Chapter 4
Zoe
I’ve never skied in my life. The closest I’ve gotten is a patch of ice in my driveway. That didn’t end well, so I’m not sure why I didn’t just tell him no. Well, I know why I didn’t. This is my chance to get him to agree to my soaps and show I’m a professional. It’s a little unconventional, and I may break my legs, but at least I’ll look fashionable doing it. He wasn’t kidding about Jean hooking me up— black pants and turtleneck, teal jacket, scarf, hat, gloves—I’m a walking endorsement for his Mountain Goat clothing.
The snow crunches under my black boots as I hurry to the dark-haired god waiting by the ski rental shop. I was hoping for a puffy marshmallow man, but much to my chagrin, he looks just as sexy in his all black outfit. He probably caused the avalanche with his hotness. It probably slid right off the mountaintop from being near his heat, just like my panties.
“Hey,” he greets me, lifting his aviators onto his knit hat to give me a thorough eye fuck. “My brand looks great on you.”
I’m thankful my cheeks are already flushed from the cold, so he can’t decipher the blush now spreading across them. I flip off the hooha switch and hold out my hand to shake his, because that’s appropriate behavior between potential partners. They shake hands, not run them along a whisper of stubble and into the dark hair peeking out from his hat, like mine want to do. “Hello, Mr. Steele. I appreciate the opportunity to discuss business with you. And the clothes to do it in.”
His brows rise a fraction, and he extends his hand to clasp mine. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Well, yes.” Unfortunately, it can’t be any other way. This is business. I release his hand and divert my eyes away from his encompassing stare to the white landscape dotted with skiers. Looks pretty easy. “So, do I just shout out things as we ski?”
He chuckles. “If you’d like, sure.”
He leads me into the shop where I’m fitted for the gear I’ll need and twenty minutes later, I’m clinging to the poles I have no idea what to do with in my hands, looking down an endless sugary slope. There are no obstacles in my way, so that’s a plus. “So, as I said earlier, I can brand all my soaps with your logo.” He looks over at me. “You may think soap isn’t that important, but your guests will appreciate the moisture. No one wants alligator skin. I only use my soap and my skin is extremely soft…” I trail off, realizing he knows exactly what my skin feels like—he licked it. Just like he’s now licking his lips.
“That it is,” he muses. “Great point.”
“As I was saying, take away all the clothes and skin is all you have left…” This is not going well. Now, all I see is his nude body covering mine. “Ready?”
“How about a wager, Zoe?”
“What kind of wager?”
“You beat me to the end of that slope and I’ll put your soaps in the cabins—“
“Seriously?” I cut him off in my excitement.
“Well,” he says, looking very dark and devilish against the pristine terrain, “if you don’t, then you agree to my proposal.”
“What proposal?”
“Well, if you win, you won’t have to find out.”
Maybe this is some kind of eccentric businessman test to see how bad I want this deal. My former boss had a bad habit of giving impromptu assignments that later turned out to be his way of ‘separating the sharks from the guppies.’ I’m not really one to venture into the unknown without cautiously dipping a toe in first, but I’ve had sex with Graham, so, yeah, this isn’t exactly following my guidelines. Time to be a shark. “Let’s do it.” Once again, his eyes flare at my word choice and it’s suddenly blistering hot on this mountain. “Count to three,” I tell him, getting into position and hunkering down a little.
I look over and a small grin plays at his lips. I really wish he’d take off that hat that’s making him look so ruggedly handsome.
“Ok, one,” he starts, but I’m already gone. I figure it’s only fair I get a head start. Besides, he should admire my tenacious desire to win. Since I don’t really know how to get started, I give an awkward attempt to run. It may not be the most graceful thing, but it works, and the next thing I know, the wind is hugging my face. I ski like a champion. For about a second. I wouldn’t exactly call what I’m doing skiing, more like trying to keep my legs together, which is what I should have done in the first place. Pricks of snow pelt my face, and my heart races faster than I’m flying as a tall black-clothed body whizzes past me like a gold medal skier.
