The Boss's Fake Fiancee

by Inara Scott

  Was it any wonder she’d doubted the way her older brother looked at her? If she saw herself as a colossal failure, why shouldn’t he?

  “Brit’s a hard act to follow,” she said.

  “Why in the world would you try to follow him?”

  Melissa shrugged. “He’s been pretty darned successful in life.”

  “From what Tori told me, they were both quitting their jobs so they could start over,” Garth said. “I’m not sure his life has been so perfect.”

  She flashed him a look of surprise at the insight. “I guess you’re right. I never thought about it that way.”

  “It’s easier to see things from the outside.”

  “He turned around Excorp. And he did get you to hire me,” she pointed out. “Everyone said that would be impossible.”

  “I hired you on your own merits.” Garth quirked one lip in a subtle suggestion of a smile. “Believe it or not, I don’t give much weight to the opinion of a business executive regarding his sister’s credentials. Besides, even if Brit has been successful in business, you’re very different people. Seems to me that trying to follow his path is only going to lead to heartbreak.”

  A wave came rushing up the sand toward them. Garth grabbed her hand and they ran toward higher ground. Cold white foamy water rushed around her bare feet.

  They stopped at the dark line between wet and dry sand. Melissa felt Garth’s hand tighten momentarily around hers. “Isn’t there anyone you try to emulate?” she asked, as she stared at the blue-gray horizon.

  He paused. “I used to measure myself against other people, but I always came up short. Now, I try to figure out what I really want, and measure myself against that.”

  Melissa tried to imagine what that would feel like. For years, she’d measured her success against her brothers. She’d envied Ross for his marriage, Joe for his passion for his work, and Brit for the way he’d turned around the family business. But were their lives so perfect? Ross’s marriage had started crumbling almost as soon as it started. How they’d managed to hold out for eight years was still a mystery to Melissa. Joe loved his work, but struggled with the long hours it demanded. And as Garth had said, Brit had recently decided to scrap it all and start over.

  Then she thought about herself at her desk at Solen Labs, working on a problem so complex and fascinating that she lost track of time, and the feeling of satisfaction she got every night when she headed home and knew she was doing something good and important and meaningful.

  Maybe starting over was part of life. Maybe every time you started over you got a chance to do things differently. Or better. She pushed down the sliver of fear that she had ruined all of it, and focused on the place she was at right now.

  On a beach, wearing the ring of a man who wanted her in the most honest, forthright way she’d ever known.

  “That’s a crazy idea,” she said, leaning over to grab a sand dollar that had washed up in front of her. “Maybe I should give it a try.”

  …

  They spent the afternoon visiting with Nan’s friends, all of whom had known Garth from when he was a little boy, and all of whom had at least one funny story to tell about him. For Melissa, a picture began to emerge of a smart, shy boy who spent most of his time alone. A boy everyone wanted to comfort when his parents died, but no one knew quite how. A boy they loved and were proud of, but weren’t sure they entirely understood.

  That night, a quiet, restrained Garth made love to her until she begged for release. When they fell asleep, he cradled her in his arms.

  She couldn’t help but notice he’d never said a word.

  …

  Sunday morning they had breakfast and cleaned the house before heading back to New York. Melissa suppressed a sigh as they turned down her block, just after noon. It would be good to get back home, but it felt a little like the end of a dream. A deep, important bond had formed between them, but it felt indescribably fragile, and Melissa hated to imagine it falling apart.

  She had just prepared herself for a hasty good-bye when Garth swore and stepped on the brakes. She followed his gaze to the end of the street, where a small crowd had formed on the sidewalk.

  “What do you suppose—” she trailed off as the group apparently caught sight of Garth’s car, and turned en masse in their direction. She caught a glimpse of silver, and the bright flash of a camera, then another.

  “Paparazzi,” he said grimly.

  “You’re kidding me.” She shook her head in wonder. “No offense, but why would anyone care this much about you?”

  “Actually, I think they care this much about you.” Garth handed her his phone, which he had just checked a few minutes before. “Look at the text from Jess.”

  Melissa read the note from Garth’s housekeeper in shock. “Be careful when you come back. Press is all over Melissa. Check this link.”

  She followed the link to a story from the Sunday Star Herald. The headline read, “America’s Sweetheart: Rescued by Love,” and it led off with the now-famous picture of the two of them emerging from Hadrien. Interspersed throughout the article were pictures of Melissa as an adolescent, in high school, and at the opening of Mark’s lab, Ven Tech.

  She skimmed through the text, feeling more nauseated by the second.

  “Lonely childhood...ostracized by peers...jilted by Mark Venshiner...life turned around when she met Garth Solen...” She faked a smile, trying to maintain her composure. “Wow, I had no idea I was such a loser before.”

  Someone had even dug up one of her middle-school class pictures, revealing a toothpick of a girl with enormous braces, thick glasses swallowing half her face, long hair neatly pulled back behind a shockingly ugly orange hairband that perfectly matched her orange pantsuit.

  “My mother loved that outfit,” Melissa said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe someone gave this to the press.”

