by Lila Monroe
He devours my mouth and pulls back with a groan of his own. His thrusts become more erratic. With each stroke he’s hitting my sweet spot. He works one hand down to tease my clit without skipping a beat, and the pleasure shatters through me, hard and swift, and just as good as it’s always been. I bite my lip through a moan. The closet might be dark, but sparkles are going off behind my eyes. Jack exhales raggedly and with a few more thrusts follows me over the edge.
We come to rest against the wall, both of our bodies shuddering. “There,” Jack says roughly. “Now I think I’ll survive until we make it home tonight.”
I grin. “And what do you have planned for then?”
“You’ll just have to wait and find out, darling.”
The aftershock of my orgasm is still rippling through me, but the comment sends a shiver of anticipation straight to my sex anyway. I set my legs back on the floor as Jack eases back. We straighten ourselves out as well as we can in the dark. I run my fingers through my hair. I’m pretty sure it won’t be totally obvious what we’ve been up to.
Ah, well, no one here is likely to care much even if it is.
“Back to the party?” I ask. Jack takes my hand.
We slip out of the closet and back down the hall into the bar proper. It’s the lounge where I had my first “date” with Jack, but today the whole place is reserved for us and our hundreds of guests. Congratulations on your engagements! A banner over the bar counter proclaims. Nelle Castle and a few other reporters are weaving through the crowd of happy couples, Connective, Inc. staff, and our friends.
Just a week ago, Perfect Match saw its one hundredth engagement from our matches. And by the looks of things, there are lots more to come.
“There you two are,” Seb says with a knowing smirk. He claps Jack on the shoulder. Beside him, Katie is resting her hand on her bulging belly. They’ve got a different relationship milestone to celebrate, due in just a couple of months.
“Up to more mischief?” Jill asks, appearing beside me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, totally deadpan. She shakes her head with a smile.
Riley is snapping selfies near the window with her current boyfriend: the porn star turned model we used in the Perfect Match ads. She does know how to work all her angles. Warren and his girlfriend, flown in for a week from Germany, are hanging out on the fringes of the crowd, their heads tipped close together. It’s like they can’t stand to be more than an inch away from each other now that there isn’t a computer screen between them. Too cute for words.
“There’s my girl,” Barb says. She pulls me into a hug. “Marv and I are both so proud of you. Aren’t we, Marv?”
Her husband tucks his meaty arm around hers. “Absolutely.”
Jack steps up to the bar and clinks a spoon against a glass for everyone’s attention. “Matches, media, friends, and family,” he says. “It’s an honor to have you all here today, and to be celebrating a hundred engagements brought together by Perfect Match. We couldn’t have asked for a happier result.”
The crowd cheers. Jack smiles and waits for them to quiet down again.
“I have to admit, when McKenna Delaney first came to me with her business proposal last year, I was skeptical. But she had an answer to all of my doubts. Today Perfect Match is a phenomenon, the fastest growing dating app with the best success rates by far, and all because of her.” He turns to me, raising his glass. “To the next one hundred, and many more, thanks to you.”
My cheeks flush. Someone has shoved a glass into my hand. I clink my glass with his. His gaze holds mine as if I’m the only person in the room to him. The tinkling of toasts carries around us.
“To Perfect Match!” someone shouts, and someone else whoops. Everyone cheers again.
We make the rounds, mingling and making small talk. Then Jack clasps my hand and tugs me over to one of the quieter corners. He traces his fingers along my jaw. I give myself over to his kiss.
Our relationship is common knowledge now. And yeah, a few reporters made some unkind remarks about it, but they shut up after Jack banned them from all Maverick-associated events. And with the success of the app, no one’s inclined to write me off as a gold-digger now anyway.
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” Jack says, still so close his nose nearly grazes mine. “Who would have thought?”
“Not me,” I say, smiling up at him. “But I’m just as glad as you to have been proven wrong.”
