by Nicole Snow
I turn slowly, taking her in while she stares up at me with those big green eyes. “It's crazy, I know. We barely know each other. Honestly, that's the point. If you want to throw off your family, this step-mom who thinks she has you backed into a corner...well, what better way to do it? We can make this as simple or as complicated as you'd like. I'm not scared. I don't care if you say no. I'm just putting it out there.”
If she's crazy, it's the beautiful, ballsy kind of insanity I'm partial to. I'm not sure whether to sweep her up in my arms, embracing the want rampaging through my blood like a bison herd, or burst out laughing.
It's absurd. It's unthinkable. It's...so damned logical in a twisted sense it just might work.
“What about you?” I ask, stepping toward her. “Is this your way of trying to make money? If it is, I'm not angry. Quite the opposite. I'm impressed. You saw a unique answer to my problem, and you're offering an out, without the complications I'd find elsewhere.”
“I mean, I'd expect some sort of compensation for my time with you. I'm well aware I'll probably have to quit my job, smile real pretty for the cameras, and dote all over you full time if we want people to buy it. Good thing I did theater through high school and college.”
Now, I'm really intrigued. She's serious.
I maneuver behind her, laying my hands on her shoulders. When I feel the sharp breath she takes rushing through her body, into my hands, I smile.
“Name your amount. If you've thought this far ahead, then surely you've got some figure in mind.” I want everything out in the open. It's strange that she still seems to be treating compensation as an afterthought.
“How about...eight hundred thousand?”
“Please, love.” I chuckle, deep and low, amusement dancing behind my heavily tattooed chest. “I could get myself a mail order bride for that price, and hope they'll sign away their rights to take me for a ride when the divorce comes.”
Her shoulders tense. She's holding something back, or else she was totally unprepared for me considering her insane proposal. My hands go to work, softly massaging her neck, eager to work out the truth.
“What's wrong? You've gotten this far, making me entertain the idea I'd take you for my make believe wife. Bring it home. Sell me on it. Tell me what you want.”
“I don't care about the money. It's not about that. You can decide what's fair, if you want to know the truth, as long as I have something to show for it if we're going to last a few months.”
“Six months. Half a year. That's ample time to see Kayla ruined in court. I think she'll have fled the country by then, after I counter-sue for wasting my time, trying to fraud my brothers and I out of our own inheritance.”
She's shaking. My brave, wonderful, sexy as hell girl is finally breaking under the weight of everything going her way. A victim of her own success.
If we're considering this, I need to know she's not going to run, surrendering to second guesses. My fingers press deeper into her skin. I bring my face down to hers, whispering in her ear.
“I'm going to need some time to think about this. I haven't said yes just yet.” I inhale deeply, my nose tucked in her hair. She smells incredible, and her scent goes straight to my balls, making them blaze. “I'm still waiting for an answer, too. What do you want out of this, if it isn't money?”
Next thing I know, something hot splashes my hand. When I sweep my thumb gently up her cheek, I see she's crying.
How the hell have I struck a nerve I didn't know was there?
“Is it fame? Is that what you're after? I can do that for you, too, Penny. With my contacts, you'll have a chance to start your own business. I can get you cast in stone downtown, make sure the entire city knows your name,” I whisper, my lips only an inch from her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“A baby, Hayden.” At first, I don't think my ears have heard her right, until she continues. “I want a donor to give me one. You're the best one I can find.”
A baby? As in soft-as-fluff, every man's nightmare when the condom breaks, round the clock screaming, napping, cooing bundle of joy baby?
Jaw, meet floor. My hands drift away. I stagger back a couple steps, trying to process what she's just said. No matter how many times I roll it over in my head, it doesn't make sense.
Did the elevator take us into an alternate universe? We've barely met, and we're already talking about insane, life changing shit.
Okay. Hold the hell up.
