“He uses you. He never stops to think about what you want. It’s always about him. His needs.”
Nothing escaped my grandmother’s notice. “Brad’s very preoccupied with stopping Drake Towers from being built,” I said, trying to defend my ex-boyfriend.
“Self-absorbed,” she scoffed. “Is he picking you up?”
I winced. Grandma wasn’t going to like my answer. “No. He had to go to some other meeting, and he didn’t want to come back to get me. I told him I’d just meet him downtown.”
Her face creased into a frown. “In this dress?” she asked, looking at my full-length gown. “Tell me you are taking a cab.”
Cabs cost money, and we didn’t have any. But telling her that would set off an argument, and I didn’t want that. “Yes,” I lied to her. “I am.”
“Good.” She finished her magic and stepped back to survey my hair critically. “What do you think?”
The woman in the mirror looked like a different person. More glamorous, more poised, more serene. “I think it’s perfect,” I said. I stood up and drew my grandmother into a hug. “Thank you, grandma.”
“Promise me you won’t spend the entire evening doing what Brad wants.” Her voice softened. “At your age, you should be out dancing, living life, meeting men who will dote on you. Not wasting it on a selfish boy and an old woman.”
“Time with you is never wasted,” I said, leaning my face into her shoulder. “And I don’t seem to have very much luck in the doting men department.”
As I spoke those words, Ryder Drake’s face swam into view in my mind. He would be at the party tonight. At the prospect of meeting him and talking to him, my skin prickled with excitement. For some reason, when I thought of him, I felt shaky, tremulous. Entirely unlike myself.
And I wasn’t used to the sensation.
4
Ryder
In a sea of black, Zoe Robinson stood out in her flowing green dress. She looked like a spring goddess, and when I saw her in a corner of the room, my heart stuttered in an entirely unfamiliar way.
This is foolishness, I scolded myself. But I still found myself threading my way toward her.
“Hello, Zoe.”
She jumped at my greeting, and her drink sloshed in her hand. “Mr. Drake,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed. “You startled me.”
“Call me Ryder.” My lips curved into a smile. “After your speech last week at City Hall, I didn’t expect to see you here today. Somehow, I got the sense that you didn’t like Drake & Partners very much.” A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne, and I flagged him down, grabbing two flutes and handing her one. “Dare I ask what kind of stunt Brad Wexley is planning today?”
She went pink. “I don’t know.” She gulped down a long mouthful of the champagne before looking at me. “I don’t like the Drake Towers project,” she said, her tone straightforward. “But it doesn’t mean that I automatically approve of everything Brad does.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you like Drake Towers? I thought the addition of the park and the playground would have satisfied your concerns.”
“Mr. Drake, how naive do you think I am?” Her tone was cynical. “Men like you think that money can buy everything. I’m sure that your lawyers are hard at work right now trying to find a way to get Drake Towers approved by the city without putting in the park.”
“An idealist, I see. You don’t think money can buy everything?”
Her back stiffened. “I know it can’t.”
“And yet,” I pointed out, “you are here with Brad Wexley, arm candy to a very wealthy man.” I ran my gaze over her. “That’s a lovely dress.”
“And your implication is that Brad bought it for me?” She looked disgusted. “You don’t know everything, Mr. Drake, though you clearly like to think you do. Brad’s my friend, nothing more. I don’t suppose you’d understand that. Men like you generally think women are good for one thing only.”
“Men like me…” I took a step closer to her. “You seem to have me typecast.”
“I’m not the only one, am I?” she retorted.
“Touché.” I lifted my glass toward her. “Where is your camera-loving friend? I don’t see him in the room.”
“I have no idea,” she admitted. “I’ve barely seen him all evening.”
“He’s a fool.” I took a sip of the champagne. The room faded to the background, and she stood out with a clarity that almost frightened me. “If I were with such a beautiful woman, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight for a second.”
“I’m not a possession, Mr. Drake.” Her voice was level, with simmering undertones of anger. “In any case, you aren’t with me.”
God, she was beautiful. Her hazel eyes glittered with heat, and her lips were parted. Unable to help myself, I reached out to touch them, to feel her softness against my skin. “Not a possession,” I muttered, my thumb running over her lower lip. “But someone of far greater value than he realizes. Does he make you happy?”
“I already told you,” she breathed. “I’m not with Brad.” She lifted her hand and closed her fingers over my wrist. “What are you doing?”
“Touching you. Should I stop?”
Her eyes were a sea of confusion. She looked the way I felt. I had felt lust for many women, but this? There was a sharpness, an immediacy, a realness that unnerved me. Zoe Robinson was a dangerous woman. Standing next to her, our bodies nearly touching, I could almost forget that Zoe was almost certainly working with Brad Wexley and Bianca Russo to kill the Drake Towers project.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Why do I feel like this?”
“Like what?” We were two magnets, being pulled toward each other against our better judgment. I understood her bewilderment; I shared it.
“Like I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me…”
With those softly spoken words, any restraint I’d been clinging onto was swept away. I put an arm around her waist and pulled her toward me, and she uttered a throaty moan and came willingly.
