by Leslie North
“Remember, we’re just here to have fun,” he said into her ear. “We’re making up the rules.”
She glanced up at him, cheeks still flushed. “So it’s okay if the first rule is getting a glass of wine?”
He squeezed her hip in response, mind clouding over momentarily. He wanted to squeeze a lot more of her like that. “Anything you like.”
They moved through the crowd slowly, more for Kara’s benefit as she acclimated to their surroundings. Gregor scoped out the patrons, recognizing more than a few of them from his jaunts around the world. The upper crust was a fairly closed world, and it wasn’t hard to see the same few people almost anywhere he went. Plenty of women watched him like a hawk as he moved through the lobby with Kara at his side, but he’d expected that. He almost never appeared at formal events with a woman on his arm. Gregor was keen on protecting his reputation as a lady’s man…until now.
“Gregor!” A sharp British voice cut through the clamor, and he looked up to see an old family friend heading his way, Ella Nesbitt, a forty-something with a particular fondness for the Beaumont family. She was their unofficial cheerleader.
“Ella. How are you?” They air-kissed a cheek, then Gregor gestured to Kara. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Kara.”
Ella’s eyes widened as she looked between him and Kara. “Girlfriend! I never thought I’d hear the word.” Ella smiled warmly at Kara and said to her, “I’m Ella, a longtime friend of the Beaumonts. I’ve known Gregor all his life.” To Gregor, she said, “I’ll be cheering for you Sunday! You ought to play it safe this time.”
“Of course, Ella. It was good to see you.” He waited until she wandered off before leaning in to whisper in Kara’s ear.
“There. First one down. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Gregor let his hand slip down the curve of her hip, resting at the top of Kara’s ass. He relished the rosiness that crept into her neck.
“Easy enough, I suppose. Will there be many more here?”
“More than you can imagine,” he said with a sigh. “My social circle is unfathomably large.”
“Seems like you know people all over the world.”
“It is a veritable sea of acquaintances anywhere I go. It’s why I started the business in America. Had to get away from all this chit chat.” He grinned down at her.
She arched a brow. “Oh? I’ve been wondering how a fancy man like you ended up in Seattle.”
“Actually, no, that’s not the reason. Simply a childhood fascination with America mixed with a healthy respect for the tech scene in Seattle.”
Kara smiled wryly. “Fair enough. As for the acquaintances, let’s just take them one at a time.”
“Agreed.” The scent of her perfume wafted up to him, something floral and bright that stole his clarity for a moment. Kara was intoxicating, that much was certain. He gave her hip one last squeeze before clasping one of her hands between both of his. “Let’s go sit down. We’ll order some drinks once we get up there. You must see the theater.”
“Lead the way, buddy.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Buddy? You can’t call me ‘buddy.’”
Her laughter was light and tinkling. “Why not? You’re my buddy and my boyfriend. All great relationships are both, aren’t they?”
He bit back a grin, squeezing her hand. “Fine. That’s a free pass, for now.” He led her toward the carpeted staircase, weaving between people to get there. A few clapped him on the back as he passed, wishing him well in the upcoming race. As they climbed the stairs, Gregor’s phone buzzed with a new message. He fished it out with his free hand. It was Christian.
“What u think abt this one mate?” The message accompanied a picture of a simple diamond ring. Gregor squinted at the message, remembering that Christian had recently mentioned wanting to propose to his girlfriend.
“Excellent choice if u really must marry.” He shot it off with a smirk. Gregor’s stance was more than clear: why marry when you can be not married? He’d counseled Christian a bit on the matter, urging him to reconsider. Especially at the young age of twenty-three, it seemed a sin to give up so many unattached years of partying and girls.
But Christian didn’t quite agree. “You know she’s the one for me. I’m buying this right now.”
Gregor pocketed the phone, the interaction sticking with him as he led Kara to their private box in the balcony.
“Maybe I shouldn’t start the role as the nosy girlfriend, but…who was it?” Kara’s voice snapped him to attention.
He blinked, drawing a deep breath. “Why do you ask?”
“Whatever they said affected you.”
He creased a brow, pausing in front of the door leading to their box. “How could you tell?”
“Body language says much more than people realize,” she said. “You got tense. Your nostrils flared. You even scoffed.”
He swallowed hard. Something about the observation made him feel unsettled. But it intrigued him all the same. “You’ve really made a study of the human form.”
“It’s my job as an actress,” she said.
He tugged the door open, gesturing for her to enter the darkened box. A few steps down were two seats hugging a gilded rail and overlooking the grand scenery of the theater. On both sides of them were other, similar boxes, separated by partitions, many with eager, shining faces peering out. Below them, the seats were filling quickly. The entire opera house chattered with noise and conversation.
“Take a seat,” he said, leaning against the back of her chair as she sat down. He glanced down, noticing the fantastic view of her cleavage. He cleared his throat, ignoring the twitch in his pants, and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Now tell me what you want to drink so I can get you sauced and have my way with you.”
He hadn’t meant to say that; it had just tumbled out. But it was absolutely what he’d say if she were any regular woman he crossed paths with. She giggled, turning to look up at him.