He sets down his glass on the nearest table. “Do you remember, way back when, when I brought you to that VR bar and then we took a stroll through Manhattan?”
I laugh. “Hard to forget that.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking.” He reaches into his jacket pocket. My heart starts to thump. “I got down on bended knee for you once as a joke. Now I’m doing it with total sincerity.”
My mouth drops open. He’s already knelt down, holding out the ring box he’s pulled from his pocket. A murmur ripples through the crowd as people start to notice what’s going on.
“McKenna Delaney,” Jack says, simply and clearly. The adoration in his eyes makes my heart flutter. “Perfect Match brought us together, if not in the expected way. Being with you is the best partnership of any kind I’ve ever had. It would be my greatest honor if you’d stay by my side for the rest of my life. What do you say? Should we make it one hundred and one?”
He pops open the lid of the box. A diamond sparkles on a gold band inside it, but I can’t tear my gaze from Jack’s face. A huge grin has split mine.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say. Jack laughs and straightens up to sweep me into his arms. Whistles and whoops ring out through the room.
This isn’t a happy ending, because it isn’t an ending. We’ve got so much further to go together. But I know it’ll be happy, wherever we end up, because I’ve found my perfect match.
THE END
Thank you for reading! If you want more sexy romantic comedy reads, keep scrolling for your sneak peek of the first book in my new BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS series - available to order now.
VIP
Billionaire Bachelors #1
Welcome to Billionaire Bachelors Inc, where the sexiest men in the city are about to meet their match..
Hot bachelor Max Carlisle is heir to a media empire, tabloid catnip, and… wants to hire me to be his fake fiancee. I know what it takes to keep a billionaire in line, but signing up for seven days in close quarters with this Very Irresistible Playboy? It’s just asking for trouble. The kind of thrilling, reckless trouble I could use a little more of since my career is currently ass-backwards in a mud bath with six shih-tzus (don’t ask).
So do I:
a) Take the job, and bicker wildly every step of the way?
b) Embark on a mad-cap treasure hunt to claim his billion-dollar inheritance?
c) Try my hardest not to fall head-over-heels in love with him and wind up having the best sex of my life?
d) All of the above?
Something tells me I’m about to be way out of my league… and under the most handsome, infuriating man I’ve ever met. But with a fortune on the line, can we beat out his crazy relatives to win the prize? And will our fake relationship be game over at the finish line?
Find out in the new sexy, hilarious romantic comedy from Lila Monroe!
Order now!
BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS SERIES:
1 VIP (Jan 2018)
2 Hot Shot (April 2018)
3 Wild Card (June 2018)
4 TBC (Aug 2018)
Chapter One
The only thing worse than showing up late for the wedding you’re supposed to shoot? Showing up late and finding the groom banging a bridesmaid in the bathrooms.
I freeze with my hand on the door, not believing what I’m seeing. Mr. Newly Wed and Miss Teal Taffeta are so busy going at it they don’t even notice me. He’s got her up on the sink counter, and if adultery was an Olympic sport, I’d have to give them at least a 6
on the difficulty scale. And with that poufy bridesmaid dress practically swallowing him whole? A solid 7 out of 10, for sure. Minus 15 for the whole ‘nasty cheaters’ side of things, I mean.
His pale ass bobs over the waist of his tuxedo pants, and I reel back. Okay, I’ve seen enough. I’ll be on my way now. I don’t need to pee that bad.
I stage a hasty retreat, back into the garlands and glitter strewn around the Central Park Boathouse. Now that’s a much prettier view. We’re set up by the boathouse, with five crystal bedecked white tents overlooking the lake. Even the trees are dripping with crystals, alongside bundles of white roses by the dozen, as the wedding guests sit down for their lavish meal. This has to be the most fancypants wedding I’ve ever been to, but I’m not a guest, I’m on the job today, ready to capture these beautiful memories. Minus the banging, of course.