I had been prepared for sparks. I hadn’t been prepared for an inferno. Zoe’s arms reached around to hug me close to her, and her lips parted under mine. Her body pressed into me, and my cock jumped at her nearness, at her touch. She tasted like mint and spring, and when she sighed against my mouth, the soft sound shuddered through my body. Blood pounded in my head, and I forgot where I was. I forgot the room full of people that I’d invited. I forgot Bianca Russo, who had texted me earlier today, telling me she wanted to talk to me.
Holding Zoe Robinson, all I could focus on was the feel of her in my arms and the urgency of my need for more.
Then she pulled away.
“Ryder,” she breathed. She shook her head as if to clear it. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. I was as dazed as she was. “I want you. Will you come to my place later tonight?”
The instant I uttered those words, I wished I could take them back. Because Zoe stiffened and her expression turned unreadable. “I think you just made my point for me, Mr. Drake,” she said after a long pause. Her voice was as cold as ice. “There really is only one thing you are interested in women for.”
Without a backward look, she walked away.
5
Ryder
Fifteen minutes later, Bianca cornered me, and I groaned silently to myself. My evening wasn’t about to get any better.
“Ryder,” she purred, stroking my arm. “You’re a hard man to track down.”
“Bianca.” I stepped back, putting some distance between the two of us. We’d slept together casually for a month ten years ago. It should have been old history, but from the covetous look in Bianca’s eyes, I didn’t think she agreed. “It’s good to see you. Is your husband here?”
She brushed off my reminder that she was married. “He doesn’t like parties,” she said, her lips compressing into a pout. “Not like you, Ryder. Do you remember how much fun we used to have?”
I stopped her
hand from straying too close to my cock. “‘Used to have’ is the operative phrase, I believe,” I said. Damn it. Had she been single, I would have taken her up on her offer, no problem, and Drake Towers would have been built without any opposition. But she was married, and that was my one hard limit. My father had cheated on my mother throughout their marriage. One of these indiscretions had even led to the birth of a child, my half-sister Gigi, something that only came to light on his death six years ago. I had no desire to repeat the sins of my parent.
“It doesn’t have to be,” she said in a throaty murmur. She pressed herself against me. “What is it, Ryder? Don’t you want me?”
Fuck me. This needed to be handled delicately. If I rejected Bianca outright, she could get pissed enough to block my project, and I didn’t want that. Ever since I moved back to Toronto two years ago, I’d been working on Drake Towers. Buying the vacant lot, designing the space and winning city councilors over. Now, one hasty move could ruin it all.
“Was it the girl in the green dress?” Bianca raised her voice. “The one you were kissing earlier?”
I seized on her words like a drowning man clinging to a raft. “Yes,” I said, my voice hoarse with relief at the out I’d been granted. “Zoe.”
“I don’t mind sharing.” Her lips tickled my ear. “It’ll just be our little secret.”
I pulled away. “I can’t,” I said, sounding regretful. “I really can’t.” I looked into Bianca’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Bianca. I’m in love with Zoe, and I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“You are?”
I nodded. I had no idea how I was going to get Zoe to cooperate, but I had a vague idea that I could bribe her by offering her carte blanche over the playground design. She wanted to help the kiddies, right? Perhaps we could trade.
“I am.” I shrugged, spreading my hands wide. “I’m in love, Bianca. I’m sure you can understand that.”
She gave me an unreadable look before stepping back. “Congratulations,” she said. “The two of you must come and have dinner with Thomas and me once the Drake Towers project is approved.”
“We will,” I assured her, exhaling with relief. It looked like I’d dodged a major bullet. Luck of the devil, Gigi would say.
But I wasn’t in the clear. Not yet.
Bianca frowned. “Hang on,” she muttered slowly. “Your girlfriend, isn’t she the one who spoke up at the town hall meeting against Drake Towers? The one who wanted a playground? Be honest with me, Ryder. What are you playing at?”
6
Zoe
The next morning, I climbed onto the roof, trying to convince myself that my fear of heights wasn’t rational. And even though most of my stomach was churning at the thought of being close to the edge, I still couldn’t get that damn kiss out of my mind.
Ryder Drake looked like the devil, with his dark hair, sexy stubble, and glittering eyes. But he kissed like an angel.
You were tempted to take him up on his offer.
It was true. In the face of his raw sexuality, every ounce of common sense I possessed had vanished. Had he kissed me one more time, had he phrased his request less bluntly… I would have been waking up next to him this morning.
And it would have been a mistake.
There it was. Vibrators didn’t rival the weight of a hard body against my skin, but the morning after, I never regretted my rabbit.
“Zoe,” my grandmother peered up at me from the driveway, her pink robe belted tight around her waist, a cup of coffee in her hand, her voice raised in alarm. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Fixing the torn shingles,” I yelled down. “It rained last night. My bedroom had a puddle in it.”
“Oh dear.” She sounded distressed. “Zoe, honey, you don’t like heights.”
