by Penny Wylder
She flattens her lips for a moment. “No. But I might have.”
I laugh and then smile at the waitress, who flashes me a wink when she thinks Dee isn’t looking and disappears to go place our orders.
“Does everybody do that around you?” Dee asks. “Or just pretty women?”
“Do what?” I ask with a grin.
“Give you whatever you want.”
“Hmm. Some pretty women do.” I study her for a long moment, making sure to let my gaze drop to the neckline of her gown. “Others are more withholding. Less open to adventure and exploration.”
She groans. “I just don’t want things to get complicated.”
“We’re faking an elopement. Things are already complicated.”
“Well, any more complicated, then.”
“Some things are worth complicating.” I wink.
“I hate when you do that,” she complains.
“You don’t like winking?”
“No, I don’t like when you… make me…” She groans. “Why am I second-guessing myself? Why are you so damned… you?” She waves a hand in my general direction.
“If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the only distracted one.”
Her cheeks flare, if possible, redder than ever before. “Great. So we both have bad judgment.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Unless there’s something about you I don’t know.” I tilt my head to one side, grinning. “Some horrible secret that would make you unmarriageable.”
“You mean besides the fact that I agreed to marry a guy for money and a letter of recommendation for college?” She bursts into laughter, which only gets worse when the waitress appears at our table, eyes huge enough to indicate that she must have overheard at least part of our conversation.
“A private joke,” I explain as I slide my hand across the table to take Dee’s once more.
She lets me, and continues to hold on after the waitress departs. I trace my thumb over the back of her hand in slow circles, marveling at how soft and smooth her skin is. How perfect and unmarred.
“I’ve never been in love,” she says, unbidden.
My eyebrows shoot upward. “Are you faking the break-up already, because that doesn’t come until after the faux honeymoon, you know.”
“No, I mean…” She flushes. Damn. It’s distracting as fuck when she blushes like that. Especially when she tilts her head to one side and chews on her lip, as she’s doing now, eyes downcast, like she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to tighten my grip on her hand. Drag her across this table and into my lap. “You asked what makes me unmarriageable. I’ve never been in love before. I don’t even know if I’m capable of it. I mean, I like sex, don’t get me wrong—”
“Thank God for that,” I interrupt, though I have to admit, hearing her say the word sex makes my already tight pants uncomfortably tighter. I’ve imagined that too much, too many times already, for it not to go straight to my head—my southern head.
She laughs, and flashes me a look that’s half-glare, half something else. Something underneath that feigned annoyance that looks a whole lot like the same desire curling through my body. “But I’ve never felt more. All that romantic stuff you’re supposed to feel. The stuff my parents felt.”
I know that feeling. “Sounds to me like you just haven’t met the right person yet.” I lift one shoulder, let it drop.
She scrunches up her forehead. “Or the right person for me doesn’t exist.”
“Now, now.” I lean forward and catch her under the chin with two fingers. Tilt her head back until her eyes snap to mine. “There is definitely somebody for you, my dear. Face like yours?” I search it. Commit it to memory. Her eyes, too, the way they widen now and catch the light, little perfect pools of blue that someone you could lose yourself in far too easily. She’s dangerous. It makes me want her more. “I’m surprised there isn’t already a line out the door, waiting for you to take your pick of suitors.”
For a breath, she doesn’t move, eyes locked on mine. Her lips parts, just a hair, and I start to lean toward her.
Then the waitress reappears with our food, and she snaps back to the present, leans away from me, head bent so her hair tumbles forward out of its hold and disguises her face. “I’m not the kind of girl guys chase,” she murmurs to her plate. “I’m more of the best friend type. The one who encourages them to chase the girl they really want.”
“Hmm.” I lean back in my chair and study her, not even bothering to pick up my fork yet. I’m not interested in the food anymore, even though this is one of my favorite restaurants around. Right now, she’s all I see. “If you ask me, those guys are blind, then.”