I look around for my boss for the day, aka the most in-demand wedding photographer on the East Coast. I’ve become Frederico’s go-to person when his usual assistant decides to play hooky, and despite the fact he’s a fiery bundle of Spanish artistic temperament, when he called me up this morning I couldn’t afford to turn the gig down. Literally. I just signed over the last of my savings to cover this month’s rent check.
Question: would the happy couple still pay for wedding pictures if they’ve already broken up before the end of the celebration?
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got a conscience. I just watched Mr. Newly Wed say his vows. Captured photographic evidence of it too. So with that image from the bathroom burned into my mind, I’m scrambling to think of what to do. Whether I should tell someone. How I should tell someone. Is an anonymous note a possibility? Because you know what they say about shooting the messenger and all…
I go looking for Frederico to solve this particular moral dilemma, but when I check the nearest storage tent—holy hell, there’s the bride pressed up against one of the tables, tongue-wrestling some dude with a man bun.
I pause in shock, but there’s no mistaking her. I mean, the big white dress is a pretty major giveaway. The big white dress she’s letting Man Bun push his hands up under, all the way to her—
Yup. Something blue.
What is with these people?
You know what? I don’t want to know. Maybe they have the openest of open relationships. Maybe two really scummy people just got hitched. Either way, it’s none of my business. They seem happy enough… completely separate from each other. Who am I to interfere?
Or get in the way of my paycheck.
I backtrack, straight into a puddle of mud. Ugh. I pry my sling-backs out with a sigh.
Somehow I thought being a pro photographer was going to be a lot more glamorous than this. I guess that’s what I get for putting my career dreams on hold. I’ve been working as an executive assistant for the past few years; I always told myself it was temporary, but one day, I took a look around and realized my dreams weren’t any closer than when I graduated. I took the plunge, quit my day job… And now I’m stuck at the bottom of the ladder starting over again. One rung at a time.
But there are some benefits along the way. My gaze falls on the catering tent, and my stomach lets out an almighty rumble. I skipped lunch to get out here almost-on-time, and everyone is busy stuffing their faces under the main awning. Nobody wants photographs of themselves with a mouthful of steak, so maybe this is the perfect moment to sneak tasty little snack.
I slink over and peek past the draped lengths of sparkly gauze. The servers are still whisking out the hot food, but there’s a big spread of drool-worthy desserts just waiting on one of the tables. My stomach gets louder. I slip past the gauze and snag a chocolate cupcake.
The buttercream icing melts in my mouth. Fuck, that is a perfect mouth-gasm right there. I gulp it down and look at the table again. The lemon ones look irresistible too.
You’re never supposed to eat just one cupcake, right?
I’m just raising my second illicit treat to my lips when a man ducks into the tent. “Busted!”
I freeze. The guy laughs. “Sorry, you just looked so guilty. Mmm, chocolate…” he strolls over, grabs a cake, and shoots me a smile so warm I’m surprised the icing doesn’t melt in my hand.
Speaking of drool-worthy? Exhibit A is right in front of me. With that tawny hair and the sexy hint of scruff on his square jaw, he looks like Chris Pine in that tux, only twice as hot.
Where the hell did he come from, and can I get a first class ticket there?
“Relax,” he grins, with a low rich voice that could melt all sorts of other things. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He winks, and licks the frosting right off the top in a way that should be illegal. “So, who are you hiding from?”
“I’m not hiding,” I protest. “Well, maybe just a little. I’m supposed to be shooting the happy couple, but—“ I stop myself, realizing just in time that I was planning to be discreet.
But Mr. Hunky Pants is clearly in on the secret, because he gives me a sympathetic grin. “But they’re off busy with their friends?”
“You know about that?” I ask, relieved. “What’s with these people?!”
“Hey, it takes all kinds,” he shrugs, devouring another dessert. “I heard that sometimes, they even share.”
I choke on my cupcake. He laughs, and passes me a glass of champagne. I gulp it down, my eyes streaming. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. I was never here.”
