“Do you think having your hands on her every time I come to see you will make me believe you two aren’t pulling something?” His father’s voice hit her like a bucket of ice water, and she stiffened, even though she tried to stay relaxed. “You won’t get the shares until you’re married, son. How far are you willing to go with this farce?”
The tired version of Camden reappeared, and he rested his forehead on hers for a moment and whispered, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later.”
She nodded, and he dropped a kiss on her nose before moving down the hall to join his father and vanish into the study.
Legs gone weak, she allowed herself to slide down the wall until she sat with her face buried in her hands.
She could do this. She’d made it this far and she could keep up the act…but the text message she’d read with her coffee that morning meant time was running out fast.
I saw you on the TV. We need to make a new deal or I’m coming for her.
She’d only read the words once, but they ran a repeating loop in her mind.
If only she could tell Camden. He could handle blackmail, probably win where Jeanie only managed to use stall tactic after tactic. Sadly, though, he wasn’t her fiancé and couldn’t be called upon to fix a family problem.
Her father, a hero, had taught her that family took care of family above all else.
For the first time since he’d died, she wished she could ignore his advice and just do what felt good—crumple into Camden’s arms, enjoy wild monkeysex until she walked bowlegged, and leave the problems of Kaycee to…
But that was the crux. Kaycee didn’t have anyone but Jeanie. Letting the wish go, like dandelion fluff on the wind, Jeanie forced herself to her feet to dress up for a ball.
Chapter Nine
Camden never drank heavily, preferring to keep his head and wits clear.
Except tonight. He wondered, gazing into the amber fluid in his tumbler, how much alcohol exactly it would take to wash her out of his mind, even for a while. Through the shifting fluid, she appeared, a wavering image in a gown as green as her eyes, spinning on the dance floor.
With a gulp, he emptied the glass and set it on the tray of a passing waiter. Long game, he understood. Planning, plotting, letting the pieces come into place before he made a move—none of that grated on his nerves normally.
Then again, he’d only known Jeanie for a few days. If he’d met her sooner, he felt quite certain she would have taught him the fine art of frustration long ago. Squinting, he forced his eyes to focus on the man who danced so expertly with his planned wife.
Lowe. Always Lowe. He should fire him. He could. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he considered how hard Lowe would be to replace.
He sensed the figure approaching moments before the carefully modulated tone of her voice invaded his introspection. “I thought this whole thing was a farce, meant to hide the fact I cheated on you. Considering you’re green with jealousy, I’m wondering if you strayed and weren’t nearly as concerned about my indiscretions as I assumed.”
Facing Tasha, he tilted his head and raised his brows. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but it’s rude to lie.”
“Always the clever retort, right, darling?” The champagne flute resembled the woman holding it—narrow, elegant, fragile looking. Long, jet black hair hung in a blanket of darkness around her tanned and sculpted shoulders, the silk of her skin enhanced by the ruby red of her gown. She looked up at him, her eyes so dark that they glittered like polished onyx.
His gaze swung away from her, seeking the vibrant light of Jeanie.
Tasha, not a fan of being ignored, leaned into his arm, and tendrils of her scent snaked around him. “Do you think she cares that you’re gazing at her like some lost puppy dog while she glides in the arms of your best friend? Maybe she’s figured out that Lowe is everything you can’t possibly be—open, dashing, willing to risk his heart for the sake of love…” Trailing off, Tasha stroked his arm—petting him, really.
He should leave her side, go outside. Maybe get some air.
Instead, he contemplated her perfect cheekbones. “Love is a myth, and we both know that, so I have no clue why you’re throwing that in my face. She’s not like you, Tasha. She’s not like either of us.”
“Hmm, you’re rather attached, aren’t you?”
“She’s my fiancée.”
“So was I, and I’m still wearing the ring to prove it.” The hand wearing the band in question stroked his cheek, nails scraping lightly as Tasha’s lips curled in a smile.