She laughs, and her face lights up with it, and I realize… I’m in trouble here.
5
Dee
I force Jasper to sleep on the couch.
Well, force is a strong word. More like, we get back from dinner, my head dizzy from his stares, his compliments, and the food, which tasted better than anything I think I’ve ever put in my mouth before. Anything except Jasper’s tongue, my unhelpful subconscious points out.
And then I made a beeline straight for the bedroom and shut the door between us. Just in case he got any ideas about bidding me goodnight, I locked it for good measure.
It’s the honeymoon suite, far too enormous for its own good, so there’s a full en suite bathroom out in the living room anyway. And even though I locked my pitiable overnight back out there with Jasper, there’s more than enough supplies scattered throughout the honeymoon suite to tide me over for the night. I brush my teeth with the hotel’s toothbrush, wash my face with their soap—which is nicer than the dollar store stuff I packed, and put on one of the hotel’s cozy nightgowns. The one with the Mrs. stitched over the lapel. For a moment, I smile at it in the mirror, thinking of the joke Jasper would make.
Then I chide myself. Why am I still thinking about him?
Why have I been thinking about him, nonstop, every day at the office hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of him, then lighting up every time he texts me. All week he’s been stuck in my damn head, ever since that disastrous kiss after we went racing around the test track last week.
Disastrous… and impossible to forget.
He kisses like he’s dying of thirst, and I’m an oasis. He kisses like he’d like to drown in me, and I’ve never been kissed like that before, not by anybody.
I meant what I told him at dinner—I’ve never fallen in love. I don’t even know if I can. But the last thing I want to do right now is to develop real feelings for the guy I’m pretending to be married to for work. So even though I spent the last week dreaming about what I’d do alone in a hotel room with Jasper—or rather, dreaming about what he could do to me, with those big, strong hands of his, and that chiseled, perfectly sculpted body… Not to mention the sizable cock I’ve glimpsed through his jeans when I surprised him in his office and realized he must have been doing some daydreaming of his own.
God, think about how that thing would feel between my thighs right now, with me spread-eagled across the bed, him poised over me, those hooded, dark eyes studying me, drinking me in, like he did all throughout dinner…
I shove that thought to the back of my mind and stay in my bedroom alone instead.
I do, however, slide a hand down my panties while I think about him out there on the couch. I imagine joining him. Throwing caution to the wind and complicating the fuck out of this situation. I think about his lips on mine, his hand where mine is now, spreading the lips of my wet pussy and pressing between the folds, delving into me again and again, his finger thicker than mine, moving faster, harder, enough to make me cry out in delight—
Shit. I freeze, heart pounding, chest heaving, fingers still inside my wet, hot, clenched pussy. Because I just did just that. Screamed out loud.
I hold still, hold my breath, and listen through the pounding in my ears for any sound from the othe
r room. Did he hear that? Does he know what I’m doing in here and why?
Finally, after far too many minutes of waiting, I decide he must already be asleep. Thank God.
Only then do I push off the bed and head for the shower. I turn the handle all the way to cold, and only warm it up once the icy water has washed up away any remaining fantasies and desires. But at last, when I do turn in, sleep eludes me. I stare at the ceiling, and my mind just keeps drifting back to the same spot. Back to the temptation I know I need to resist…
* * *
Over breakfast, Jasper keeps shooting me sly smiles. “You look lovely this morning,” he says, in a way that instantly makes me suspicious.
“Don’t know why; I barely slept,” I mumble through a mouthful of scalding hot tea. I wince and set the cup back down to give it more time to cool off.
“No?” He lifts a brow. “I always found the beds here comfortable. That is, unless you were… distracted.”
My face feels hot. “What on earth would I have to be distracted about?”
He shrugs one shoulder, casual. “Maybe you were in there regretting locking me out. Missing all the sleep we could have been avoiding together.”