  “I’ll get the lawyers on them, but there’s not too much I can do.” Garth’s old, steely look was back. “Now you see why I try keep my life private.”

  She smacked him on the leg. “Don’t even start playing tough guy with me,” she said. “I’m through feeling guilty about this situation.”

  Melissa dug through her purse to find her phone. She hadn’t checked it since the morning, knowing her mother would be calling with more questions and hoping to avoid them. Now, as she had feared, there were five missed calls from her parents, and two from each of her brothers. Quickly, she shot off a text that she sent to both Ross and Joe: Ha-ha—America’s sweetheart—pretty cool, huh? To her mother and father she sent something slightly different: Just back from weekend at Garth’s vacation home—will have to talk tomorrow—tired but happy! Garth says ignore press. :-)

  When she looked up again, she realized that Garth had driven past her townhouse. “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “You can’t stay there,” Garth said.

  “Why not?”

  “They’ll dog your every move,” he said. “I know how they work. You’ll be photographed coming and going, they’ll try to catch sight of you in the windows...I’m not having it. You’ll come home with me.”

  “Did you consider asking me before you made that decision?” Melissa flashed. She was trying not to think about the article, but the sting of being portrayed as a lonely outcast was difficult to ignore. “We may be engaged, but I’m fairly certain that does not give you the right to decide where I sleep at night.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not having you go back there.”

  She glared at his stern, unmoving features. “Garth,” she said, wishing she could throw something across the car at him, “I have no clothes and no toiletries...what do you expect me to do, wear your shirts to work?”

  “I’ll send someone back to get your things.”

  “I’m not going to stay at your house.”

  “Of course you are,” he said. “I have a gate. I have extra rooms. I have a housekeeper with pepper spray.”

  “I have an apartme
nt, my own lock, and, oddly enough, my very own pepper spray. I’m not moving.”

  “Melissa.” His voice dropped. Became more patient. Calm, the way one might talk to a lunatic perched on the edge of a building. “What’s this all about?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, knowing she was being a little crazy, but unable to stop herself. “We were just talking about success, right? Well, right now, success to me means independence. I’ve done the overprotective father–brother thing and I’m done with it. Understand?”

  “I’m not your brother or your father,” he said.

  “I know that! You’re a bossy fake fiancé. And I’m still not staying at your house. I want to be alone, okay? I just need a little space.” She glanced at her phone, where text messages kept appearing.

  She felt Garth studying her across the car, and her backbone stiffened.

  “How about I walk you up,” he suggested, “and we go from there.”

  …

  Garth sheltered Melissa in the crook of his arm as he pushed past the reporters crowded around her front stoop. He wanted to punch them, each and every one, and the need to engage in violence was so strong he found himself clenching and unclenching his fists as he walked. Melissa’s mobile, expressive face had locked into a cold mask, and he desperately wanted to bring back the playful, smiling woman she’d been only an hour before. He didn’t know what to do or how to fix this, and the feeling of helplessness churned in the pit of his stomach like a dark, painful thing.

  She unlocked the outside door and they walked up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. After Saturday morning’s disaster, which had made clear once again why he refused to consider a relationship, things had gone remarkably well. Melissa disarmed him with her quicksilver smiles and inability to censor the emotions reflected on her face, and though he doubted her willingness to accept the limits he’d placed, he wanted her too much to question her further. Their bodies fit together so easily, he almost felt like she had become an extension of him. When she told him how to pleasure her—her voice soft, hesitant, then more certain, curling with desire—he wanted to burst with the sound.

  Melissa stopped at the door. “You don’t have to do this,” she said darkly.

  “I’m not leaving, so you might as well let me in,” he replied. The loss of her smile had settled like an emptiness in his chest. He wasn’t about to go anywhere until he knew she was safe. If not emotionally, at least physically.

  Melissa turned several locks, and then opened the door. Garth wedged his way in first. He make a quick search of the room, checked behind the faded green loveseat, soft armchair, and Chinese screen that blocked off a work area, and then lowered the shades.

  She watched from the couch. “Ever consider that you might be a little paranoid?”

  Garth ignored her and headed for the bedroom. He didn’t care if he was overreacting. He needed to do something to help, and right now, this was the only thing he could come up with.

  Her bed was a mess, strewn with dresses, bras, and even a sheer black nightie. He thought for a moment that a stalker had gotten to her things, but forced himself to take a breath. She was the fiancée of a computer geek, not a rock star.

  He examined the things on the bed more closely. The discarded dresses were a variety of styles, two black, one striped, two flowered. How did women tell them apart, anyway? Two black bras, one pink—pink? He liked that.

  Deliberately, he picked up the pink bra and swung it around on one finger as he headed back for the living room. He tried for a smile. Humor wasn’t his forte, but if it lightened her mood, he was willing to give it a try. “I assume you were the one trying on all these clothes?”

  Melissa jumped up to snatch the offending garment from him. “I packed in a hurry,” she said, pink flowering on her high cheekbones.

  “You tried on three bras and five dresses. That’s a hurry?”

