“You were saving me.”
“Yeah,” I grunt.
She stares deep into my eyes, and I swear she can see the tattered remnants of my soul fluttering away in a graveyard along with my mom and James.
“I’ll marry you, Jason.”
I close my eyes at the whoosh of emotion blowing through my veins. The defensive shield that’s protected me my entire life took a direct hit, and instead of rushing out to build another layer, I let it fall. Relieved she said yes before I drop the motherlode of bombshells on her. Regretful that I can’t be the man she needs.
This tiny, strong, fierce, beautiful woman could throw more bombs at my defensive layers, leaving me to bleed out on the battleground.
I close my eyes and fortify what’s left of once sturdy barriers.
Although it pains me to say what I’m about to say, I have to.
“Asia, when we marry, you don’t have to be my assistant.” Saying these words is a wound that won’t heal, but I mean the words. I’m not that much of a dick that I’d still expect her to work for me and be my wife, be it a pretend wife. I scrub a hand over my face. Man, it’s going to kill me not seeing her beautiful face every morning, not hearing her stupid horoscope. In fact, wanting to get out of bed knowing she’ll be in my day gets me up. Not having her in my life is a hot poker buried deep in my gut, but one I’ll endure.
She frowns. “No one else would last a day.”
I shrug. “I know.”
“You’d make them get you coffee and not get them one.” She worries her shirt.
“Possibly.” I’m a selfish bastard.
“Would you miss me?” Her gaze penetrates me.
More than anything.
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
Her gaze sweeps over me, holds me trapped, and when she smiles she makes me forget everything. I want to own that smile, drown in it, be captured by it.
“I’ll miss you more than anything.” My throat is hoarse as I snag her silky hair and wrap it around my finger. The truth leaks from my voice.
“I’ll stay.” A small smile teases her lips. Lips I want to devour.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“I’ll stay because you sometimes make me smile, I like the job, and…” she trails off.
I tug her closer. “And. And what?”
She leans in and presses her lips to my temple, and I resist the urge to sigh. “Thank you, Jason, for putting me first and thinking of my feelings.”
I pull back and cup her beautiful tear-stained face.
“You’re not going to tell me what and is, are you?”
She shakes her head, her eyes sparkling. I’m torn between wanting to kiss her and spanking the answer out of her, but the pressing need to talk about Cynthia forces me to take a much needed breath. “There’s something else.” My throat is shredded. I wasn’t going to lead with Cynthia’s diagnosis. A small part of me, a really small part, wanted to see if Asia would marry me without the death of Cynthia looming above us. And she did. And that really small part of me is ridiculously pleased.
I pull back slightly, close my eyes on a long exhale, and open them. “It’s Cynthia.” There’s a weird wobble in my throat. “She’s dying.” Asia sucks in a long breath, the color leaking from her face. Her eyes are wide and wet.
I bury my hands in her hair, and she nuzzles into my neck and sobs. I hold her close and soothe her. It’s kind of nice to do this for her when she’s been there for me. I hold her until she lifts her head.
“I’ll marry you, Jason, but with conditions.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Asia
Today is officially my wedding day. And for once, the weather gods smile on me. It’s been raining all morning, but we’ve caught a break. The sky is slate gray with swollen purple clouds, and a weak sun filtering through. A gentle breeze whips heads of lavender and perfumes the air. I’m walking toward a breathtaking man in a tux with the wind dusting his unruly hair. His dark eyes scan me silently, a scowl on his face, Angus by his side. I beam at my husband-to-be, and for an instant, the scowls melt away, and he looks shocked, bewildered, a little stunned, his jaw slack. I beam harder.
I’d asked my bestie and neighbor, Darlene, to send a dress I’ve been working on all year. It arrived yesterday with a note that I’d better explain why I need this dress. That conversation will require top-shelf tequila.
I make it to Jason and pass the bouquet of Stargazer lilies to Cynthia, who is wiping her eyes.
“Jesus, that dress.” Jason pulls his hand through his hair, making it more tousled and even sexier.