This time, I gulp too much tea to disguise my reaction, even though I’m sure my face gives me away. Jasper laughs. Bastard. But he’s right, of course. “Oh, so you weren’t fantasizing about me out there on the couch all alone?” I lift a brow.
His smirk only widens. “So you admit you were thinking about me.”
I roll my eyes. Damn him. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was definitely thinking about you.” His hand brushes my knee under the table, lightly, and I jump at the sudden shock of his touch. “Thinking about my sexy little wife, and that blush she gets on her face, and the way she chews her lower lip—yes, just like that.” He winks.
I stop biting my lip and glare instead.
“Mm. I wonder which face is closer to the expression you’d make if I were making you come?”
Now my jaw drops open entirely. “Jasper—”
“I mean, I already know what you sound like when you orgasm, after last night.”
I close my eyes and snap my mouth closed again too. Dammit. “I was just… it… that…”
“Don’t feel embarrassed, Dee. I was doing the same thing, you know.” He catches my eye, his own dark and serious. “Thinking about you last night at dinner. Thinking about peeling that dress off your tight little body, and watching you ride my big cock while I fucked you on the couch. That’s what I was thinking. What about you?”
His words go straight to my pussy. My belly tightens, and I can already feel myself growing damp between the legs. I struggle to contain my breathing, to keep my heart from racing. The waiter walks by, and I seize on that distraction, flag him down for a refill of tea, which buys me enough time to somewhat recover.
“Can we have some breakfast menus?” I ask the waiter, all the while fixing Jasper with a pointed stare. “That’s what I’ve been unable to stop thinking about all night. Breakfast.”
“Um… Sure thing, miss,” the waiter says, only after a confused glance between us.
Jasper’s still smirking at me, damn him. But he doesn’t say anything, only turns his attention to the menu, and behaves himself for the rest of our morning meal. At least until we leave for the car. Then he rests his hand on the small of my back, his skin warm against mine. I jump a little, then relax into the touch, smiling at the hotel attendees we pass, as I remember the charade we’re supposed to be maintaining right now.
“No need to look so concerned,” he murmurs beside my ear. “Your obvious attraction to me does us favors in this case.”
I sigh in response, though I can’t resist biting my lip and shooting him a long sideways glance. “You’re more attractive when you don’t admit to knowing it so much,” I point out in response, which earns me a chuckle from him.
He steers me out to the car, which is just as impressive as it was the first time I laid eyes on it. Part of me still can’t believe this is my life—riding around in luxury vehicles with the son of the magnate who makes them. And getting paid to pretend to be his wife, part of my brain points out. An unhelpful part.
In town, we stroll hand-in-hand through the winding little streets. It’s adorable here, like something straight out of a movie set. I fall in love with the charming little seaside cafés and shops interspersed between them. Part of me wants to beg Jasper to stop in one of those stores to browse the cutesy little ocean-themed souvenirs—I’m a sucker for seashells. But I resist the urge. Today we’re on a mission.
“So. Engagement rings.” Jasper cuts me a sideways glance. “What’s your style? Vintage, modern, something gaudy or flashy?”
“I… I don’t know. I’ve never really given it much consideration.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot, the whole never been in love thing. Never daydreamed about your wedding either?”
I shake my head. “Not really the type.”
“At least that will make our elopement story more believable.” He winks and leads me by the hand into a jewelry store that looks fancier than any place I’ve ever bothered to set foot inside. I know I’d never be able to afford even the smallest piece of jewelry in a place like this, so why bother?
Still, I can’t help but admit, it is beautiful. We cross the broad, sunlit lobby, a skylight shining down above us, and an attendee crosses the floor to assist us. “What can I do for you today?” he asks with a broad smile.
“We’re shopping for a ring for the lovely lady here,” Jasper answers, leaning down to kiss my temple. I notice he lingers there a second, lips against my skin, and I can’t help closing my eyes in pleasure. “We’re getting married next weekend, so it needs to be one on short-order.”