Yes, I was fine considering a marriage of convenience. I thought we'd have our fun, get the wicked witch off my back, and then turn Cinderella loose after a few months with a couple million for her services.
Totally reasonable.
But this baby thing...hell, I'm looking at a crazy woman. Hard for me to believe she's stark raving mad when she looks so beautiful.
“Look, I know what this sounds like,” she says quietly, standing to face me. “Truth is, all I ever wanted was a family. I've waited my whole life for Mr. Right, and I'm not going to find him on Tinder or Ok Cupid. I'm asking you to think about an even, honest exchange for both our benefit. Quid pro quo. You get your make believe wife, and I get a man who's more fit to be a donor than anything I'd find in a database.”
“Wow. You're serious,” I say, trying to stop the world from spinning. “Fuck me blind.”
She comes toward me, closer and closer, until we're face-to-face. Only inches apart, she reaches up, laying her cool little hand against my cheek. Crazy or not, she isn't backing down.
The look in her eyes says she relishes my stubble, the five o'clock shadow I can't seem to shake no matter what time of day I shave.
“You're gorgeous. You're smart. I'm guessing you're as healthy as you look. I'm not asking you to stick around and raise it, or even pay child support. I'll manage by myself. I just need your sperm.”
Hellfire screams through my balls. This is the first time a woman's ever begged for my come, and left me questioning my senses.
If it wasn't for all kinds of red flags waving in my head, I'd be listening to my inner animal, and grabbing her. I'd have her bent over, her dress thrown up over her ass and her panties torn down, pushing inside her with a mean intent to spill every drop of my come balls deep.
I have to reign it in. My calmer, rational side prevails over the need to fuck this tantalizing woman with the fiery hair sore for the next week.
“I'm going to think about this,” I say, reaching up and clenching her wrist in my hand. “You're asking for something that would clash a whole hell of a lot with a marriage that's just pretend. If I give you a baby, there's going to be feelings.”
She smiles, a new flush reddening her cheeks. “Not if we're professional.”
Again, I'm laughing. Professional...what? Husband and wife? Complete with family?
All on a lie?
This girl should find a back up career in comedy with a focus on the absurd. “And how the hell do you propose we do that?” I'm humoring her anyway.
“I didn't say you'd have to sleep with me to be my donor. Anything that happens between us, whatever, maybe we can't stop nature from taking it's course. But I'm going to try.” She wriggles out of my grasp, planting both hands on my chest, and pushing gently until the distance between us grows. “I don't want sex, Hayden, although part of me wants it very much. It's a terrible idea, and I think you know that, if we're really going through with any of this. I'm asking for a baby, however many donations it takes to get it done. If we have to do this with you, a cup, and a turkey baster, that's the way it's going to be.”
“Didn't think you had it in you to put business over pleasure, love.” I've never had a hard-on die so fast, knowing she's hellbent on making sure it never ends up inside her. “Not sure I believe you. Tell me you don't want it natural, and this time, look me in the face.”
My hand cups her chin. I tilt her sweet face up until we're gazing into each other's eyes. Then I see the sadness invading her features again. Part of me goes rotten with guilt.
Damn it all. As much as I want to bed this woman, baby making or not, I'm not going to press it if it causes tears. I'm a gentleman first, however many times I've had my fun doing very ungentlemanly things.
She's silent. This mouse has clearly had enough of the cat's claws poking and prodding its fur.
“Forget it,” I say, before her lips open. My thumb goes there, right in the middle, as close as I'm going to get to kissing her before the photo ops for our wedding farce. Assuming we go through with this madness, anyway. “Let's both take the night, and sleep on it. Text me when you've made up your mind. I'll walk you out.”
She's quiet, reaching up to brush away another escaping tear when she thinks I'm not looking. “Maybe you're right, Hayden. I'm starting to realize how crazy this sounds. Sorry for ruining your evening. I never should've laid it on you like this. God, you must think I'm completely ridiculous. Is it too late to forget everything?”