“Jesus didn’t make the dress, I did.” I smile shyly up to him. I’m super proud of this dress. It fits like a second skin of ivory-colored crepe, hugging my body. It has a strappy halter neckline, not at all suited for a Montana outdoor wedding, but a summer wedding in Malibu. I’d made it for a woman who is my height but willowy. Unfortunately her happy ever after ended when she discovered her one and only banging his best friend’s sister at the rehearsal dinner.
I run my hand down the sheer lace racerback with pearl buttons running from the bottom of the lacy back to the hem of the dress. Nude high sandals on my feet. Cynthia had helped me get dressed earlier. She’d pressed a blue silk hankie for something old and blue. A pair of diamond earrings from Jason covered the new—which I will return, and I guess I’m living on a borrowed timeframe for the marriage.
“You scrub up pretty good yourself.” I squeeze my about-to-be-husband’s hand.
Jason nods to the official. Clearly, he wants this day done and dusted.
He says his vows. He could be marrying a pickled onion for all the emotion in his voice. But I have plans to change that.
Big plans with a capital P.
“Come on, Asia. You’ll get pneumonia,” he grumbles beside me.
“Oh, are you doing that worrying thing again?” I squeeze his hands. “Going to rush out to buy me soup?”
“I’ll order from Campbell’s direct and send you a can opener and a pot.”
“You are so romantic.”
The official, Terry, clears his throat and nods in my direction. Guess I’m up.
I stare into Jason’s unfathomable black eyes. “I, Asia Brown, take you, Jason Johnson, to have and to hold, from his day forward, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall love.”
Yes, the slip is intentional.
He smirks and slips a plain platinum band on my finger. I slip a black band onto his.
Jason Johnson is now officially mine. Well, for a predetermined timeframe, at least. Jason doesn’t know I have a plan to pull him into the light and away from the darkness of his past. I’m going to give my new hubs memories. New, shiny, bright, happy memories. I’m going to show him he can love, can remember his brother and his family without pain. For the last part, I’m probably going to need doctors Phil and Oz.
As for my conditions for marrying.
He will see a therapist about his nightmares and about always throwing himself into work to avoid having to deal with shit he doesn’t want to deal with.
He will not throw money at problems thinking it can fix the world’s ills. It cannot.
While we are fake-married, we will behave as if we are a married couple, including sex.
I’d be insane not to allow myself the pleasure of Jason’s body and his extremely skilled mouth. He tastes like sin, and I’m a dirty, depraved sinner. And the kicker is, I insisted we’re going to have a honeymoon for three days where there is no work. That’s the most I could move his schedule.
The last had been a tough one. Jason hasn’t been on holiday since he left boarding school and those mandatory breaks with his friends. He’d balked, but I could not be moved, so he’d agreed reluctantly. No honeymoon, no wedding.
The reason I’m doing this? A massive chunk of my heart cracked when he sat with me in his arms, ashen, tears falling down his face and shaking. If I can
do something for him, I will. I want to do this for him. Give him some happy times, beautiful memories. Get him to unwind and relax.
I’m shaken out of my brain when Terry utters, “You may kiss the bride.” A warm hand cups my face, and Jason lowers his mouth to mine and pulls me to him. I melt against his sinful touch, pooling against his rock-hard body. He dominates my mouth with his skilled tongue and scorching lips. I breathe him in and let his scent invade all my organs.
He is tortured, beautiful and vulnerable.
And mine.
The side I witnessed talking about his family is the reason I’m here today.
He growls into my mouth, fisting my flat-ironed hair. I moan into his.
A throat clearing pulls us apart, both of us panting. I’m fisting his jacket, braced for impact. Jason turns to Terry, who is staring at us with wide eyes that match Cynthia’s. Angus is studying his now fascinating shoes. I think the tips of my ears are on fire. We were basically making out like horny teens on the prom stage.
Jason rests his forehead against mine and grins.
“Can’t wait to get to the honeymoon.” His voice, low and gravelly, fires up the lady parts.