  “You have no idea what a difference the right undergarment makes,” she shot back, the corner of her mouth curling with the barest trace of amusement.

  “I hope I never have to,” Garth replied, a flood of relief choking him at the sight of that tiny, half-smile.

  “So you’ve checked the apartment,” Melissa said, “and completed your protective male duty. Any chance you’ll leave me alone now?”

  He shook his head. She finally seemed to be relaxing, but he wasn’t leaving. Not yet. “There are reporters camped out on your doorstep. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Do they have some kind of class in bossiness?” Melissa grumbled. She heaved herself off the sofa and tugged open the door of the refrigerator. “Because you’d definitely get an A.”

  “Why did you have a black negligee on the bed?” Garth asked, ignoring the insult as he followed her into the kitchen.

  “What are you talking about?” Melissa had buried her face in the fridge.

  “The little lace number on top of the bras. Were you considering bringing that to Seesaw?”

  She moved around a bottle in the door of the fridge. “Maybe.”

  He took hold of her shoulder and turned her toward him, shutting the door of the tiny freezer behind her. “Melissa Bencher, were you planning to seduce me?”

  She swallowed. Her eyes flicked from his lips to his face. “Of course not,” she replied.

  “That’s a lie.” He couldn’t help it. He had to touch her. His hands danced up and down her spine, settling on the hem of her shirt and then pulling it up and over her head in one fluid motion. He stared at her pale flesh hungrily. This need he felt was dangerous. He knew that. But he could no more deny it than he could have stopped the waves on the beach. It rolled in him, as relentless and consuming as the tide.

  “What would you have said if I had?” Melissa asked.

  He motioned toward her bedroom. “Why don’t you take a chance and find out?”

  She paused, body still, expression suddenly serious. “I should warn you, I’m not feeling particularly fun and flirty right now.”

  He studied her for a long moment, and her nipples hardened under his gaze. He took one finger and traced the edge of her bra, following the scalloped edge down to the center of her chest and back up the other side. She closed her eyes, and he felt her quiver under his hand. His thumbs slid over the center of her breast.

  “I have found,” he said softly, “that it is important, when faced with ignorant, asshole reporters, to find some way of distracting one’s self.”

  With a quick motion, he released the back clasp and slid the bra off her shoulders.

  She drew in a breath. “Oh really? What sort of distraction would you recommend?”

  He tugged on the top of her pants. “Something physical. Preferably something pleasurable.”

  …

  Tingles zipped through Melissa at the warmth of his hands on her stomach. In a few quick, easy motions, Garth had released the top button of her pants, and slid his hands down her hips to the edge of her panties. The nervous tension and sick feeling in the pit of her stomach finally started to ease. Though she had not questioned him when he said there could be nothing more between them than sex, right now the warmth of his attention was like a balm to her soul. She didn’t know how, but he seemed to understand exactly what she needed. Pushing him away never even crossed her mind.

  “Could you be more specific?” she said, the moment almost too perfect, the pleasure too intense and sudden.

  “Put it on for me,” he said, as he dipped his mouth to her neck. He trailed a line of kisses from the hollow of her neck to behind her ear. Her nipples formed hard peaks against his chest, and she had to fight to catch her breath. “I want to see your skin under that lace.”

  Melissa swayed at the rush of desire. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on his face. His dark eyes felt like they could consume her whole. “But…”

  He cupped her breast in one hand, dropping his mouth to suck on the firm, pebbled flesh. She gasped. Liquid heat flowed through her body.


  “Put it on,” he repeated, his voice part whisper, part command.

  Wordless, she nodded, and headed for the bedroom. The black negligee lay on the bed, just where she had left it when she was packing. She’d struggled with whether to bring it, knowing it was probably silly to think she’d use it, but hoping that she might just the same.

  Now, her head spinning, she pushed aside thoughts of the reporters, “America’s Sweetheart,” and the awful comments that were certain to follow, and stood at the edge of her bed. Resolutely, she stripped off the rest of her clothes and put on the soft lace garment. She was about to turn around to go back into the living room when she felt a pair of arms close around her from behind.

  Warm breath tickled her neck. He must have shed his clothes somewhere between the living room and bedroom, because his erection bumped against her back. Melissa caught her breath as his hands cupped her breasts and then slid down her sides to her hips. He pulled her against him.

  “You have no idea how perfect you are,” he whispered. “How beautiful.”

  She arched her back, letting him ride against the cleft of her bottom. He slid his hand down the front of her body, nibbling on her neck as he did. More kisses followed, along the tender flesh behind her ear, on end of each collarbone, at the base of her spine. He thrust his hips lightly against her as he weighed her breasts in his hands. When she moaned, he pushed up the hem of the skirt of the negligee so he could run his hands over her bare flesh.

  Gently but firmly, he pressed against her shoulder, and Melissa bent forward, resting on her elbows. Adrenaline and desire raced through her in equal measure. She’d never experimented with positions before, and the unfamiliar pressure of his body against her backside was both thrilling and a little frightening. Mark had preferred sex to be fast and simple—missionary style with a minimum of foreplay. Clearly, Garth was in a different class of lover.