“My soaps are hypoallergenic,” I yell out in a futile attempt to distract him. It doesn’t work, and my survival instincts kick in as he swooshes to a winning stop. Something I don’t know how to do. “Oh fuck,” I mutter as I drag my useless poles and then slam them down, sending myself face first into a bed of snow.
“Are you ok?” Graham asks, kneeling beside me.
“I seem to be.” I roll over, cautiously, making sure all my body parts work. “Am I bleeding? Don’t tell me if I am. If I have any major trauma, I don’t really want to know.”
With a gentle swipe that sends warmth all the way to my toes, he removes the snow from my cheeks, then releases the skis from my feet to help me up. “No, you’re not bleeding.”
“Best out of three?” I try, knowing there’s no way I could beat him in a rematch.
He smirks. “So you can cheat again?”
“Guess cheaters never win is a real thing.” Resigned to losing, I dust myself off. “Ok, congratulations. What’s your proposal?”
And then, he nearly knocks me off my feet with a snowball of words. “We’re getting married.”
Chapter 5
Graham
Maybe I should’ve softened the proposal blow. I’ve been told I’m too blunt, maybe it’s true. I have no experience in the fiancée department, but It can’t be good that Zoe is now the same color as the snow beneath our feet. Silent and owl eyed, she stares at me as if I’ve just grown another head. Which, I guess she would. On the romantic side, however, a light snow falls all around her, and if this were a real proposal, it’d be perfect.
“We’re not really getting married,” I explain. “I need someone…” I trail off, rubbing my thumb along my jaw. “I need someone to come home with me for the holidays.”
After what seems like an eternity, she finally squeaks out a “Why?”
For some reason, it reminds me of the helmet wearing little mouse approaching a trap on a demotivational poster in one of my employee’s office.
“It’s my mother. It’s complicated.” I smile, hoping my charm will help land my proposal. “Come on, you in? You did lose, after all.”
My charm must be rusty, because she gives me a little eye roll. “What would I have to do...exactly?”
“Just pretend to be my fiancée. My mother thinks I’m engaged.”
“Why does she think you are?”
“Maybe because I told her I was?” It sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but my mother is relentless. “You’ll understand when you meet her.”
As a little Jedi mind trick I learned along the path to success, I speak in certainties so she’s already envisioning it as a done deal.
“You mean if I meet your mother?”
Of course, it wouldn’t work on someone like Zoe. “I know this is crazy. Really, I do. It would be a simple meet my family, and after, we can break up.” And then I throw in the clincher, because she doesn’t look sold just yet, “And your soaps will be in every cabin on this mountain.” Her eyes shine at that, and I tuck away the unfamiliar feel of disappointment that she clearly doesn’t like me enough to just go along with this insane idea. “We’ll just need to get you a ring.”
She glances at her glove-covered left hand. “A ring?”
“Yes, you know, an engagement ring.”
“Why?”
“No mother would believe her son is getting married without a ring on her finger.”
“Can’t we just say we wanted to wait?”
<
br /> I step closer. “Look, we want to sell this engagement, right? Make it look real? So, you need a big fat rock.”
She laughs a little. “Ok, but I’m returning it to you after this is over.”
The non-business part of me is kind of fucking pleased that Zoe isn’t the type to milk this for all its worth. I like that. It says a lot about her character. The women I’ve dealt with in the past have all been about the money. “I’ll have Jean select something. What’s your ring size?” I grab my cell, ready to make the call.
“Oh, hmm. If we’re really going all in, we should pick it out. For authenticity.”
I blow out a breath. I swear the way this girl stares at me makes this all harder. And not just the situation, my dick swells at the thought of spending a long weekend with her. But I throw the sexual thoughts in the trash bin of my mind and try to focus on this ring situation. The thought of actually stepping into a ring store leaves a fine sheen of sweat on my forehead. “I have a jeweler friend, Charles, whose shop is on the way. And after that I’ll buy you some clothes to save time. So, that’s a yes?”