I don't say anything until we're back on the ground floor. Leading her out into the lobby, I keep my hand on her back, gentle and firm.
They recognize me at the front desk as soon as I step up. I say a few words requesting a car for Ms. Silvers, and then I'm guiding her outside. It'll take a few minutes for someone to pull around to pick her up.
“Sleep on it. Just like I told you before. I'm not forgetting anything we said this evening, Penny.” Her eyes catch mine. They won't let go. “I'm going to think about everything we said very carefully, weigh the options, the risks, and the outcomes. I suggest you do the same.”
“Really? You don't think you're staring at a crazy person?”
“I think I see someone who's considering extreme options because, for whatever reason, she doesn't have a choice. When it comes to my dad's estate, and everything I've worked for, neither do I. We're more alike than you think, love. If that makes us crazy, then let's get matching straitjackets.”
She smiles. Perfect timing as her car pulls around. Whatever happens after the strangest ninety minutes of my life tonight, I want to send her off on a good note. I don't know what's eating at her, begging me to breed her like a dog, when she could have a good man to go along with her family. She's got the looks for it.
Whatever it is, it must be serious. I'm going to think about the proposals on the table, just like I said, and I'm also going to have Reed run a background check. Two can play the snooping game.
“You're a good man, Hayden,” she says, rounding her way to the car. The driver gets out and opens the door for her. I watch her ass bobbing through the blood red dress, so thick, perfect, and succulent my palm burns, aching to come down hard on both cheeks.
“Careful. If you'd done a little more research, you'd know I'm not much for virtue.” I turn away, heading back into my building before she can say anything.
It's going to be a long damned night. The dilemma facing me sounds like torture, regardless which way it goes.
I'm going to marry this girl, put my kid in her one way or another, and then watch the wife and family I never thought I'd have disappear as soon as it isn't convenient for us.
Or else I'm going to lose the family fortune, plus the business I've dedicated my entire life to. I'll leave her swinging in the wind, without an easy answer to her problems.
Worst of all, I still have this damned hard-on in my pants I just can't shake. It's going to be whiskey tonight and my dominant hand.
No other pussy will do when I've got Penny stuck on the brain.
If I can't fuck this girl for real, then at least I'll have her in my fantasies.
Resistance. Push and pull. That's something Hayden Shaw hasn't had for a very long time, and it makes the chase I've only begun a hundred times more interesting.
5
Signed in Gold (Penny)
He asked me to sleep on it, but I don't do very much of that.
I feel like the world's biggest idiot for going up to the top of his fortress, and emotionally barfing all over myself. I'm lucky he didn't laugh me out the door.
He's humoring me. Right?
There's no sane reason a man like Hayden Shaw, a freaking billionaire, should want anything more to do with me. Oh, except for his inheritance problem. But it feels like a gun someone has pressed to his head, forcing him to consider my crazy suggestion.
My phone also feels like a loaded weapon. My fingers drift over the text app, wanting to message him, to apologize for everything one more time. The rest of me wants to ask him if it's still on the table.
There's no time to do anything when the exhaustion overwhelms me, and I drift off to sleep, my shameful diary tucked safely in my purse at the end of the bed. I wake up the next morning, earlier than I'd ever want to on a Saturday, listening to someone pounding at my door.
“Coming!” I throw on my robe and almost trip over Murphy on the way out. He meows, rubbing my ankles, hoping the fact that I'm up now means an earlier breakfast, too.
I swear, if it's someone soliciting, I'm going to lose it. Jerking the door open, I come face-to-face with an older, balding man with a nice pea coat over a suit and tie. “Hello, my name is Reed. I'm Mr. Shaw's personal assistant, and he's sent me to pick you up.”
“What?” I do a slow blink. “But I haven't decided anything?”
“He told me you'd probably say that. Doesn't matter. He wants to talk to you again in person, preferably over breakfast at his place.”