I loved my grandmother, but she was gifted at stating the obvious. “As long as I don’t look down, I’m fine. Go inside, grandma. This won’t take long. I just have to rip up this row of shingles and replace them with new ones.”
“Let’s hire someone to do this.”
“It’s only going to take me thirty minutes, Grandma,” I said. “Tell you what, you make pancakes, and by the time you are done cooking, I’ll be finished.”
She shook her head disapprovingly, but she went inside, without protesting once again. My grandmother wasn’t a fool. I didn’t need to explicitly state that we couldn’t afford to hire someone to come and fix the roof. If I wanted to live in a leak-free house, even if only for the next eighty-two days, I’d have to fix it myself.
“Alright, Zoe,” I told myself, once my grandmother was out of earshot. “You can do this. You saw the YouTube video. This is going to be a piece of cake.” I glared at my right hand, which was shaking like a leaf. I really, really hated heights. Any moment, I was going to throw up the two cups of coffee I’d had this morning.
“What on earth are you doing?” a loud male voice interrupted, startling me so much that I almost fell to the ground. “Zoe Robinson, are you insane?”
I looked down to see the man who had kissed me at the gala yesterday, who had played a starring role in my dreams all night long. Ryder Drake was at the base of the ladder, looking up at me, a furious expression on his face.
Suddenly, the churning in my stomach had nothing to do with my fear of heights, and everything to do with the man who was climbing up next to me.
“Are you shingling the roof?” He sounded absolutely astonished as he walked surefootedly along the edge of the roof until he reached me. He folded himself down next to me and surveyed my collection of tools with a peculiar expression on his face.
I nodded. “I am. What are you doing here, Mr. Drake? And how did you know where I lived?”
“Google.” He ignored the rest of my question. “Have you shingled a roof before?”
“I have not.” My voice was lofty. “But I’m handy enough, and I watched a YouTube video. Did you come here to critique my every move?” I glared at him, but that turned out to be a mistake. I caught a glimpse of the ground, and my skin turned clammy. Oh God, I was going to be sick all over Ryder Drake.
“Are you ill?” There was sudden concern in his voice.
“I’m afraid of heights,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “Mr. Drake, I’m twenty feet off the ground. Can we chat later?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he snapped at me. “Zoe, stop this nonsense before you hurt yourself. Come on down, and I’ll call someone to fix your roof for you.”
“Can’t pay them.” I kept my voice light. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not going to bill you, Zoe,” he said, exasperation coloring his voice. “Will you please come down? I need to talk to you about something.”
I frowned at him. Come to think of it, he didn’t look as self-assured as he had last night. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his hair was messy. He was wearing a faded pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and he had a pair of battered sneakers on his feet. He looked very un-billionaire this morning.
I seized upon the most obvious explanation for his disarray. “Did Brad do something after I left?” I asked. “I already told you. I don’t control Brad.”
He rolled his eyes. “I can handle Wexley,” he said. “No, I need to talk to you about a personal matter.” His fingers closed over my wrist. “Please?”
It was the please that did it. Ryder Drake was asking for a favor, not barking out orders? I didn’t know him at all, but I still didn’t think this moment happened very often.
“What?” I was aware that my mouth hung open in shock, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Did I just hear Ryder say he needed to marry me?
“I need you to marry me,” he repeated, a thread of impatience in his voice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
This had to be some kind of elaborate practical joke, but I failed to see the humor in the situation. “After one kiss?” I quipped, trying to calm my fluttering nerves. My heart gallo
ped in my chest, and my head spun. My body was reacting as if I was still balanced at the edge of the roof, looking down. “I’m flattered.”
He laughed at that. A short, reluctant bark of laughter, but a laugh nonetheless. “Indeed,” he noted wryly. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning.”
“That’s a good idea,” I muttered. I’d taken him into our living room, and had shut the door so that my grandmother couldn’t eavesdrop on our conversation. Not that she’d ever stoop to that level. She had far too much class for that. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“No thanks,” he declined. He hesitated for a few seconds, not meeting my eyes, then he exhaled. “I really want to build Drake Towers,” he said.
“Why?” Ryder Drake’s resume was already crazy impressive. He’d won the Mies van der Rohe Award when he was twenty-five for his design of the national concert hall in Oslo. In a decade, possibly sooner, he would be a shoo-in for a Pritzker Prize, the most prestigious award in the world of architecture. Drake Towers was only one building.
He frowned. “What do you mean, why? I want to leave a legacy in the city I grew up in. Isn’t that understandable?”
“I guess.” I shrugged. “If I were a billionaire, maybe I’d slow down and enjoy my money, not throw myself into one project after another.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We are getting away from the point,” he said.
I resisted the urge to snort. “Pardon my attempt to try and make some sense of the marriage proposal,” I said dryly. “Please, carry on.”
His lips compressed into a tight line. Annoyance? Amusement? I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. “The second thing you need to know is that a long time ago, I was involved briefly with Bianca Russo.”
I was sure the shock I felt showed on my face. “Oh.”
Temporary Wife : A Billionaire Fake Marriage Romance Page 2
