by Lila Kane
“You up for this?” I ask, my voice husky.
She nods and takes my hand. “I am.”
For the second time this week, I ride down the elevator with an erection so hard it’s painful. I can’t even congratulate myself for not losing control because I want her so fucking bad. Her scent surrounds me, beckons me. Just one kiss…
But one kiss will lead to one touch and before I can stop myself, I’ll have her dress off and our bodies will come together like we’ve been joined before. Like we’re supposed to be together.
By the time we reach the charity ball, things have calmed down. I can step from the limo without worrying about my pants or my composure. I keep Brianna’s hand in mine, and it’s clear how nervous she is by how hard she squeezes my fingers.
“You did fine with my parents,” I tell her. “This is the same thing.”
She flashes a smile at me. “But with cameras.”
“That. And Liv. She’s been dying to meet you.”
“Wait—you didn’t tell me your sister was going to be here.”
I squeeze her hand. “She heard about the engagement while she was overseas otherwise she would have come with my parents. She’s happy—well, mostly.”
“Mostly?” Her voice rises.
“She not happy with me because I didn’t tell her about us.” I grin. “Oops. But she’s happy with us.”
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous, someone not liking Brianna. I pull her down the red carpet, tucking my arm around her waist when we reach the end. “Not going to happen.”
I kiss her on the lips, playing the part but wishing it wasn’t pretend. “Ready for this?”
Brianna’s face brightens with a smile. I’d swear she’s not pretending—or maybe she truly isn’t. We’ve had a few really good days. She seems happy. I feel like I might be a part of that. Changing things around for the better in her life.
A photographer calls our names and we swivel in that direction. Brianna tucks her hand in the crook of my elbow, giving my arm a squeeze. It makes me smile, and when I look down at her and her up at me, the cameras go off.
Nobody’s going to doubt there’s something there. Not with the chemistry we have tonight.
Then she leans up close to my ear. At first, I think she’s going to kiss me, but then she whispers something.
“I hope after this we can pick up where we left off back at the apartment.”
Shit. The last thing I need is a hard-on on the red carpet. But right now I don’t care.
I lock eyes with her. “You’re a bad girl, tempting me like that.”
“Not tempting,” she whispers. “Promising.”
Damn it. I’m completely turned on right now, and there’s nowhere to go but inside the banquet hall, where there are hundreds of other people. Where I’m expected to say hello and make small talk when all I really want to do is find a quiet room and fuck her until she can’t stand.
“No backing out,” I say. I couldn’t stand another elevator ride with my pants tented, evidence of my arousal for her. Not unless I know where it’s going to end.
She nods. “No backing out. You know I make good on my word. I have so far.”
I think about the contract and how she’s done such a great job pretending to be my fiancée. How she even convinced my parents. Right now, she’s almost convincing me.
I duck my head to kiss her hard. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, stop teasing me. I see my sister.”
Brianna straightens and squeezes my arm again. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll love you.”
And it’s the truth. So far she’s made everyone in my life fall in love with her. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s trying to work the same magic on me.
11
I didn’t mind when Michael insisted we leave early. His sister, Liv, had sat at our table, entertaining us with stories most of the evening. But even though we got along great, I found it hard to focus because Michael was there. Right next to me, his hand on my thigh. Or fingers kneading my neck at the base.
Every movement was erotic. My whole body came alive with his touch. It took everything I had to sit still, though I still squirmed in my seat.
Once they’d served dinner, auctioned a few items and started the music, we’d both lost our patience. Michael said our goodbyes, joking that he wanted to get his fiancée home. It was so easy to play along.
Our fantasy is becoming our truth.
Michael practically drags me to the limo, and I laugh as I race to keep up. Once we’re inside, I take off my heels.
I look up to find Michael staring at my legs, his gaze that of a predator. I see the hunger in his eyes. I can practically feel his need throbbing in the back seat of our limo. He wants me, and I want him too.
“You’re not changing your mind, are you?” he asks, voice low and husky.
“No.”
It’s only one word, but my voice doesn’t waver.
Michael grips my waist and pulls me on his lap. I gasp at the suddenness of the motion. The leg of the dress rips, and my mouth drops open.
“Oh, no—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Michael says, and then captures my mouth before I can respond.
His tongue presses between my lips, and I part them to give him access. One of his hands grips my chin, holding me captive as he ravishes my mouth. The other presses against my back, keeping me secure on his lap.
I undo his bowtie, trying to keep my hands steady even though adrenalin rushes through me like waves in the ocean. I can’t slow down, can’t stop myself from touching every part of him. I slide my fingers under his jacket, rubbing over his pecks and then his shoulders.
He groans low in his throat and the sound shoots a pang of longing straight to my center. Oh, God…I need him now.
My fingers fumble with his shirt, but he grasps my hands. “The car ride isn’t that long.”
“Then maybe we should go around the block…a few times,” I breathe. “I need…I need—”
“What do you need, baby?”