Sighing, I hold the door open, waving him inside. “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. I'm not going anywhere before I've had a shower and slipped on something decent.”
“No hurry. He's cleared his morning schedule just for you, Ms. Silvers.”
Lucky me.
Scrambling around the bedroom for my last clean skirt and blouse, I head into the bathroom and shower quickly. The soap slips through my fingers and hits the tub several times. I can't stop thinking about Hayden.
Arrogant, demanding, won't-stop-teasing-me Hayden, cut with his CEO good looks and brilliant blue eyes. I have to fight to keep my hands above my waist, remembering how good his stubble felt against my palm yesterday.
Frankly, every inch of that man feels amazing when it's on me. His hands were incredible on my shoulders, my waist, even when I wanted to curl into a ball and die from embarrassment.
He's left me confused, wanting, and very, very wet.
I don't know how we're going to do anything without fucking. I'm fooling myself if I think I can bury this attraction. Maybe if I hang onto just enough virgin prudishness to keep our business strictly professional, I'll survive.
Sending Reed here doesn't even feel like an intrusion by the time I'm out, toweled off, and drying my hair. The bastard knows what I want better than I do myself, assuming he doesn't want to see me for some other reason.
He knows I'm about to be his wife.
He knows he's going to father my child.
He knows we're crazy desperate, or just fucking crazy, to be considering two things so far outside the norm I'm having a hard time comprehending them.
He knew I'd say yes, and so would he, before I knew it myself.
Quid pro quo. I'm going to save his inheritance, and he's going to cure my baby fever. I don't know if it's a match made in heaven or hell, but we're about to find out.
Reed doesn't say much on the drive in. Neither do I. My hands are pressed tightly in my lap, watching the Chicago skyline swallow us up, a bold November sun cutting through the somber grey.
The valet parks in one of the reserved slots in the garage. I've heard they sell for at least five hundred dollars per month, though I doubt this one is ever on the market, close to its own private entrance.
Next thing I know, I'm on the elevator again, heading up far beyond my office. Reed leads me down a long corridor flanked with gold, marble, and palm trees. It looks like I'm in a high end Vegas penthouse, rather than the same building I work out of in downtown Chicago.
“Go right in,” Reed says with a smile, opening a glass door for m
e, so dark it doesn't show anything on the other side. “He's just finishing his workout, I believe.”
He has an entire gym to himself. It's just as well, I guess. If he was caught working out in a public place, I'm certain every woman in sight would come to a dead stop just to stare at him.
That's what I'm doing the instant I see him. I freeze, locked in place, gawking at the tall, muscular, and densely tattooed feast before my eyes.
He's lost his shirt. There's nothing on him except trunks and a pair of gloves, all the protection he needs while his hands slam into the heavy punching bag dangling from the ceiling like hammers.
Jagged stripes arc down his shoulders, more like lightning than something a tiger would wear, unless maybe God himself decided to re-do tigers after a few espressos.
His muscles ripple every time his fists slam into the big black slab in front of him. He circles it quickly, landing his blows. It's 360 degrees of hard, masculine, inked perfection.
Flexing. Sweating. Grunting when his fists plow deep in the material. Turning my panties into mush faster than anything else ever has before ten o'clock in the morning.
It takes me clearing my throat before he looks up, sees me, and flashes a pained grin. He backs off the punching bag, easing back toward the wall, leaning while he catches his breath. Like everything else in his life, he doesn't hold anything back when it comes to these workouts.
“Funny. I'd have pegged you for weight lifting more than aerobics,” I say, breaking the ice. It's a little awkward letting my mind run wild when I'm staring at the hottest man, spent and sweaty.
Not very different from how he looks after he's taken his girls to bed.
“Used to cage fight,” he says, standing up very straight. “Had to ease off it when I went into business full time. Nobody takes you seriously when you walk into conferences with a busted lip or a black eye. I kept the training routine, though. It's a hell of a workout, and great for discipline.”
