The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend - Part 2 (The Billionaire Saga)

by Sierra Rose

  “So, Marcus,” she asked, “who exactly should we be expecting from your side of the family? I wasn’t sure if I should call them to have them meet us here, or what you wanted to do.”

  Even my oblivious mother, caught the middle of her manufactured whirlwind, seemed to understand that she’d trespassed where she should not. Marcus’ face locked down, the sudden stiffening in his limbs visibly apparent to everyone at the table. He opened his mouth to say something to ward her off, but for the first time all morning, he came up blank.

  “The only family Marcus needs there is me.”

  The eyes of the entire table looked my way, gawking, as I surprised even myself with the firmness of my tone. Marcus glanced up momentarily, but his face was unreadable. Mine, on the other hand, was not. I didn’t know if I’d ever felt more abruptly protective of anyone in my life.

  “And as for the rest of the wedding details, I’ll call you tomorrow.” I pushed back my chair and got to my feet. “Thanks for setting this up, Mom. I think we have some good ideas. But Marcus and I need to be going now.” For the first time, I glanced down at his shell-shocked face and extended my hand. “Honey…will you drive me home?”

  A warm flush of gratitude sparkled suddenly in his eyes, and he accepted instantly. “Of course. Thanks again, Sharon—Max, Amanda. We’ll see you soon.”

  Without another word, we were out the door and climbing into a limo that Marcus’ people had provided. It was ready and waiting. It was a long drive home, but neither one of us said much of anything as we rested our heads against opposite windows and peered up at the sky. The scenery was blurred and identical, and I’d almost completely tuned out until I felt his hand close gently over mine. I glanced over, but he was still staring out the window, the traces of a faint smile softening his face. Before I knew what was happening, I wrapped my fingers through his, turning back to my window with a smile of my own.

  It was a peaceful way to end a stressful afternoon…but all that shattered apart when we pulled up outside my apartment.

  “What the heck is going on?” I said.

  We stared out at the horde of people mobbing the front doors of the complex. Angry yells and threats shot back and forth through the air, and Marcus wrapped his arm around my shoulders protectively as we pulled closer.

  “This is freaking wonderful,” I moaned. “Your place can withstand the paparazzi. Structurally speaking, mine can’t.”

  “You know you’re more than welcome to stay with me.”

  “That’s so sweet of you, pumpkin. But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “You wouldn’t be.”

  Marcus got out, pulling open the door but keeping his arm around me. “This isn’t the paparazzi.”

  We wound our way toward the epicenter of the noise, and after a few seconds, I spotted Max and Amanda through the crowd. They were standing with Teller Hamberg, who practically bowed to Marcus like he was a god.

  Amanda was unamused. “So apparently, there’s a toxic mold problem.”

  “What?” I cried, before fixing Teller with a wicked smile. “I wonder if we can sue.”

  He raised his feeble arms peaceably. “That’s really not necessary.”

  “I would never do that. I just wanted to watch you squirm.”

  He chuckled.

  “Deevus and I are going to stay at Barry’s for the next week or so.” Amanda looked at me carefully. “Do you want to stay with us?”

  Before I had time to think, I felt Marcus standing tall behind me, sending shivers up my spine. He leaned down and murmured in my ear, “Stay with me, Rebecca.”

  I tried to gulp but found I was too nervous. And excited. And confused.

  I settled for confident and threw up my hands with a smile.

  “Who better to stay with than my fiancé?”

  Chapter 9

  We lingered around the apartment complex for a while longer. Marcus and Max distracted the security guards while Amanda and I snuck inside and smuggled out refugee armfuls of everything we could carry into the limo. The limo driver watched Deevus for us. By the time we dropped them off and got back to the compound, it was already dark. Marcus murmured some instructions to one of his housekeepers, and I was guided to a master guest bedroom at the far end of the second floor.

  My eyes widened incredulously as I peered up at the intricate crown molding around the edges of the high ceiling. It was straight out of a picture book—something that Marie Antoinette would have had in her room. The walls were a stark white that had been re-painted in a softer shade of cream as if the original shade had been too clinical for the inhabitants. A massive California king bed stood tall in the center, complete with gauzy four-poster curtains, and a miniature chandelier hung in the center, creating a soft glow that made the giant room seem somehow cozy despite its size.

  Feeling a little like the wrong side of the Prince and the Pauper, I headed to the bathroom and took the longest shower of my life. I was completely unaccustomed to the walk-in design; I kept looking over my shoulder like at any moment someone might just saunter on in. But after losing myself in gleeful distraction over the thousand different streams of jets and bath oils the place had been lined with, I couldn’t have cared less. Between that and the seemingly endless supply of hot water, I think I would have been content to stay in there forever, but sleep called, and that bed looked more than inviting.

  I let my wet auburn waves spill down my back as I wrapped myself securely in a towel and made for the mattress. Taking into account the absurd decadence, I was seriously considering a running leap when a soft knock on the door made me pause. Tightening the towel even more, I pulled it open to see Marcus standing there, a stack of fresh linens in his hands.

  His eyes hesitated a moment on my bare legs and shoulders, before flickering up almost apologetically to my face. “Here.” He cleared his throat and held out the mountain of spare sheets and towels. “In case you needed anything else.”