“I’m not loving the idea of pretending to marry someone who hates Christmas.” She pauses, worrying her lip. “This is only business, though. So, we shouldn't have sex again.”
“Of course,” I agree.
She taps a red-tipped nail against her plump bottom lip. “Ok, yes. I’ll marry you.”
Thank God. Before she can change her mind, I whisk her away from the ski slope and head inside the warm cafe nestled under snow laden pine trees. While Zoe waltzes to the counter to grab a hot chocolate, I put a call in to my mother and tell her Zoe will be joining us this holiday. Needless to say, she’s shocked, but it’s not like I haven’t shocked her before. After we hang up, I dial the highway patrol to check on the conditions of the roads. The patrolmen lets me know it’ll be any time now. Thank God. As soon as we’re given the all-clear, I want to be headed to Charles’s and then to my mother’s to get this holiday over with. When I hang up, I walk with Zoe back to her cabin. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” I almost ask it like a question, because more than anything I want to ask her to dinner. I want a repeat of last night. But, I keep my wits about me, remembering not to mix business with pleasure, and I say goodnight.
She smiles a soft smile, and whispers her goodnight, almost as if she’s thinking the same thing as me. Like she wants the repeat too.
Once she’s inside, I head back to my cabin, alone. I check my emails, and do some push-ups, but nothing calms the lust swimming around in my veins. Zoe isn’t too far away. I could go knock on her door and just get a kiss. Instead, I pretend I’m not going out of my mind insane with desire for this girl.
When my mother invited me for Christmas, I wanted to decline just like I did for the Fourth of July. During the summer, I holed up away at this mountain resort, and pretended the world didn’t exist. It’s not that I hate my family. I don’t hate them at all. It’s my mother’s incessant pushing of the neighbor’s daughter, Trudy.
So, to appease my sanity and deal with the holidays in semi-peace, I’m bringing Zoe.
I head to bed, and after tossing and turning half the night, finally pass out.
The next morning, I get the ok from the highway patrol that the roads are open.
“You ready to get this show on the road?” I ask Zoe after she opens the door.
“Sure.” She’s dressed in a baggy off-white sweater with dark, skinny jeans and the same calf-high boots she wore yesterday. Never knew boots could be so sexy, but these are.
Once the Range Rover is loaded, and my fake fiancée is buckled in, I head off down the road.
I wish I could say I hated everything about this, but I’m actually kind of enjoying it. Which is probably not a good thing. But, I’ve always been a little bad. I’ll just have to keep my hands to myself. Easiest deal I’ve ever made.
Chapter 6
Zoe
My grandmother, Lila, used to tell me something every year when I’d visit her for the summers. We’d sit on her porch, molding candles, and she’d look over at me and say, ‘Zoe, you can’t wait for things to happen. You have to make them happen.’
I remind myself of that as I scan the jewelry shop—I’m just making things happen.
I’m sure she didn’t mean try to land a soap contract this way, but it’s too late to take it back now.
What’s the big deal, though? I spend a few days at home with his family and he puts my soaps in his resort? Like this is easy. Too easy. Mothers usually love me. And I already like having sex with her son, so this should be a breeze. And oddly enough, I feel comfortable around him. I mean, we’ve seen each other naked, there’s nothing that strips away the pretenses more than that. I’m sure Granny is haunting this shop right now, shaking her head at my justifications.
The glass cases lining the rectangular shop are filled with stunning rings of every shape and size. Graham guides me closer, and I swear every diamond in here is judging me.
I’m sure his mother expects status and a diamond that eclipses the moon, but I feel guilty taking a ring from him for a fake relationship.
Maybe his friend will just let him borrow it?
