her.
“I feel ... full,” she says, her words coming out like a moan.
I caress her ass as she rocks her hips against mine. I match my rhythm with hers, and when we come, it’s too fast and too powerful. Marian collapses on top of me when the contractions are over, and I wrap my hands around her protectively.
I’m glad she came looking for me.
Chapter 11
Marian
Declan’s breathing is deep and even. We lie spooned with his hand draped over my waist. Darkness has set in, and I’m guessing it’s just about seven. I can’t count how many times we’ve had sex.
“Are you asleep?” I ask him.
“No, was about to,” Declan says sleepily.
“Sorry to wake you up,” I say. “But I need to go home.”
Before he can respond, his phone buzzes from somewhere on the floor. Declan curses under his breath, turns around, and pulls something, probably his trousers.
“Hello, Mom,” he says.
His mom must be a talker because he’s quiet for a very long time.
“It’s true, Mom.”
Declan sounds so different. So quiet, unlike the Declan I know, and it makes me curious about this woman that can cause such a change in his personality.
“That was my mother,” he says when he disconnects the call. “She knows about us.”
“Did she scold you?” I ask, propping myself on my elbow to look at him.
“My mom doesn’t scold,” Declan says. “Anyway, she wants us to go for lunch on Saturday. I figured it’s a good time as any for you to meet.”
“I can’t make it on Saturday. I have a wedding,” I tell Declan.
He frowns. “Is there no one who can cover for you?”
I sit up in bed and pull the covers up to my chest, suddenly conscious of my nakedness. “No.” Anger flares up as fast as if someone has poured gasoline on dry grass and struck a match to it.
“What about Sunday? Surely you don’t work on Sundays too,” he says.
I do work on some Sundays depending on if I have an event. I bite down a retort. “Sunday will work.”
This right here is why a real relationship would not work for me. I love my business, and I’ve worked damn hard to get it to where it is now. I hate the idea of someone coming in and dictating to me how I should spend my time.
Declan calls his mother again, and from what I make out, they agree on Sunday.
“I have to go,” I say, getting up.
“Oh,” Declan says. “I thought you’d spend the night, and we can drive down together tomorrow morning.”
“No.” I read somewhere that the word ‘no’ is in itself a complete sentence and an adequate explanation.
I feel Declan’s gaze piercing my back. I don’t bother with a shower. I have an overwhelming need to leave.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Declan says.
I’m about to say no thank you, but I bite back the words.
We dress without speaking, and in minutes, we’re walking back to the parking space. The air is tinged with salt and the sounds of the waves crashing on the sand reach my ears. Santa Monica is a wonderful place to live.
“I’ll probably see you tomorrow,” Declan says.
“Sure,” I tell him as I unlock the car. I’m in a rush to leave, and with a wave, I put the car into gear and peel out of the parking lot.
I try to remember how it had been when Leonard and I were married. Have I always been that awful at relationships, even fake ones? Thinking about that period in my life brings all sorts of bad memories.
The five years that Leonard and I were married were the worst of my life. Years I’d like to forget. It was good at first. Leonard and I had gone to school together, but we only hooked up after I went back home for a visit after college.
The plan had been to vacation at home and then join Marvin and Jason in LA, where our new exciting lives were about to begin. It didn’t quite work out like that.
Leonard had been our town’s bad boy. You know, the one who goes to juvenile court before he’s sixteen years old, the one who all parents tell their kids to stay away from. That was Leonard. I’d admired him from a distance, but like all good girls, I’d stayed away from him.
When I returned from college, I found a reformed Leonard. He had completely turned around from his bad-boy ways, and he seemed to have matured overnight. He even had a job at the candle-making factory as the assistant manager.
Arlen is a small town, and it wasn’t long before Leonard and I met at the local pub. The first thing I noticed was that his friends were drinking beer while he was drinking water. Then his eyes. He had piercing blue eyes that made me tremble when our gazes met.
I was with a group of my high school friends, and after an hour of exchanging sultry looks, he sauntered over and pulled up a chair next to me.
“I heard you were back,” he’d said, his eyes boring into my soul.
My phone vibrates, jolting me back to the present. The timing is perfect as I’m taking the turn onto Pine Place. I park the car in the drive, kill the engine and reach for my phone.
The missed call is from my mother. My heart skips a beat. It is rare for my mother to call unless she has something important to say. She has a very vibrant social life back in Arlen. One of the happiest days of her life was when I left home for good.
I hit call, and she answers on the first ring.
“My busy entrepreneurial daughter,” my mother says with pride.
“Mom, hi, is everything okay?” I ask.
“Of course, it is,” she says in a cheery voice. “Why do you always have to think that something is wrong?”