  I took them with a cautious smile, not quite understanding his awkwardness. It had been his idea for me to come here—if he’d wanted to back out, he’d had plenty of opportunities.

  “Thanks.” There was already a year’s supply of towels in the cupboards but it was a kind sentiment. Kind, but rather strange, come to think of it. I cocked my head curiously. “Isn’t that something the maid usually does?” I had heard, firsthand, the wrath of Marcus’ housekeepers, and I didn’t think they’d take kindly to him hand-delivering bath towels on his own.

  He merely shrugged. “I thought I might as well, I mean—my room’s right down the hall.”

  I smiled as I peered past his shoulder at the closed door. “Convenient.” I tried to get him to smile. “So you can keep an eye on all of your houseguests?”

  He chuckled. “That’s one thing I adore about you, Rebecca. It’s your wonderful sense of humor.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll just be going to bed then.”

  “Rebecca,” he struggled to control himself, “how is it you always know the perfect thing to say? In every situation?”

  “What are you talking about?” I shook my head quickly. “I always say the worst things. To be honest, I’m actually kind of known for it.”

  “Exactly.” He was still beaming, bright eyes sparkling in the shadows of the hall. “You tell Takahari he’s an old man and you can’t be bothered to learn Japanese. You basically tell me to go fuck myself when I try to sweep you off to a tropical paradise. Hell, the first day we officially met, you told some random stranger you were my girlfriend.”

  Exactly…all the wrong things.

  “Well, you told the world I was your fiancée,” I bristled defensively.

  “What can I say?” He grinned broadly. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

  I laughed.

  “Goodnight,” I said.

  “Goodnight.”

  I shut the door, but once it was closed, I leaned back against it—a little smile forcing its way up the side of
my face.

  * * *

  You’d think that in a bed the size of Miami, on a Tempur-Pedic mattress that probably cost more than my rent, I’d have no trouble falling asleep. But it was exactly the opposite. Whether it was the surreal festivities of the day, or the fact that no matter what I did, I tossed and turned for the better part of an hour. Maybe it was just that there was too much room. I kept rolling over, expecting to hit a wall or fall off the mattress or something—but there was always more space.

  Screw luxurious. It was actually kind of lonely.

  Creeping around by cell phone light, I slipped on a camisole and some pajama pants before wandering out cautiously into the hall. There wasn’t a sound in the house. Every light was off, and Marcus’ door was closed at the other end of the hall. I walked on my tiptoes down the stairs, smiling as I passed seven-year-old Marcus’ framed finger painting.

  I made my way to the room where the party was held. I flipped on the lights and glanced around. Memories flashed through my mind. I could see Marcus and me dancing across the ballroom. I couldn’t stop the smile forming on my face.

  Wow. I had come here for a party. I’d never imagined I would be temporarily living here in this big, beautiful mansion. I bet Snake Lady from the party would be pissed I wormed my way into Marcus’s house. I pondered. I wondered how things would’ve played out if I hadn’t made the comment I was Marcus’s girlfriend. I thought about it. I didn’t think I would’ve met Marcus. He might’ve shaken my hand as I left. I would’ve never known him the way I do now. Snake Lady brought us together. I bet she would be gritting her teeth knowing that. If Marcus and I stayed friends, I would have to thank her personally. I shut off the lights and left.

  It was like wandering through a ghost town. The rooms were too big for one man to live here alone and too empty to pretend to enjoy the space. I hugged the walls, gazing cautiously out at the wide open floors, afraid to be caught in the random slices of moonlight.

  But the house was fast asleep.

  My bare feet made no sound on the cold marble floors, and before I knew it, I had reached the kitchen. A belated flush painted my cheeks as I remembered the last time I was here—trying desperately to break through the impenetrable wall of caterers and run to freedom before Marcus found me and uncovered my lie.

  At least this visit was sanctioned, I thought to myself as I pulled out a jar of peanut butter and dropped some bread into the toaster. No nasty surprises this time.

  “Hey.”

  The soft voice in the darkness made me shriek and drop my butter knife. I squinted into the shadows, but could see nothing.

  “Marcus?” I called tentatively. But the voice was raspy and unrecognizable. The first and final warning of a disgruntled security guard, no doubt. “Listen, I’m staying here as a guest. I’m allowed to be here, just ask the owner of this house. I was told I could come down here and get anything I wanted.”

  A familiar chuckle silenced me as the lights flashed on. I was about to reprimand him, but Marcus looked as disarming and adorable as I’d ever seen him. He was in boxers, for one thing, boxers and a white tee-shirt. Half his hair was standing on end while the other half was pointed straight toward the wall. Like a puppy dog cocking its ear.

  “I know you were recently displaced, but that doesn’t mean you have to resort to looting,” he chided with a smile.

  “Nice hair,” I replied.

  The smile faded slightly as he patted it down with a rueful hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” he recovered, gesturing at the toast.

  “I think the bed’s too big for me,” I laughed, “I keep doing somersaults.”

  He flashed me a peculiar grin and took the peanut butter from my hands, popping the stubborn lid effortlessly before handing it back.