I shouldn’t be thinking about honeymoon sex right now in front of his grandmother, but one look at his possessive, dominating, sexy look, I press my knees together.
Speaking of honeymoon sex, I pull back his cuff and check his vintage Rolex. We’d better get going. Jason didn’t care where we went and didn’t want in on the details, just threw his credit card at me.
Alrighty then. Hawaii, here we come. I have booked an insanely expensive villa in Kona. My finger hovered over the submit button for what felt like a year. It’s an indecent amount of money, but for my plan to make happy memories for Jason, I need privacy (but couldn’t bring myself to book a dungeon). I also need sunshine. I’ve discovered I’m a summer girl. Biting winds, snow (although catching snowflakes on his balcony was cool, especially being enveloped in Jason’s jacket with his spicy, outdoor man-scent), and crunching ice-wearing wet Converse is not my thing. This trip is also for Jamaica, who always wanted to visit Hawaii, and so do I. I’ll take some pictures to show her when I see her one day, because I am determined she’ll be back home, healthy, happy and off drugs.
“We’ve got hours before we leave, and it’s going to take you that long to help with my dress.” I cock my head. “I could ask Cynthia.”
“Don’t you dare.” A grin pulls up one side of his mouth. He grabs my hand, and I grab my bouquet.
We thank Terry, who wishes us a long, happy marriage. Cynthia beams at us like she’s invented a cryptocurrency.
Rain splatters and falls like giant bombs of cold on my shoulders. I hurry as fast as I can, obviously not fast enough in my heels. Jason stops, scoops me up, and carries me through the front door, up the stairs, and into our bedroom without breaking a sweat.
“Let me help you with the buttons. I’ve been dying to see what’s underneath all day.”
He spins me gently, then gets to work.
“Holy shit, how many are there?” He growls. “Maybe I should rip them off.” He tugs at the fabric.
I clutch the front of the dress and look at him over my shoulder. “Don’t you dare. I spent ages making this dress. What with working your insane hours and finding enough time to design and make dresses, this is my favorite. Besides, these buttons came from a cute little shop in Inglewood and took hours to hand-sew.”
He picks up speed as he gets the hang of the buttons. His hand skims the wisp of pink lace, and he sucks back a breath. His hands are now on my shoulders, and he turns me to face him. I’m holding the dress clutched to my chest, my heart racing. He tugs at the fabric I’m holding, and it pools to an ivory cloud at my feet. I’m standing there in nothing but high heels, a strapless white bra and pink lace between my legs. Jason scrubs his hand across his face.
“You make for one hell of a fake bride.”
I’m mute at the predatory look in his eye. I bend down to remove my shoes.
“Leave them on. I’ve had a vision of you in stripper heels for a while.” He glances at my feet. “I can compromise on the color.”
His hands travel over my shoulders, then he kisses and nips his way down my body. I moan when the bra hits the floor, and he teases my bunched and aching nipples with his teeth.
“I’m going to mark you everywhere. Everyone is going to look at you and know you’re mine.” He growls, which shoots straight between my legs. I’m wet, horny, and so in need of him filling me. My blood vibrates, along with all major muscle groups, and some minor ones get in on the action.
As if sensing my lusty thoughts, he grins and rips the clothes from his body.
“On the bed, Mrs. Johnson. On all fours. Your delicious ass in the air.”
I scramble onto the bed like a puppy eager to please her master. I don’t know why his sexy, commanding voice undoes all my years of fighting for gender equality, but the way he says Mrs. Johnson, I swear I’m wetter than the Pacific Ocean.
He crawls onto the bed behind me, his heat covering my back. He rips the delicate lace from my body. I quiver. He could thrust into me now and I’d come.
He positions me, moves me around until I’m sitting on his face. I grind down on him, desperate for release.
“Not yet. Stay still,” he growls.
