Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance

by Hayson Manning

  A few minutes later, water hits the tiles. I get off the bed, put on my jeans, then spy my suitcase, and start unpacking. I’d ordered online from Macy’s, and in record breaking time T-shirts, shorts, and a couple of swishy dresses and skirts arrived. Last season’s unwanted summer clothes I couldn’t really afford—but hey, Hawaii.

  The door opens, and Jason is looking magnificent with a snowy-white towel wrapped around his hips. My eyes stray to the knot holding the cotton in place, wishing I could do telekinesis and move the fabric three feet to the left.

  “See something you like?” Jason’s bored voice snaps my head up. He shrugs a shoulder. “What you see is what’s on offer.”

  We’ll see.

  After a shower, I adjust the purple bikini strings around my neck and walk out of the bathroom. Jason is on the phone and ends the call a few minutes later.

  “Cynthia sends her love,” he says. “She’s okay. Seems Angus is hanging around a lot more after I had a discreet conversation with him.”

  His back is to me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “I’m glad she’s got someone close by looking out for her.” I smile at Jason then start mentally flicking through the brochure on the island in my mind.

  “What should we do first?” More flicking. “There’s a swim-up bar. We could order daiquiris and coladas. Or we could walk around and get a lay of the land. What would you—?”

  I jerk to a halt at the look on his face. He stalks to me, covering the distance in a time an Olympic sprinter would be proud of.

  “What’s wrong?” The air freezes in my chest.

  “We’re not going fucking anywhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jason

  “What’s wrong?” My wounded assistant/wife asks, her eyes pools of hurt.

  Jesus. Fuck, does she honestly not know what’s wrong?

  Two purple triangles barely cover her breasts. Scratch that. My breasts. Another purple scrap of fabric covers her front, but I can see in the mirror, the fabric barely covers her lush cheeks.

  Her skin smooth and glowing from the sex we’ve just had. Her lips swollen—both sets, I imagine, because I’m having a fantasy in my head involving both sets. I travel the length of her, drinking her in. She may be tiny, but she is perfectly put together. Toned arms and shoulders along with a perfect handful of breasts. A tiny waist flaring to wide hips like one of those pin-up girls from back in the day. Toned legs, all that fucking messy hair, and her expressive fuck-me eyes. Sexy but innocent, vulnerable but strong. If Asia has your back, you know she’d die on the battlefield defending you. It is in the tilt of her chin, the narrowing of her eyes, the hand to the hip. One look at her and there’ll be dudes lining up ready to go to battle for her because that’s what cavemen have been doing since the start of time, which evolved into pistols at dawn, then de-evolved to fistfights and pummeling heads into walls.

  “I’ll have to beat men off you.” I circle the couch like a racehorse before the Derby.

  Her hands are on her hips, and she shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’re at a honeymoon resort.”

  I tug a hand through my hair. “Exactly. I don’t want to spend it in a four by four cell with dudes named Bubba and Monkey Juice.”

  She slaps my hand playfully and pulls on a white cotton coverall, which barely covers anything.

  “You cavemen need to evolve. Us sisters have been doing it for ourselves.” Her eyes slide to her suitcase. “You’ve met Leonardo.” She blushes.

  I plan on using the seven inches of silicone.

  Wait.

  I stop pacing, my hands on my hips, frowning. “As in the actor?”

  “That’s the one.” Her smile spills sunshine into the room, and I frown at her.

  “It’s now officially named Lionel.”

  “As in the singer?”

  “That’s the one.” I smirk.

  “He’s way too old.”

  “Baby, we both know it won’t be either of those names you call when you come. It will only be my name.” I kiss her forehead and smile when her skin heats under my lips.

  We are now standing on our own private beach. Asia stands in the water ankle deep, letting the waves wash over her.

  “It’s magical,” she whispers. Awe and wonder lie in her choked voice, like she’s found a unicorn named Garry, and he now lives in her backyard under a rainbow.