  “Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling a little awkward. We were definitely off-book here. Off-book and unscripted. Without an event or catastrophe or camera, I honestly didn’t know what came next. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Not at all.” He ran a hand again through his messy hair. “I couldn’t sleep either. I was just coming down to make some cider when I saw you skulking around like the KGB.”

  “I always thought I’d make a great spy.” I visibly brightened at the thought, and he chuckled. “Tell you what; you make the cider, I’ll make the sandwiches.”

  He looked at me curiously. “And then?”

  I glanced up hopefully. “Movie fest? I’m sure you have a home theater in here somewhere.”

  “You want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a movie fest?” His eyes sparkled excitedly. “That’s my kind of girl. Where have you been all my life?”

  I laughed. “I’ll make the sandwiches, and you get the drinks. It’s a fake date! Which way is the theater anyway?”

  A pair of warm arms circled suddenly around my waist, and I sucked in a quick breath as he spun me around. I could feel the electricity surging where he touched me. There was nothing in between us. No cameras, no barriers, no space. We were pressed up against each other, staring into each other’s eyes, our faces just inches away.

  The toast popped loudly behind us, and I jumped. Marcus, however, stayed perfectly still raising a single hand up in between us.

  At first, I thought he was going to kiss me again. I thought that hand was going to wind back through my hair and pull me into him. I wanted to run my hands over his naked skin and feel his lips against mine. My heart stuttered and raced as my mind blanked in a sudden fog. He leaned in slightly and I caught my breath. This was it.

  But all he did was lift a single finger. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he pointed in the opposite direction I’d been pointing.

  “The home theater’s that way.”

  My eyes snapped open, and I stared at him incredulously. Was he…was he just fucking with me?! The sexual tension was intense!

  He turned back to the cupboards and pulled out two mugs for cider.

  Still reeling, I nodded and made the PB&J sandwiches. I was so going to get him back for that.

  I looked at him. “Hey, I had a thought. Want to do something a little kinky with the peanut butter and jelly?”

  He winked. “What did you have in mind?”

  I shot him the most seductive look I could muster. “Try and guess.”

  “I’m willing to try it,” he said. “Have you ever done it before?”

  “All the time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s delicious.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “Then let’s try it.”

  “I’ll need a frying pan.”

  He cocked a brow. “What?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to fry them. It’s a unique twist on the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s the world’s simplest sandwich, baby. And it’s absolutely perfect. Have you ever had it fried?”

  “Um, no.”

  I smirked. “Your mind is somewhere else. Did you think I was going to lick the jelly off of you?”

  He grinned. “I was hoping I could talk you into using whipped cream or chocolate syrup.”

  I laughed.

  When he came over to wipe a blob of jelly off the counter, our hands touched for a brief second. I felt more electricity surge through me. I wanted to kiss him with the same urgency he had kissed me back at the beach.

  He stared at me for a moment, a little grin playing around his lips as we joked around some. When the sandwiches were ready, I placed them in a huge stack and headed out where he’d pointed.

  The home theater wasn’t how I pictured it. I thought it would look just like a miniature cinema—rows of red fabric chairs, greasy with nachos and leftover popcorn. This one could have been on the cover of Family Living. It was more living room than theater. There was a huge projector, sure, but instead of chairs there were long couches. Long, incredible couches that you sank into at least a foot the second you sat do
wn.

  I grabbed some blankets and nested in the middle of one of these, flicking around with the remote and looking up happily when Marcus finally joined me—two steaming mugs in his hand. “We’re in luck! There’s a Prison Break marathon starting.”

  He flashed me an indulgent smile and set our mugs on a coffee table, curling next to me under the blanket. The heat from his body seeped through my thin clothes, and in an uncharacteristically bold move, I flung my legs across his, settling in to enjoy the show. He stiffened for a moment in surprise but then leaned back with a small smile. I pretended not to notice as he debated for a moment where to put his hands, settling on resting them above the blankets on my thighs. Though his face was passive, his chest was rising and falling like he was excited.

  That’s right, Marcus Taylor. Two can play that game.

  The lights automatically dimmed as the first episode started, but our games continued. A little shift here, a little squeeze there. It was incredible how nonchalant he could keep his face while absentmindedly running his fingers back and forth across my legs. It was hard to concentrate on the program when my entire body was on fire from his touch.

  But all those games were seriously challenged about half an hour in.

  “I don’t get it—his brother doesn’t even know he’s incarcerated?”

  We were both sitting straight up now, leaning toward the screen in anticipation. I’d forgotten how addictive this show was. Amanda and I had watched it a year or so previously, so I still remembered most of the plot, but Marcus had never even heard of it. He was devouring it now with a dilated-eyes intensity.

  “Rebecca.” He tapped my knee impatiently, reclaiming my attention. “Lincoln doesn’t even know? How’s Michael going to get to him if he’s in solitary?”

  I fought to keep a straight face. “You’re going to have to watch and see what happens.”

  “Tell me!” he demanded.

  “Aww…” I teased. “Someone’s used to getting his way. Well not this time, Taylor. This time, you’re just going to have to wait and find out like everyone else did.”