The endearment practically makes me come. “I need you.”
His eyes heat. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Patience.”
“How can you say that? I can’t wait—”
“It’s just up there.”
He uses the next block to run his fingers up my spine and then lock around the base of my neck again. He holds me still as he kisses me. I feel it all over, from my toes up.
The limo slows and I reluctantly climb off of Michael’s lap. He’s out first, reaching a hand to help me out.
I’m self-conscious of the slit in my dress. It exposes my leg even further, almost all the way up to my panties.
His eyes catch the length of my leg. “Brianna,” he growls.
Something about the pure animalistic nature of it, the need in his eyes that says he wants me, plain and simple, turns me on so much. Chet was never like that. Half the time I thought sex was a chore for him. I don’t know if anyone has ever looked at me with so much hunger in their eyes.
He yanks me to him. I can feel his erection, hot and ready for me. “Let’s get inside. Now.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. We race into the lobby, and I’m filled with euphoria and longing, a heady mix that’s making me wonder why I never let go before. Why I never let myself experience fun.
We step into the elevator alone, and once the doors are shut, he’s on me. “This elevator has been the bane of my existence,” he says, voice rough.
I blink up at him, torn between laughing and moaning. He presses me against the elevator wall, his body pinning mine to the surface.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, arching my neck so he can kiss my collarbone.
“It’s not important.”
I yank at his shirt, tugging it free from his pants, and then go for the buttons again. This time he doesn’t stop me. But it’s hard to unclothe
him with our bodies smashed together.
“I need you naked,” I pant.
The elevator dings, opening to the apartment, but we’re too caught up in each other to move right away.
Michael drags his mouth back to mine, his tongue plunging inside. His right hand slides down my neck and grips my breast, kneading it through the silky fabric of my gown.
When his phone rings, I’m too disoriented for a moment to figure out what it is.
“Shut up,” he growls, reaching into his pocket. He must press a button, because the ringing stops.
He grips me around the waist and pulls me out of the elevator. I expect him to guide me to his room, but instead, he turns me around and puts his lips on my shoulder. It makes me shiver. He doesn’t stop as he unzips my dress.
The material whispers down my body and pools on the floor.
I’m wearing a lacy red bra with matching panties—my most expensive and sexiest lingerie. In fact, it’s the only thing I have that’s not mostly practical. I can tell instantly what Michael thinks of it.
He exhales, eyes tracing the swell of my breasts, and then dropping lower. It’s like my body is on fire everywhere his eyes roam.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
Another thing so unlike Chet.
Michael steps up to me and runs his hands across my abdomen. One curves around to grab my ass, and the other dips into my panties, seeking the wetness that’s already pooling there.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Already so wet.”
I feel his cock jerk against my hip.
Then his phone rings again.
“Damn it,” he curses. “Sorry—just ignore it.”
I do, only able to feel his hands on me and hear the heavy beating of my heart.
Then his phone dings with a message.
“Shit.” He whips it out of his pocket. “Who the hell needs me so bad?”
My lips curve. “I do.”
He grins, but his smile fades when he looks at the screen of his phone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s Derek.”
I struggle to focus. “Is he okay?”
“He said someone found out about us. There’s a story—someone claiming this engagement isn’t real.”
My stomach clenches. Shit. Who would have said something? Hardly anyone knows the truth.
Michael lifts his head. His eyes lock on mine. “I didn’t tell anyone about this.”
“Neither did I. Well, Deb—but that’s it.”
His jaw clenches and he drops his phone in his pocket. “She told someone.”
“No. No way. She wouldn’t.”
“How did they find out then?” Michael shoves a hand through his hair. “Someone has a big mouth.”
I yank my dress off the floor and hold it against my chest. “Deb wouldn’t have said anything. I trust her.”
His eyes flash at me. “Seems like you have a history of trusting the wrong people.”
It would’ve hurt less if he slapped me. Rubbing my mistake with Chet in my face makes every ounce of compassion I thought he had disappear.
“I can’t believe you said that,” I whisper.
I can’t believe I almost slept with him. I’ve only known Michael two weeks and I was about to make a huge mistake. Again.
When will I ever learn?
Michael takes out his phone once more and puts it to his ear. “Now I’ve got to do damage control.”
I swallow hard, but my voice still shakes when I respond. “I’ll get out of your way, then.”
I don’t wait for an answer, just head straight for my bedroom. I lock the door behind me and then sit on the bed. Numb.
What had I been thinking? Not just tonight, but in signing the contract? I’m always getting myself into messes like these and never learning from my mistakes. Tossing the dress on the bed, I stand.
I’m not going to wallow. I’m going to take a shower, get a good night of sleep, and then fix this situation tomorrow morning.
I don’t need Michael’s money and I certainly don’t need his accusations.
With that goal, I finish undressing and step into the bathroom.