  “What is?” The whirr of a golf cart sounds in the distance like a buzzing bee. A humid breeze brushes the back of my neck. I drag my hands down my black boardies.

  “The beach.” She turns to me, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know the water would be this warm, the sand this soft.”

  “You mean beaches in Hawaii? Yeah, they are spectacular. We came here with a bunch of the boarders who didn’t go home for holidays a few times with Zan’s feuding parents. Caught waves, roasted marshmallows around a bonfire.”

  “Really?”

  “Can you see me roasting marshmallows around a campfire?”

  We chased girls, drank tequila like it was water, and smoked enough weed to put us in comas.

  “No, I suppose not.” She holds up a hand. “Can you please be quiet? This is another first for me, and I want it to be perfect.”

  Wait.

  My eyebrows shoot up. I advance into the water and stand behind her.

  “You’ve never been to the beach before?” I rest my chin on her head that she shakes. “Baby, we live in Southern California. That’s practically a crime. I’m pretty sure you can get a citation.”

  She shrugs one delicate shoulder. “We never had the money to catch buses and trains to the beach. We couldn’t afford it.” She pulls her phone out of the pocket of the barely there coverall.

  “Can I take a photo of us?”

  She takes a selfie of us, me in aviator shades looking like a black rain cloud, Asia all sunshine, and a smile that pierces my heart and balls.

  It has become increasingly clear there are a lot of firsts my assistant/wife hasn’t done and, fuck me, I want to be the one she does her firsts with.

  “Do you remember when I said I’ll stay because you sometimes make me smile, I like the job, and…” She lets the word trail, again.

  “Yeah.” I inhale the scent of her shampoo and I swear every muscle in my body sighs.

  “You, Jason. I enjoy spending time with you.”’

  That hits at a spot I didn’t know existed. I spin her, my mouth landing on hers in a fierce kiss. She melts against me, and once again, I’m hard in record time. They really should study my blood for a new ED pill.

  We pull apart, panting, our breaths ragged, desire swimming in her beautiful hazel eyes.

  I’m a man on a mission. I will be all of her firsts from now on.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Asia

  I suck back a mojito at the walk-up bar. Jason sits beside me, nursing a beer. Soft aloha music plays from hidden speakers. Oiled couples on loungers dot the pool reading or snoozing. Feet stick out of puffy white cabanas a few feet away on the sand.

  Jason throws a glare at the bartender, who smiles at me.

  I steal another look at Jason’s toned body. His T-shirt is off (yay), and he’s magnificent. I swear we’ve only been here for hours, and already his skin has tanned. The ‘Praesidio’ tattoo appears darker. His skin ripples over taut muscles, ridges, bulgy muscles, and biceps that make my mouth water.

  I roll my eyes. “The bartender named Wendy is not hitting on me.” More delicious minty mojito hits the back of my throat.

  His dark stormy eyes capture mine and a magical smile splits his face for a second. Dear God, that smile should come with a warning. I literally stop breathing like in a bad rom-com. He’s beautiful in a stormy all-conquering pirate way. It’s kind of cute he’s possessive over me, shooting ‘fuck off’ glares to anyone who comes near us. Admittedly, I’ve given my share of ‘piss off’ glowers to women who shake their hair and their chest in his
direction.

  I can do nothing but smile back at my husband, as I’m a bit giddy, and it isn’t from the mouthfuls of mojito. My heart is galloping in my chest and wonder shoots into my heart. I would pay good money to see that smile every single day.

  I am a woman on a mission to give this haunted man some happy memories and a boatload of smiles.

  “What else is on this ‘first’ list?” His eyes travel over my face where I’m still grinning like I’ve caught the bouquet at a Kardashian wedding.

  “Well.” I toy with the eco-friendly straw. “Since this is the first time I’ve been to the beach, it’s safe to say I’ve never been swimming.”

  “Well, shit. Really? Not even at your school?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about the synchronized swim classes, the water polo, and how could I forget the dive tower?” I shoulder bump him. “Not everyone went to a fancy boarding school.”