“So, hi, I’m Jeanie and who in the hell are you?”
He couldn’t restrain a smile as he turned to his beloved pretend fiancé standing before them. He captured Tasha’s wrist and regarded the curvy blonde turned fire-breathing dragon.
“Jeanie, Tasha. Tasha, Jeanie. There, now that we’ve done introductions—” He lifted a hand, signaling the waiter, who obediently supplied more whiskey. “Cheers.”
He chugged it, reveled in the burn scraping its way down his throat, and waited for the wave of warmth to follow.
“We’re going home,” Jeanie stated, then turned to Lowe who—bastard—looked quite amused by the tableau of too many brides for only one groom. “Lowe, can you call a car around? He’s not driving.”
“Home?” Fighting to hold back a laugh, Camden reached for another drink. “Do you know where that is, little one?”
Jeanie didn’t answer, and Tasha didn’t back down. The idea of the two facing off didn’t disturb him as it seemed it should, making him wonder if he’d drunk more of the whiskey than he’d realized. Scratching his cheek, he noticed numbness in his face, then wondered if his face or his hand had lost feeling. Maybe someone had poisoned him?
Tasha, dark hair a tumbling sea of night, stroked his arm, and he wondered if he should pull her closer or leave.
Jeanie decided it for him. Her fingers caught his and the little electric zing just touching her awakened seemed amplified at the contact. He turned to her and met her green gaze. “You look worried. Why do you look worried?”
“Aside from the fact I’m at a so-called ball with the handsome prince and he’s shitfaced? And that I’m trying to think of a way to get you past the press without them seeing you hammered? No worries, Camden. I got this one.”
He didn’t resist the siren’s call of her flesh, instead tangled his fingers in her hair and stroked her cheek. “This doesn’t count for the bet.”
She snorted. The inelegant sound, coming from her while she wore a green gown and her fiancée façade, cracked him up. “Oh, now he’s laughing. C’mon, lover boy.”
“You’ve not seen me really do my lover boy impersonation, little fiancée. Let me show you.” His hand might not work right, but his lips did, seeking hers as they had repeatedly over the last few days. Her mouth answered his, demanding even as he tugged her closer. He trailed the kiss until he could capture her earlobe in his teeth, a move he’d learned caused the most delicious shudder to ripple through her temptingly curvy body, and he whispered, “I can show you so much, Jeanie. Let’s pretend, just for a moment.”
She didn’t pull away, so he swept her into his arms, only slightly wobbling because of the warm fog of alcohol clouding his mind. “Oh, the press will love this,” she whispered. “Especially if you drop me.”
“I won’t drop you. Let them take pictures. Princes are supposed to carry off maidens now and again. It’s in all the books.” The feel of her, all warmth and rounded curves in his arms, tempted him to move faster. Making it to the doors, cool air smacked into him like a wall, helping to clear some of the cobwebs.
The flash of photographers lit the way to the car, where Lowe stood by the door, a look of shocked horror clear on his normally impassive face. “Dear lord, Cam, how am I supposed to spin this one?”
Camden shrugged, not willing to release his armful. Instead, he sat her in the car, ignored her sigh as she dove for the waiting darkness, and clapped a hand on his best friend’s shoulde
r. “Frankly, Lowe, I don’t give a damn.”
With that, and the sound of laughter rumbling out of the gathered crowd of media, he joined Jeanie in the car.
“Well, I don’t know how you’re going to explain this one, but I guess—”
He slid his hand back into her hair. He didn’t want to talk to her. They’d talked for days. He wanted that full lower lip between his teeth, her arms around his neck, and he wasn’t willing to wait to get home.
Frozen, she gazed up at him with her crystal green eyes, not revealing a thing about what she thought.
As usual.
“No one can see us, well, except the driver. What are you doing?” She whispered the words, as if she feared someone might overhear.
“For a second, let’s pretend,” he answered. Rubbing his nose against hers, he used his free hand to stroke the length of her arm, bared by the gown. “I need to see something.”