“You like to move quickly. Will we be engaged tomorrow? Pregnant by next Friday?”
He squeezed her shoulder, desperate for the contact. Truth was she made his head spin, and he didn’t know how else to handle the pressure building inside of him.
“Perhaps. Though I could be convinced to move the pregnancy bit to next Tuesday if that better suits your schedule.”
“It was my understanding that birth control was written into our agreement.” She winked, and suddenly he wasn’t sure if they were acting or not. He hadn’t been. But maybe she was. Except…they had no audience. It was only them.
“Tell me. What will it be, m’lady?”
“Red wine. Dry.” She sent him a sultry look, then turned back to face the crowd. Gregor clenched his jaw, looking her over one more time before heading toward the small bar on the upper level.
He’d chosen well. That much was certain.
But perhaps this arrangement would be a bit more confusing than he’d bargained for.
5
Kara tugged at the brim of her hat, shielding her eyes from the bright, midday Barcelona sun. Before her sprawled the oddly shaped track, which looked more like a toddler’s attempt at an oval, with sharp jags and unexpected turns throughout. It was her first Formula One race, but more than that, it was her first race as the girlfriend of an illustrious racer. The luxury sprawled around her in spades. She had access to the private viewing suite, which hung high above the track, offering a coveted view of the track and the stands. Around her, various members of Gregor’s “in crowd” chatted quietly, all people she’d met briefly but struggled to remember by name. A few were investors in his company, others childhood acquaintances. All of them were British, as well. The lilting accents flooded her, made her feel giddy.
Gregor had given her the option to stand with the pit crew or watch from up here, but she hadn’t wanted to be in the way. She’d promised she would come down to congratulate him on his win when it was over—that, at least, seemed like the supportive girlfriend thing to say. Really
she had no idea about these races, what they involved, what the hell Gregor was working on all those days at the garage. There was still so much to learn.
And what she had learned so far was enough to keep her curious and wanting more. These past five days with Gregor had been oddly blissful, like a vacation on steroids. Though she kept in touch with Lexie back home and occasionally got updates from Bridgette about the status of her Seattle tasks, it was so easy to lose herself in this strange reality that Gregor had crafted for her.
Kara, the American lover of the British capitalist prince…
Headlines like that one floated through her head at regular intervals since Gregor had pointed out their first appearance in a tabloid magazine. The actual headline of the article had been shockingly direct—Another American Girl for the British Playboy—leaving no doubt that Gregor had a well-known history of women. It stung to be considered just another one of his “girls,” until she reminded herself that she wasn’t truly his girl at all.
This is a farce. An act. Remember that.
But at almost a week in, it was hard to keep that at the forefront of her thoughts. She and Gregor had a chemistry that couldn’t be faked, like finding the ideal stage partner. So few of those crossed her path, and if this truly was the performance of her life, then she had lucked out in the casting department. Except sometimes, she wondered if Gregor was really faking it.
His comment to her the other night at the opera still burned in her mind. Now tell me what you want to drink so I can get you sauced and have my way with you. It was playful and funny but left her damp between her legs. And after a night full of heated touches and meaningful glances, she had to admit that she wanted him to have his way with her.
Gregor was certainly gorgeous. Her attraction to him had been there since the first day. But something else about him drew her in now that she was getting to know him—a magnetism, a charm that bordered on sorcery.
It was strange, not knowing if what she was feeling was real or simply the byproduct of a great performance. She was hesitant to ask Gregor. Maybe his answer would hurt. Maybe she was simply content for now, living in this reverie between real life and fantasy, where she and Gregor had a sincere, budding connection and the rest of it would figure itself out later.
The race started uneventfully, and she tried to pay as much attention as she could to Gregor’s bright red car. After the first few laps, the action grew monotonous, so she paced the long line of windows, humming a song from the opera, swishing the skirt of her pale linen dress around her. The performance had been vivid and at times chilling, and she’d caught Gregor watching her a few times instead of the opera. He’d remarked afterward how intensely she enjoyed the performance, making her wonder if he’d taken her comment about body language to heart.
His body language that night told her that he wanted her. Maybe that slinky black dress had something to do with it. But if that dress was the key to getting those lingering eyes on her again, she’d wear it on a daily for him.
She sighed, digging her phone out of her purse. No use fantasizing about her fake boyfriend. Adding the physical realm was definitely a no-no. They’d said it in the beginning—nothing more than holding hands, light kisses, and hugging would be needed. Besides, adding the physical dimension would definitely complicate things. And this act needed to stay as straightforward as possible.
Even though it already felt a little complicated.
Kara scrolled through her phone, checking emails and catching up on news back home. Only five days out of the States and it seemed she’d missed so much. More than three weeks lay ahead, which would be the longest she’d ever stayed out of the country. She might return a brand-new woman. At least a newly engaged woman.
Kara smirked, switching to the tabloid page she’d pulled up at Gregor’s request. There they were, the new couple, holding hands in the theater. Who had taken the blurry photo? It was so strange to be peeped on like that. Gregor had lived with it for most of his life, and now here she was, a Seattle nobody, thrust into the spotlight.