Maybe because whenever you call me, it’s to tell me about a crisis. I don’t say it out loud, though. Despite her cheerfulness, mom’s ego is a little fragile. After Dad left her for his secretary, Terri, a much younger woman, she’d been distraught.
What made it worse was that Arlen was a small town, and she ran into them wherever she went. I had begged her to come to LA and live with me, but she said no. She wasn’t going to run away from the only home she had ever known because two people couldn’t keep it in their pants. Her words, not mine. At first, I received many phone calls updating me on what had happened that day or week. Then the calls had petered off as she came to terms with the divorce and Dad’s new life.
Then, the hysterical call, almost three years ago now, when Terri’s pregnancy had started to show. So yeah, I have a two-year-old stepsister I’ve never met. My family life is all sorts of fucked up.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“It’s exciting news. Very exciting news,” she says, her voice rising. “I am ... wait for it.”
I chuckle at the heightened drama in her voice. In her best moments, Mom is hilarious. In her worst, she’s hysterical and needy, but despite all this, I love her to death.
“I’m getting married,” she screams into the phone.
That wipes off the smile on my face. “Married? Are you serious?” My head reels with that information. I haven’t even told her that I’m married.
“Yes, his name is Josh, and he’s a lecturer at the university,” she says breathlessly. “I can’t wait for you to meet him, so we’re coming down this weekend. You�
��ll love him.”
I grip the steering wheel of my car to steady myself even though I’m seated. “Wait.” This is moving at a mind-boggling pace. “How can you be getting married when I didn’t even know that you’re dating?” The irony of my words is not lost on me.
But my marriage to Declan happened under the influence of too many shots of something. Mom is stone sober, and she doesn’t drink alcohol. She likes to joke that she’s hyper enough, and if she is drunk, the added hyper-ness would be like helium, lifting her off the ground.
“I know,” she says. “It happened fast.”
“When did you meet?”
“Two months ago,” she says.
“Two months?” I shriek. “Mom, what’s the rush?”
“At my age, darling, when you’re offered a ring, you grab it with both hands.”
I slouch back into my seat.
“Anyway,” she continues. “We’ll come down on Saturday evening and spend the night in your new big house. I can’t wait to see it. We’ll spend Sunday together and drive back in the evening.”
“I’m meeting my in-laws on Sunday.” I close my eyes as soon as the words fly out of my mouth. That was not how I planned on telling my mother that I’m married.
“What? I don’t understand. Please don’t tell me that you and Leonard are back together?” she says, her voice heavy with horror.
“No, of course not.” I feel like a child again. “I didn’t tell you this, but I went to Vegas a week ago.” It feels like months back since I was in Vegas. “The wedding was for one of the firemen and …” my voice trails off.
“Go on,” she says.
I feel sick. I’ve never had to explain to anyone how I ended up married. It’s a ridiculous, embarrassing story to tell. Painstakingly I tell her the whole thing, and she’s at a loss for words at the end of it. My mother never runs out of something to say.
“This is so unlike you, Marian,” she says quietly. “Why not just annul the marriage?”
“Declan and I decided to make a go at it. We get along really well,” I say. “Think of it as an arranged marriage in India. The couples rarely know each other beforehand, and it works. Their marriages work.”
“Josh and I will join you on Sunday for lunch at your in-laws,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. I’m assuming that you haven’t told your father.”
“No, I haven’t.” The last time I spoke to my father was last Christmas to wish him a merry Christmas and a happy new year combined so I wouldn’t have to call him again.
“Will you tell him, or should I?” she asks.
“You tell him.”
We hang up after that, and I feel as if I’ve come from a two-minute intense boxing match.
Just as I’m about to grab my bag, my phone flashes with a new text. It’s from Declan.
I hope you got home safely.
The words warm my heart even if they’re to the point. It shows that he cares. After the way I left Santa Monica, I was not expecting to hear from him. Declan is a good man. His only bad point is to be fake married to someone whose skills for relationships are practically nonexistent.
I text him back:
I did, thanks. I had a good time today.
I hit send and wait for his response. It comes a few seconds later:
Me too. Have a good night.
I text him back:
Good night.
I’m smiling as I enter the house. It feels as if we’ve reached a truce. I touch my stomach as I walk up to the front door. I wonder if it has happened already?
Maybe Declan and I have already made a baby. The thought is as sobering as it is as exciting. My heart constricts when I remember the terms of our marriage. As soon as I get pregnant, Declan and I will part ways.
It will be for the best in the long term, I tell myself.
Chapter 12
Declan
Are we still on for lunch?
My palms are wet as I send the message to Marian. Rejection sucks, and my wife is pretty good at it. It’s been almost a week since we last communicated, both of us too proud to reach out. I have to be the one to break the stalemate as my parents are expecting Marian and me for lunch.