“Of course, of course.” The attendee’s face positively lights up. “Right this way, and I’ll show you the selection we have in stock. Do you know your ring size, Ms. …?” He waits, expectant, and I realize he’s waiting for my name.
“Oh, Dee. Hi.”
“Ms. Dee.” He smiles. “And the lucky husband-to-be?”
“Jasper,” he replies. “Jasper Quint.”
Neither of us can miss the startled, then even more pleased look that chases its way across the jeweler’s face. I can already imagine the dollar signs that must be popping up in his imagination. “Well, Mr. Quint, Ms. Dee—”
“Just Dee, thanks,” I interrupt. “And no, I don’t know my ring size.”
“Let’s just get you sized right over here then.” He leads us into a side room, sumptuously decorated. With a single gesture, he magically summons several other attendants, one bearing a tray of cookies, another with pots of tea and coffee. I accept a cookie, then watch Jasper wave them off, saying “No thank you, we just ate.”
Embarrassed, I try to replace the cookie on the tray, but he catches me and rolls his eyes. “Don’t stand on ceremony with me, darling. If you want the cookie, eat the cookie.”
I shrug and take a larger-than-is-strictly-ladylike bite in response. Then my eyes flutter closed in pleasure. Oh God. Even the cookies in this place are amazing. What do they do, partner with a bakery?
“My wife makes those,” the attendant explains, with a grin in my direction. “Best chocolate cookies in Newholme, if you ask me.”
“Oh, they are.” I finish it off in one more bite, and Jasper laughs.
“Sweet tooth, huh? Good to know.”
“What are you, taking notes?” I shoot back at him.
“Maybe.” Jasper grins at me. “It’s best to know all of your preferences. Speaking of which.” He eyes the table, and I realize the other attendants have laid out a veritable spread of rings.
They look almost as delicious as the chocolate cookies—albeit a hell of a lot more expensive. I gape at them, because each seems more beautiful than the last, each rock bigger, each setting more ornate.
“They’re all so pretty…” I beg
in, hesitant.
“To your right here, we have the princess cut diamonds,” the jeweler begins to explain. “A more traditional look, some of these have vintage settings too—this ruby here, for example, with the diamonds around it, was actually from an older eighteenth century ring, which we reset after the original band was damaged. But most of our rings are newly made, such as…”
I zone out, because halfway through scanning the table, one ring in particular has caught my eye. It’s smaller than some of the others, not as showy maybe, but to me, it’s beautiful. The center stone is a diamond, oval-cut, but around it are dozens of tiny sapphires in little wings, so they make the central stone look like the center of a beautiful, intricate flower. Without thinking, I reach for it, lips parted a little as I hold it up to the light.
“You like that one?” Jasper asks, his eyes bright and flashing in the store light.
I look from the ring to him and back again. Like him, this ring is a little dark. A little complicated. A lot attractive. I swallow hard, and set it back on the table. “Yes. But, I don’t know, I don’t know anything about diamonds, really…”
“That is a lovely ring,” the jeweler agrees with a smile. “But perhaps you might prefer this one here. If you like the oval cuts, this stone has brighter clarity, and it’s a few more carats.” He flashes a significant look at Jasper then, and we all understand the subtext. This is more expensive.
He shows me another oval ring—also beautiful, of course, as they all are. He holds this one out to me, and I offer my finger. It slides right on, a perfect fit.
“Do you like that one, or would you prefer the other?” Jasper asks me, as though this is a serious question. As though it matters for anything other than the show we’re putting on.
“Whatever you like,” I reply. “They’re both nice.” But my gaze drifts back to the sapphire ring anyway, in spite of myself.
“We’ll take the second one then,” Jasper says, and my heart sinks a little in disappointment.
Though again, I don’t know why. It’s just a ring. Just a fake engagement ring, which I’ll be returning at the end of a couple weeks when this ridiculous charade is over. It doesn’t matter. So I plaster a broad smile onto my face and pretend to be pleased, as we settle up the bill, and Jasper pockets the ring.