  He stares straight ahead, his jaw tight. “It was hell on Earth until the misfits found each other. I’d be lost without them.” He sucks back a mouthful of beer, and I shiver in the tropical sun at the column of his neck, the swallow of fluid. Little prickles of awareness heat the water between us.

  “I’m glad you found your friends.” I lace my fingers with his and squeeze. My heart breaks for the seven-year-old Jason sent away after his brother and mom died. Lonely and broken.

  School was my outlet, creatively and scholastically. I would sit in the library for hours using their computers, sketching designs, working out what grants I could apply for that would give me a full or partial ride to college.

  His lip hikes up one side. “Swimming. I can get that sorted. There’ll be an instructor here. Let me get this organized.” He goes to signal the bartender, but before he does, I cut him off.

  “Whoa, getting ahead of yourself there, Aquaman. I don’t want to learn to swim. Float without drowning would be good.”

  He stares at me, and I stare back.

  “I could teach you to float.”

  Okay.

  “I’m an awesome floater. Won a competition in school between doing triple tucks off the thirty-three-foot diving platform.”

  I laugh, having no idea if he’s joking or not.

  He tugs my hand. “Come on, Mrs. Johnson, we’ve got a private pool.” He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Not sure if you know this, but floating naked is the best feeling in the world.”

  I grin. “Really?” My insides are a ball of tangled wool. I love the way he said Mrs. Johnson in his growly trademark demand that shoots heat everywhere.

  “Well, not the best feeling, obviously, but up there.”

  “I’m not sure about this. I think I’ll be fine going through life without floating.” I’m clinging to Jason’s hand as we walk into the pool. I was fine when the water was at my waist, but now it’s at my chin, and I’m feeling a bit panicky, and it’s rattling my voice.

  “Hop on.” Jason pats his shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

  Do I trust you to not harm me physically or mentally? Do I trust you to not shatter my heart one day?

  Because the more I’m around this infuriating man who stirs my soul and my heart, the more he’s inching under my skin, and I don’t know how to stop him or if I want to.

  I’m facing him, and stare up into his eyes. “I kind of trust you.” My hand smooths over his shoulders, rubbing circles. I can’t help it. Its satin covering hard planed muscle. My hand splays over his heart, then I tweak his nipples.

  “Asia, I’m not above having you right here,” he growls.

  I jump on his front, erasing the image of him doing me in the pool, which I’m sure is unsanitary, and although we have our own private beach, sand in soft places doesn’t appeal.

  We are now in the middle of the pool, and according to the arrow and 6ft sign, the deepest part. My legs are locked around powerful hips.

  I cling to Jason.

  “What if you drop me? What if you can’t do CPR? What if you faint or something, and I have to drag your seven-foot body out of the pool and perform CPR on you?” I’m probably cutting off his air supply.

  He chuckles. “I’m not going to drop you. I can do CPR, and I’ve never fainted in my life. Well, apart from that one time in the pool.”

  I’m an octopus on his broad shoulders, my fingers pressing into warm flesh. Admittedly, I didn’t realize I’d said my thoughts aloud, but the brain does funny things when faced with impending death by drowning.

  “Wait. What?” I screech, upsetting a flock of birds who take flight.

  “I’m joking.”

  He drops my legs, which leaves my arms looped around his neck. This is nice. I could stay here and stare into his eyes all day like a creeper. I wiggle, and he growls. Nowhere to hide his desire in thin surfer board shorts.

  Steady hands are on my shoulders. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

  I close my eyes for a moment and let go.

  “Rest your head on my hand and kick your legs up,” he commands in his throaty voice.

  I do as commanded, and starfish my legs and gaze in wonder at the puffy clouds.

  “Don’t panic, but you’re floating on your own.” His voice comes to the left of me where he’s standing and grinning at me.

  I falter at his words and panic. In a second, he’s righting the sinking ship while I gulp air, flailing like a sea lion.