“Camd—” He took her lips, silencing her. At first, she didn’t move, simply allowing him to taste her lips. Patient, he tested her resolve, using nibbles he’d practiced for an audience.
Her fingertips, light as a butterfly, touched his cheek, and he leaned back enough to see her. “This is a horrible idea. If you weren’t drunk—”
“Blame the drink. Imagine someone is watching. Whatever, just for a moment, pretend with me.” He didn’t know why it suddenly seemed so important, but he had to know. Had to feel.
Slanting his mouth across hers, he released all the pent up desire touching her wakened. He swallowed her soft cry and tried to fill the emptiness with the taste of her.
Chapter Ten
No girl dreams of Prince Charming getting hammered at a ball and carrying her off to a limo to try to make out. Even knowing that, she couldn’t quite push him away. He asked her to pretend, but she didn’t have to. He’d been seducing her since he swept her into a kiss in his office, constantly in her space, smelling like sin and tasting like—
Whiskey. He tasted like whiskey, and his brain probably fermented in the stuff. She couldn’t take advantage of the fact the man had gotten sloshed, seen his ex…
“Wait.”
He stopped, the pressure of her hand touching his chest enough to end the kiss. “You suck at pretend. I thought all kids learned this game?”
Choking out a laugh, she straightened his jacket, allowing herself a bit more leash than normal since he was blitzed and likely wouldn’t remember. “I know seeing Tasha probably—”
“Tasha?” He looked genuinely confused, all tired man with tender eyes and no mogul Camden in his expression. “What does Tasha have to do with this?”
She rolled her eyes. The woman was stunning. Big boobs, tiny waist…if Barbie had a skinny Italian twin, Tasha would be that plastic figure. “Look, let’s not lie about this. I’m not blind. She’s beautiful. I’m—”
Normal. Not part of your world. From the call center.
Any number of answers died while he continued to give her his full azure regard.
“Not Tasha,” she finished, realizing how lame the comparison was.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
She smacked him, which earned his lightning fast grin. “I think we both know what I meant.”
“Look.” He punctuated the word with a single kiss to the inside of her wrist. She tried, and failed, not to react. His seduction skills far outclassed her resistance ones, so the best she could do was to keep still. “I carried you out.”
“Yes, well, although I appreciate your drunken caveman—”
“Stop talking.” He licked slowly up her arm, then stopped at her elbow. “I’m telling you something important.” He provided a slow lingering kiss at the bend of her arm, and she shuddered out a breath.
Keep still. Don’t move.
“Okay.” Her voice came out breathy, or maybe her heart beat so hard she couldn’t hear right. Whichever.
“I know who you are, Jeanie.” His nibbling mouth made it to her shoulder and she shivered.
Still mostly not moving.
His breath tickled her ear and her eyes slid closed. The scent of him, all raw man and wealth, went to her head, and she wondered, for a moment, if one could get contact-drunk.
“So will you please just relax for a single damned minute so I can figure something out?” She jerked away from him and saw his smile right before he unleashed a full tempest of need by taking her mouth in a way that didn’t ask for permission.
He claimed her lips. Claimed.
Aw, the hell with it. I’m curious. What harm can a minute or two in his arms do?
The wet heat of his mouth demanded she answer his hunger, and she didn’t have a problem coming up with a response. Somehow, her hand got lost in his hair, and then his fingers…
“Been wanting to do this.” His whisper warned her before he slipped her breast free of the top of the gown and tweaked her nipple between his fingertips. The man had clever fingers, she realized, and then his mouth joined in his exploration.
She arched into the heat of his lips, and the dim light of the limo illuminated the sight of his head bowed to her breasts, those intense eyes closed as he sucked and she shuddered, a fist of desire slamming into her with the force of a Mack truck.
“Are we still pretending?” she managed.
“Yes, but I’m going to need you over here.”