12
It had been easy to track down the reporter who wrote the story, and even easier to figure out who’d tipped him off. A man, not a woman.
When my head of security reports to me at the office the next day, I drop into my chair. It’s Saturday, but I’m here instead of at home because I’m usually here on Saturdays. Not only that, Brianna barricaded herself in her room and wouldn’t come out.
I don’t blame her. I’d gotten upset last night, but she doesn’t seem to understand that this article could fuck up our entire year.
And now I find out it isn’t her friend who inspired the story. It is someone from Brianna’s past, however.
“His name is Chet Baker,” my security man says.
Chet Baker. As in Brianna’s ex-fiancé Chet Baker. The asshole who’d walked out on her because he “just wasn’t ready to be in a committed relationship.”
“I’ll kill him,” I say.
First he treats Brianna like shit and now he’s trying to ruin what we’ve got. He probably saw the news about our engagement and realized he wanted another chance. Or he’s an even bigger dickwad and he’s still trying to ruin Brianna’s life.
“Get all the info you can on him,” I tell my security man, standing and ready to head back home.
We already have the basics. Chet’s address, where he works, his income, and all sorts of surface level stuff—I required it when we signed the contract. But now I want dirt. I want everything so Chet can’t ever hurt Brianna again.
I make sure I’ve got my keys and phone and head downstairs. My driver’s waiting, and I tell him to take me straight home.
I’m going to fix this for Brianna. I shouldn’t have been upset with her last night—especially not about this. So what if someone tried to dispute our story? It’s our word against theirs, and they’ve got nothing to back it up.
At home, I ride the elevator to the penthouse, remembering how I pinned Brianna to the wall here and kissed her until she could barely stand. I get hard remembering her lacy underwear and how she stood so needy before me, wanting me.
Tonight. I’ll make it up to her tonight.
The elevator doors open, but when I step out, my smile freezes on my face. “What is this?”
Brianna’s cheeks burn red, but she squares her shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d be back until later.”
I eye the suitcase at her feet, and the box in her arms. “So…what? You were going to leave when I was gone? Just walk right out without telling me?”
“I left a note.”
My jaw clenches. I’m torn between anger and bewilderment. I thought things were going okay. Sure, last night was a speedbump, but we had a deal. A contract.
Of course, part of that contract states she’s allowed to leave at any time, given she informs me in writing. I guess that’s what her note is for.
Damn it.
“Okay, listen. I fucked up,” I tell her. “I was caught off guard and I got upset.”
She nods, though her face is devoid of emotion. “I understand. And I thought about it from your point of view, too. This was a weird arrangement from the beginning and something was bound to go wrong. I…” She gestures to the counter in the kitchen. “It’s all in the note.”
“I don’t want to read a fucking note,” I hiss. When her eyes narrow, I hold up my hands. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself. Please, just…don’t go. Let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I grit my teeth against saying something I’ll regret. Like how she’s being stubborn. I guess, in all reality, I was a little stubborn last night, too. But we’d just gotten the whole ruse together and to have it threatened that quickly shocked me. Handling work matters is one thing but relationship stuff—my new image—is an entirely new beast.
“I
want this to work.”
She hugs the box to her chest, closing herself off even more. “I understand. I did, too, but it’s complicated.”
“Which is why we have a contract.”
“Contracts don’t take feelings out of it.”
When she’s almost got me convinced this is easy for her—easy to walk out—I see it. That flicker of hurt in her eyes. She’s scared. She’s afraid of being hurt again, and I’m not doing a good job of showing her it won’t happen. After all, I shut her out last night when she’d been the most vulnerable.
“We’re supposed to be in this together,” I say, “and I fucked it up last night. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She nods her chin to the elevator. “I’m going to go.”
I step in her path. “Not yet.”
“Michael.”
“Give me five minutes.”
She sighs. “Why? I could probably walk out to the street right now and find a hundred women who’d die to be in my position. Why not one of them?”
“Because I want you.”
And it’s 100% true. I don’t want some woman off the street. I want Brianna. “Contract or not,” I say, stepping up to her, “we have something here. I want to explore that.”
When she doesn’t respond, I take the box from her arms and set it aside.
“Five minutes,” I say.
She licks her lips, and it kills me not to drag her into my arms and kiss her. I know it won’t fix the situation. I wish it would. I want it to be easier. I don’t do relationships and partnerships. But I have to learn if I want this to work.
“Let’s sit,” I suggest, taking her hand.
She doesn’t pull away, only follows me silently to the couch and sits next to me. Then she pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. “Five minutes.”
Damn, she really is pissed off. Okay, lesson learned.
“That was our first fight,” I say. “It sucked.”
She snorts softly. “Tell me about it.”
“Listen, I’m learning, okay? I wasn’t equipped to handle last night because I’m used to things going my way. When I’m in control of things and I fuck up, there’s no one to blame but myself—so I try not to fuck up. But it’s not just me in this anymore.”