I tap my desk as I wait for her response. It comes a minute later:
Why would you think that we’re not? I’ll be there. Send me the address.
I’m too relieved to take issue with the fact that her message sounds so defensive, and write:
Wouldn’t it be better if we arrived together since we’re supposed to be married?
She replies:
Supposed?
I type my message:
Married people don’t spend a week without communicating, and they try their best to be together.
A few seconds later, her reply comes in:
You’re right. We’ll do better this coming week, okay?
I reply:
Okay. I’ll be in LA. I signed the papers for the new location.
I hit send, and a few seconds later, my phone buzzes with a call. It’s Marian.
“Hi,” she says in her throaty sexy voice. “What awesome news! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Thank you, I’m pretty pleased,” I tell her.
I snapped up space as soon as it went on the market. The location is superb, and I already have customers with all the guys at the fire station and the police station further down.
“Is that the location you wanted, the former bakery?” she says.
Marian remembers everything I tell her. That memory is something I’ve noticed about her in the short time we’ve known each other. It must be a wonderful asset.
“It is,” I tell her, my voice brimming with excitement. “Next week, we’ll be busy with renovations and customizing it.”
“That means you’ll be in LA,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Will you stay at Pine Place?” she asks and then adds quickly, “we don’t have to sleep in the same room. You’ll have your space.”
I inhale deeply. She’s doing her part, and I should do mine, though I’m still smarting from the way she left Santa Monica last week.
“I’ll give you a key,” she adds softly.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Oh, one more thing. Do you think it’s okay with your mother if I bring down two guests with me? It’s my mother and her fiancé. They’ll be in town tomorrow, and I can’t just leave them to their own devices when they’ve come to see me.”
“I’m sure it will be okay. We’ll kill two birds with one stone and introduce everyone at the same time,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Declan.” I can hear the smile in her voice. I try and picture her at her office and fail. I make a mental note to see where she works when I’m in LA the following week.
I call my mother after Marian and I finish talking and tell her about the two extra guests. She doesn’t sound pleased, but she doesn’t have much of a choice.
The lunch with Marian sorted, I turn my attention back to work, paying suppliers, going through the accounts, and other mindless tasks that I have to do as a business owner.
I leave half an hour before lunch is scheduled. It’s best to go early and give my parents a chance to make their comments about my surprise marriage.
A good idea because as soon as my mother opens the front door, she goes straight into it.
“I don’t understand you, Declan,” she says as she leads the way to the living room. “I would expect something like this from Ace, not you.”
There it was again, the reference to me as a better child than my brother Ace. That is one of the things that has brought a wedge between us. Before Ace went to Afghanistan, I would shrug off the favoritism game by telling myself that it was none of my business. But after the threat of losing my brother in the war, I changed my stance. It might not be up to me how my parents treat Ace, but I can remove myself from those games, which is what I’ve done.
My father looks up from the newspaper he’s r
eading when we enter the living room.
“Father,” I say by way of greeting.
“Son,” he says and begins to stand.
“Don’t get up,” I say and cross the room to shake his hand.
He had a mild stroke a year ago, and though the effects were minimal, it slowed him down somewhat. Made him quieter. These days, he lets my mother make all the major decisions and speak for both of them. His handshake is not as firm as it used to be.
“I was telling Declan how disappointed we are in him,” Mother says as she perches on the edge of the seat. “If you needed money, you should have told us. We’d have helped.”
I’ve never been one to go to my parents for money, and neither has Ace. We’ve always worked hard for our money.
“Who said I married Marian for money?” I ask.
“Why else would you rush into marriage?” she says. “The trust fund is the only reason.”
“Marian and I are in this marriage for as long as we can make it work,” I choose my words carefully.
“I don’t like it,” she says.
“Reserve your judgment until you meet her, Mother. You’ll like Marian. She’s wonderful. She’s a wedding planner, and she runs her own business.”
The reason that my mother is upset is that she’s not used to me doing things without involving her. She’s upset that she never got a chance to chip in on my choice of bride. That is my fault entirely. I used to be a momma’s boy, and since I cut the apron strings, she doesn’t know what to do.
“I’m sure she’s a wonderful girl. Your brother chose well too,” my father says, speaking for the first time.
My mother lets out an unladylike snort but says nothing. She doesn’t like Lexi, which is my first clue that she won’t like Marian. Mother excuses herself to check on the lunch preparations progress with the chef.
At a few minutes to one o’clock, I hear the sound of an approaching car. I sprint out to welcome our guests.
My heart lifts at the sight of Marian as she brings the car to a halt in my parents’ circular drive. I hurry to her side and open the door for her. She slips into my arms, and we hug for a few seconds. The world fades, and it’s just Marian and me.
One Hot Fake: An Accidental Fake Marriage Romance Page 7