I rebel by grinding down harder. I can feel his grin against the inner thigh he’s kissing and nipping. His hands are on my hips, anchoring me to him. He licks from slit to crack and back again. I jerk when he lightly touches my clit—my desperate, needy clit. His tongue is at the puckered hole, and I squirm in embarrassment, loving the sensation of his hot tongue in my most intimate of places. He licks my clit once, twice, and I’m a tangled mess of delightful sensations writhing deep in my belly.
“You taste like my favorite ice-cream flavor,” he murmurs as he nips, kisses, and licks me into a squirming mess of hormones.
“What flavor is it?” I ask all breathily, straining for the control that I’m hanging onto by a tiny, unraveling thread.
“Fucked if I know, but this is it.”
My thighs quiver and shake.
“Jason,” I plead. “Please.”
“Not yet, beautiful. I’m far from finished with you.”
His finger teases my entrance. I moan and try to grind down on him, but his hands hold me in place.
I’m going to explode. There will be parts of me landing on the walls, Jupiter, and Washington State.
Another finger enters me. His tongue firms on my clit.
“Ride me, baby.”
And ride I do. I’m basically masturbating against his tongue, and the sensation is amazing. His tongue is rough, smooth, and everywhere. The pressure builds in my belly where my muscles strain under the onslaught, and it’s both the sweetest pleasure and most intoxicating pain I’ve ever experienced. I’m soaring higher and higher, closer to the edge. I’m wound so tight, and knowing what I need, he sucks my clit into his mouth, and I explode. Muscles jerking like I’ve been electrocuted. He scoots out from underneath me, and I fall forward, a giant ball of goo. He pulls me onto my knees and tilts my ass in the air. A rip of foil then in one swift, gorgeous, pleasure and pain-filled moment he is inside me. The pain is beautiful, and in one thrust, the air from my lungs expels.
“I’ve been dreaming about this. You on all fours, me fisting your riot of hair.”
He nearly pulls out and then thrusts deep. I shiver, moan, and nearly lose my mind.
The heat pouring out of him is soaking into my skin. His mouth at my shoulder, nipping and stroking with his tongue while he thrusts into me again, and again, finding a spot that has me moaning and screaming at the same time.
A finger wiggles into my puckered hole, and an orgasm rushes over me like a tsunami. I shake, jerk, and collapse. The thrusts pick up, he moans something incoherent, but it has the outline of my name. With a grunt, he empties into me. I turn and look at his fierce face. His eyes
are both broody and tender.
He slaps my butt, not enough to hurt but to make a mark, then soothes, frowning as if he didn’t mean to hurt me.
But he will. This man has the power to crush my heart under the heel of his shoe if I let him.
“Come on, Mrs. Johnson.” He smirks when he says the Mrs., like he can’t believe he’s married.
“We have a flight to catch, a mile-high club to join, and I can’t wait to start our honeymoon.”
He slips off the ring I’d slipped on his finger earlier. He looks at me and frowns. “You know this is for show only.” He frowns at me harder. “Don’t go and get feelings, Asia.”
I roll my eyes at him. A little bit of my heart does that weird twisty thing when I look at him.
“You and your romantic post-coital talk.”
I glance at the ancient clock in the corner.
“There’s something we have to do,” I say after a shower. Clean clothes are on my body. I tilt my chin at him, determined.
“Lead the way,” he says, amused.
I take his hand. This is going to be either heaven or absolute hell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jason
“No. I’m not going in there.” I scrub a hand across my face and stare into my assistant/wife’s determined hazel orbs. “What the fuck were you thinking?” I take a further step back. I’d rather walk into a church packed with nuns, masturbating with a rubber cock hanging out my ass, than walk into this room.
Asia takes my hand from where I’m plastered against the wall trying to disappear into the paintwork.
“Come on. It can’t be worse than what’s in your head.”
Yes, it can. It really can. It could bring me to my knees and not for the reason I’d like. Asia lets go of my hand, opens the door to hell, and walks in. She laughs at something. Her feet move around the room. She’s picking things up and putting them back down. What exactly?
I mentally gird my loins and take a step into the room. My old room. The room James and I shared.
Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance Page 15