  “Still got you.” A hand under my head steadies me. His hand eases away after a time, and I’m floating, my hands little rudders as I propel myself around the pool, the shadow of Jason always at my side. I make it to the shallow side and plonk my butt on the seat built for two.

  “Thank you, that was magical.” I smile up at him.

  “Glad I’m your first.” He shoulder bumps me, and I can’t help but laugh. There is a whole new shoulder bumping side to Jason, one I’m determined to drag kicking and screaming into the public. This man deserves joy, laughter, happy memories, and love. Especially love.

  It is now late afternoon, and we are nearing the end of our allotted ninety minutes of internet where we both cleared Jason’s work schedule, him occasionally grumbling, me smiling. My phone pings while I watch Jason head toward the bathroom for a quick shower before we head to the bar.

  BAG OF BONES: Nothing new. I’m keen to follow up on the out-of-state lead. Let me know when you can send the money.

  My shoulders slump. I don’t have the money, and it could cost me my sister. I can’t and won’t ask Jason for an advance for the money we agreed on. He’ll tack on a clause I can’t afford. I swore to my grandmother I’d find Jamaica, and I intend to keep my promise. Regret and sadness pierce my heart.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason walks into the room like he owns it. Black everything, his dark brows pulled in.

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Everything’s peachy.” I force my plastic lips into a smile.

  “Don’t lie to me, Asia.” Storm clouds gather in his eyes as he stalks toward me.

  “It’s nothing I can’t fix.”

  More glares.

  “Still looking for my sister.” I push my feet into heels and stand, brushing my hands down the white halter neck dress, which I would normally never wear because it shows off way too much of my body. It tucks in at the waist, glides over my hips, and ends mid-thigh.

  “God, that dress.” Jason drags his hand across his face. “You in that dress.” His gaze rakes over me. More glares. “I’ll send you the number for my lawyer. I’ll definitely be spending the night with Monkey Piss and Bubba.”

  I roll my eyes. “Come on, caveman, I’m buying you a drink. A daiquiri with little umbrellas, or maybe a Piña Colada. You need to get in touch with your feminine side.”

  “You’re not buying me anything, but I’ll buy you anything you want.” He laces his hand with mine. For a man who doesn’t like public displays of affection, he sure is handsy, and I love it.

  “Since you’re offering, I’ll take an island in the South Pa
cific stocked with Vikings who give foot massages, a pair of Christian Louboutin silver shoes, along with Dorothy’s red slippers, because that’s the likelihood of me ever owning a pair. And—”

  And to get my sister into rehab and opioid free.

  I blink away sadness. “And a unicorn.”

  “Let’s start with the things I can do. What size shoe are you?”

  I shake my head. “Joking, Jason. Come on, I’m buying you a fruity cocktail.”

  “The Vikings can fuck off, but I can do an island.” He’s pulling out his phone and texting. I don’t know if he’s joking or not.

  “I don’t want an island or fancy shoes.” I pick up a keycard.

  I just want you.

  “I’ll take the unicorn, though. Give Blossom something to boss around, and all those dreams and wishes would be kind of handy.”

  He grabs my hand, and five minutes later, we are at a table with other couples sipping champagne. On my way back from the bathroom, I order him a Scotch and me a lemon drop. My eyes widen at the cost because there must be actual fairy dust in the drinks. I hold my breath when I hand over my card and sigh in relief when a little receipt bursts out of the machine. I slide his drink before Jason and sit down next to him.

  “No one buys me things.” Jason scowls into his drink before taking a sip of the amber-colored fluid. “Thank you,” he says, genuine warmth in his voice.

  “You’re welcome.”

  The lemon drop is better than ever, and I enjoy it and the relaxed surroundings. The sun, a red-licked lollipop, hangs in the sky, dipping toward the sea. Birds sing goodnight, and insects ready for their night shift bustle about in the bushes.

  Fed, watered, and tipsy—me, not Jason—we head back to our villa.

  “Do you ever get drunk? Even a little bit?” I’m gazing at the moon. It’s so close I can reach out and touch it.

  “I don’t lose control. Ever.”