With that, he tugged her astride his lap, and her legs straddled his lean hips encased in dress slacks. “This might be going too far.” But the sight of her skirt hiked up and his shirt rumpled where she’d tugged at it stole her voice.
His eyes, normally tired or inscrutable, no longer looked even slightly sleepy, even though he gazed at her from half lidded eyes. “We’ll be home soon. Stolen moments, outside reality. We’re still fine.”
She couldn’t argue, not when his hands streaked up her thighs to capture her waist, skin against skin. “Okay, a few minutes more can’t—”
His lips found her again, tugged her into his embrace until she felt the hard ridge of him through his clothes. The sensation set off a firestorm inside her, and she gasped, but he swallowed the sound and mated their tongues.
She needed…something. Just a little more.
Unfamiliar tension coiled inside her, begged to be released from its tether. Unable to tell him, not having any words other than just telling him she’d never done anything like it before, she tried to think past the almost drugging passion he’d awakened.
It wasn’t like she could just say she was a virgin—he’d laugh, drunk or not. Eyes closed, as if she could find control by not seeing him while his hands teased at her suddenly aching mound, she whispered, “I can’t. I don’t know how.”
“You don’t—” His hands stilled for a moment, then his fingers dug into her side. “Shit. Seriously?”
She didn’t have an answer. The need sizzled away all coherent thought and replaced it with one drive. “Please,” she managed, not altogether sure what she’d asked of him.
His thumb stroked her. “Trust me, just for a moment more, Jeanie.”
She nodded, then sought his mouth and found it as he circled his thumb against her and made the coil of desire wind tighter rather than finding release. Then he moved faster, and his hips bumped into her as his finger thrummed at the wet, hot point of her need.
She arched her head away from him, then gasped as his mouth closed over her breast and drew it deep while he slipped a finger inside her. The touch seemed to fill a void, a hungry void, and she moved faster, driving her hips into his stroking hand. “That’s it, baby. Let it happen.”
A second finger joined the first, his thumb not slowing in its rhythm, and she cried out, the friction snapping her control like a rubber band stretched too far. Her thighs clenched, ripples of the wonderful feeling seeming to crest from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet.
“Camden,” she whispered.
He petted her through it, and soothing sounds and soft kisses brought her back from the ed
gy precipice. A warm glow seemed to bathe her whole body in satisfaction.
His arms wove around her and held her close to him while she tried to remember how to breathe.
“The car isn’t moving,” she finally whispered into his neck.
“Nope, it’s not.” Stroking her back, he shifted himself and sprawled a bit.
The hard ridge of him still pressed into her, and she fought a wave of embarrassment. “So, you’re not going to remember this, right? Because you’re drunk.”
His snort echoed in the silence of the car. “Yeah, I wouldn’t bet on that.”
Not sure if she should pull away or what the proper etiquette was in this sort of situation, she chewed her lip. “Did you find out whatever it was you were trying to figure out?”
His laughter jiggled her on his chest, and she sat back, surprised when the motion caused a wave of new desire to waken. Trying to put everything back in her gown, he surprised her by brushing her hands away to help. “I found out more than I planned.” He didn’t look drunk, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“This was pretend, you said so. I vote we just put it behind us.”
He gently stroked her collarbone before he slid her off his lap and adjusted her skirt. “If that’s what you have to do, Jeanie, feel free.”
“But what about—?”
His fingertip touched her lip, and she met his gaze, still unreadable in the soft lighting of the limo. “Nothing in the world will make me give up this memory. Life is full of too much I don’t care for, things I have to do whether I want to or not. The sight of you coming apart in my lap, your face as you lost all control with your lips swollen from my kiss? Not forgetting that. Shall I carry you in the house, or drop the knight with a raging hard-on routine for tonight, do you think?”
The cant of his head, the smirk, these expressions were more familiar and she breathed out, trying to rearrange her worldview. “Well, we’re not doing this again, Camden. I’m not a prostitute.”
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