“Graham,” a distinguished gentleman, wearing a black suit and bow tie, calls out in a regal voice. I almost feel like curtseying. He steps from behind the counter, and his blue eyes give me a once over before he reaches out and embraces Graham into a hug.
“Charles, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Zoe,” Graham introduces us.
“Fiancée?” Charles’ eyebrows shoot up to his receding hairline. “So, you’re the one who finally got him to put a ring on it,” he says to me.
“Well, not yet.” I hold up my empty ring finger in an awkward attempt to be funny.
Graham’s hand slides onto my lower back, searing me through my sweater. “Let’s find you a ring, Dear.”
“Let me get my special reserve from the vault,” Charles offers. “I’ll be right back.”
When he is out of sight, I whisper to Graham, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but could you pick a different pet name?”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“My father used to call my mother ‘dear’ and it always sounded so patronizing. If we’re going to pretend, I want something sexy like baby.”
He gives me a sultry grin and then sends a jolt of electricity to every fragment of my DNA when he says, “We can do that, Baby.”
“Yes,” I whisper, taken aback by how much I like it, “perfect.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and I fight the urge to grab him and make him kiss me while he murmurs baby against my lips. I like it that much.
“Let me show you these,” Charles says, bringing out three rings, which I’m sure all cost more than my apartment.
I lean closer to Graham, breathing in his scent as I say, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Pick one.”
This isn’t real, so I point to a platinum band with an oval diamond. It’s the smallest of the three, but still heavy and cumbersome when I try it on. I’ll need to cart my hand around in a wheelbarrow.
“We’ll take it,” Graham says, appreciating the ring on my finger.
I smile, trying my best to gush like the bride to be, but then another ring catches my eye. One not from the exclusive vault collection. It’s different, with a rose gold band and vintage vibe, and judging by its positioning in the case, probably much less expensive.
“May I see this one?” I just want to see it closer. It’s like the ring is calling my name. It’s probably my grandmother’s ghost, and when I slip it on, her face will appear and ask me what the hell I’m doing.
Charles frowns, but obliges anyway. “This is a James Allen natural diamond ring.”
Thankfully, grandma Lila does not appear as I study the facets and fall in love with its character. When I get engaged for real, this is the one. I remove the gaudy spectacle on my left finger, and slide this o
ne home. And that’s exactly how it feels, like home on my finger.
Graham takes my hand, sending little goosebumps flaring across my skin. “This ring was made for your finger.”
“It’s...wow.” I can’t find the words to finish my thought.
“We’ll take the vintage style one instead,” Graham informs Charles.
“Really? But the other is premium.”
“What my baby wants, my baby gets.”
His words send a ripple of lust through my veins. It’s silly, I know, and this is all pretend, but this desire is also what I want when I’m for real engaged. I look up at Graham. “It’s really ok,” I say. I don’t want to ruin the facade before it even begins.
He leans down and whispers against my ear for only me to hear. “Every ring in this shop is an acceptable ring my mother would believe.”
I nod, and my heart kind of has its own hesitations, but I throw caution to the wind, and take the offer. Twenty minutes later, it’s official: we’re fake engaged.
After we finish with the ring, and buy me some new clothes for my stay as his fiancée, we hop into the SUV and head off toward his mother’s. I flip the radio to a station playing “Silent Night.”
He switches the station to another.
“Not even Silent Night?” I balk.
“No.”
“Graham the Grump. No wait, Graham the Grinch. That’s what I’m going to call you for now on.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t.”
The authority he says it with, and the hooded gaze he gives me, causes me to shift in my seat, envisioning a spanking from him. I think I’d like that. Nothing too much, I’m not in to whips and chains, just a hard spank, while he calls me baby. God, I have to stop this. No sex. This is business. “Why do you hate Christmas so much?” I ask to swipe the smut from my mind.
“Because, listen…,” he turns the radio off, “it’s just not enjoyable.”
Graham Page 3