That dress looked killer though. She examined her ass again in the photo, nodding with approval. She saved the web address and sent it off to Lexie, who would probably see it when she woke up in a few hours. This would certainly be the first review of many, and maybe future articles wouldn’t be so kind. This one, at least, kept it strictly basic, the deepest detail being the designer of her gown. But who knew what other sources might uncover as time went on? Once they realized their beloved playboy was off the market.
Her mind swirled with thoughts like these, trying to foresee and predict all sources of trouble before it happened. She’d always been like this, a proactive thinker. What if someone dug up the fact that their relationship was a sham? Did Bridgette know? What about the driver? What had he overheard so far? What had Gregor told his friends about this setup?
Her cheeks burned as she mulled over the implications of other people knowing about this. Maybe it was better to just roll with it for now. Trust that Gregor was handling his people, as long as she handled hers. And for now, it was being handled. She’d told Lexie that Gregor had been a long-ago lover showing up unexpectedly at her class to surprise her. Lexie ate it up like chocolate-covered coffee beans.
Then suddenly it was the final ten laps. Kara pressed herself against the window, watching Gregor’s car closely. He’d been jockeying for number one for a while now. She gritted her teeth as Gregor tried to pass the leader and failed. Another lap went by, and then another. Gregor and the other driver pulled away from the pack, the distance between them closing. Gregor attempted another pass. Failed.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She hadn’t expected this to be so tense. “Come on Gregor! You can do it!” She touched the glass, riveted on the scene below as they came down to the final five laps. The crowd below seemed to be a roiling, anxious mess. Fans leapt and screamed, which she could hear even over the roar of the cars. The nose of Gregor’s car barely missed rear-ending the car in front of him, and the crowd made a collective gasp. Kara squealed.
“Come on, Gregor!” She tapped her nails against the glass, as though this would help anything. Heart in her throat, she watched as Gregor prepared for another attempt to overtake around the third curve. This time, he sailed past the first-place driver, his rear-end fishtailing as he took the next jag at a higher speed than normal. She gasped when it looked like he might not slow enough to complete the turn, but he emerged safely and straightened out.
She almost couldn’t breathe for the last three laps, waiting to see if Gregor would hold his position. She didn’t need to be a Formula One fanatic to know that winning this race would be a huge deal for anyone, but especially for the designer of a performance engine system. The last two laps blurred by, and when Gregor finally crossed the finish line, Kara jumped up and down, screaming her throat raw.
She drew a shaky breath, watching with a hand over her heart as Gregor pulled into the pit. Shit. She had to get down there. Snatching up her purse, she hurried out on shaky legs, fumbling down the stairs, trying to remember the direct route to the pit. She only made one wrong turn, which landed her near the concession stands, and then corrected herself. As she approached the heavily barred gates, she showed her pit pass to the guard, who let her in with a nod.
People swarmed the pit area, a hullabaloo of conversation and laughter and engine noises. She squinted through the crowd, trying to figure out where Gregor might be, where she should materialize. This wasn’t her world; these weren’t her people. Everything felt foreign and strange, like wearing an oddly-shaped dress that was both too large and too scratchy. She crept forward tentatively, her breath lodged in her throat.
She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see over the sea of heads. In the distance, she spotted the bright red paint of Gregor’s car. There you are. She pushed past people with elbows and all, making her way to the winner’s podium. As she neared, she saw Gregor standing tall and lean in his white body
suit, the logos of sponsors and his own company plastered across the chest and shoulders. He was grinning like a fool. Somebody handed him an oversized bottle of champagne.
Kara jumped up, waving to get his attention. Nobody seemed to notice her, much less know who she was. She pushed closer. A camera crew was setting up near Gregor and the second- and third-place winners on the lower steps to his left and right, no doubt for the post-win interview that he’d told her was par for the course.
As people in front of her shifted, she caught a glimpse of some girls entering the winner’s circle. Pretty brunettes in hot pants and bikinis, headed straight for Gregor. She stilled as they shimmied up to him, wrapping arms around him, whispering into his ear. Gregor tossed his head back and laughed. One even planted a kiss on his cheek, and he said something to someone nearby, apparently eating it up.
What the fuck is that? Kara clenched her jaw for a moment, debating her next step. Showing up on the heels of that display would be pretty embarrassing for her. Gregor certainly didn’t seem to mind the attention while his girlfriend stood only feet away. The girl with a long, dark ponytail grabbed at his chin, stroking the bottle suggestively with her free hand.
“Oh, God.” Kara elbowed her way closer, intensely curious to see what happened next. This was the side of his life she needed to learn more about. Maybe Formula One drivers had side chicks. Maybe she was already the laughing stock of the race world. Poor little Seattle Girl thinks she has a faithful racing boyfriend. The imagined headlines wouldn’t leave her be.
The girls finally drifted away, or maybe they just got bored not being able to give him a hand job in public. Kara broke through to the front row, breathing heavily. Would every race be this way? Gregor’s gaze landed on her, and his face lit up. He waved her forward.