“Excellent strategy,” he agrees. “Just as long as you promise not to tell the bride’s mother you saw me.”
It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Have you been getting into trouble?”
“Not exactly. More trying to stay out of it. Mrs. Collingwood is very determined to set me up with a date. Which I wouldn’t necessarily have a problem with, except she seems to be aiming to set me up with her.” He makes a face.
I have to laugh. “Oh, poor you,” I tease. “So many women throwing themselves at you, you have to run and hide.”
“Hey,” he protests, grinning. “I enjoy women throwing themselves at me, if they’re the right women.” He gives me a quick onceover. “You, for example, are welcome to give it a try.”
“Tempting,” I keep my tone light, even as the devil on my shoulder swoons. “But I’m here for business, not pleasure.”
“Personally I don’t see anything wrong with mixing the two,” he keeps smiling, “It always works out just fine for me.”
Sure it does. But I used to work for the wealthiest playboy in the city. If this guy thinks he’s going to bowl me over with a grin and a swagger, he’s in for a surprise.
Although I’d kind of like him to keep trying.
“I’m Max, by the way,” he says, offering the hand that’s not occupied with a cupcake.
I take it, ignoring the heat from his firm grip. “Hallie. Assistant photographer for the day.”
“What a day, isn’t it? I thought the priest was going to have a nervous breakdown by the time the flower girl made it down the aisle.”
“That’s nothing,” I smile. “The wedding I shot last month, the guy officiating answered his own call for objections, got down on bended knee, and asked the bride if she’d marry him instead.”
Max snorts, which he somehow makes sound attractive, as he nearly chokes on his cupcake. “You’re joking.”
“Nuh-uh. The worst part—or best, if we’re going for entertainment value—is she actually seemed to consider it before she turned him down. And then they still let him do the ceremony! If I were wagering, I’d give that couple three months tops.”
“Okay,” Max says, “but I bet you’ve never been to a wedding where the father of the bride got so drunk during the reception he stripped naked and dove into the wedding cake.”
This time, both my eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of company do you keep, exactly?”
“Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that. I get around.” His smile turns slightly wolfish.
“I bet you do.” I give him a l
ook, but he just laughs.
“So, what do you say we blow this joint?” he asks. “Go have ourselves some fun.”
“Didn’t you hear the part where I said I’m working?” I counter, as that devil on my shoulder has a nervous breakdown. “I can’t just bail.”
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes. Of course, a man in a designer tux and ten-thousand dollar watch wouldn’t care about a little thing like a paycheck.
“Oh, come on,” Max leans closer, and the heat of his body washes over me. I swear I feel my panties dampening just like that. “Live a little.”
I pause. It’s been too long since I did something crazy, and he is the hottest thing I’ve seen in, well, ever…
Do it, my devil whispers. Do it twice, and then again in the morning.
I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly, a shrill voice carries from beyond the tent.
“Max? Oh Maxie-boy!”
Max stiffens. “Damn,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s found me.”
“Persistent, is she?” I murmur, stifling a giggle. “You’d almost think you were a real catch or something.”
Footsteps rustle. A sinewy hand pushes the sparkly gauze aside. I catch a glimpse of a gaunt, haughty face topped by an up-do that would make Marge Simpson proud, and then Max is cupping my jaw, pulling my face to his.
He kisses me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Hot and slow, his mouth seductively easing my lips open. Hello. A shiver of pleasure races through me as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me right up against his solid body. Yep, he’s all muscle under that suit. Muscles I suddenly find myself really, really wanting to run my hands all over. For research’s sake, obviously.
There’s a huff from Mrs Collingwood, and then she’s stalking away. I’m too busy seeing stars to care. Then Max lets me go, and I realize we’re alone again. He grins at me, a spark dancing in blue-gray eyes.
“There,” he says. “That should throw her off the scent. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks for the help.”
He gives me a quick salute, then saunters out of the tent as if nothing all that important just happened.
