Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2)

by Jade C. Jamison

  As his cock found its way inside her, Conor allowed the sensations to overwhelm him. Every nerve stood at attention as her soft cave massaged his entire cock, already delivering an overload of pleasure. There was no need for him to hurry now, no reason to rush through the process, because the end was imminent. He doubted, at this point, if even an earthquake or a fire could stop what was coming.

  Morgan’s kiss grew distracted as she seemed to focus on her body, and tiny noises began spilling from her mouth, so Conor wanted to concentrate on giving her what she needed to climax. Increasing the intensity and the force would help as well as stimulating other areas of her body, so Conor began kissing her neck while sliding his hands back under her ass to slightly change the way he drove himself into her—and the way she gasped and dug her fingernails into his back told him he was right on. From that point on, all he had to do was keep it up and, less than a minute later, she was quivering and screaming his name, trembling in his arm. Conor held out as long as he could, even though all his cock wanted to do was let it all go.

  When her moans died down and she felt weak and limp in his arms, then he ground into her a few more times until his body delivered to him the same gratification Morgan had no doubt felt just moments earlier.

  As his body cooled, he slid his hand up her back and held her head to his chest, relishing the feel of her soft hair in his hand. And he didn’t care what any of this meant—all he knew was that he would be quite happy if this moment never ended.

  Conor’s brow was still damp with exertion but a wave of calm flowed over him as Morgan began stirring as if she might be thinking of getting down off the counter. He still marveled, though, at how easily all this seemed to have happened. Once more, not only had he and Morgan gotten past the discomfort from earlier, but they’d also had another amazing bout of sex.

  He could get used to this.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” Morgan muttered.

  Or not.

  In spite of her abrupt dismissal, he laughed. “You’re still planning on leaving now?”

  “No…but I’m still pissed at you.”

  “But you’ll finish out the day?”

  She was silent for a bit before she finally said, “Fine.” She pushed against him and slid off the counter to stand on her feet. Then she pulled up her panties and jeans before zipping them and then grabbed her blouse and bra and rushed out of the room.

  Conor didn’t have nearly that much energy.

  He managed to get zipped up again, but that was about it. Leaving the bathroom, he followed her into the bedroom and dropped himself on the bed, the fatigue too great to fight. Her red bra once more covering her breasts, Morgan began rifling through her suitcase on the floor, and Conor couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not wanting her to feel self-conscious, though, he peeked through the slits of his mostly closed eyelids to appreciate her. Morgan was so different from Raquel, a woman he used to consider his ideal. Where Raquel was curvy and voluptuous, Morgan was thin and athletic—but she still had curves where they mattered.

  Why could he not stop dwelling on thoughts of her—especially when she’d made it clear that he had no chance?

  More than that…why did it make him want her all the more?

  He had to act like it was no big deal—and there wasn’t much time left. He could do anything for a couple of hours…even this.

  Chapter Sixteen

  JESUS. WAS CONOR trying to make this as difficult as humanly possible? The only way she’d be able to survive the rest of the day without losing her shit would be to stay focused on doing rather than thinking.

  While she picked up each pair of shoes from the closet to find a space for them in her suitcase, Conor’s voice interrupted the quiet.

  “There’s not much left to the reunion, so you only have to play along for a few more hours.”

  She continued packing, fighting to keep her voice civil. “What more is there to do?”

  “I don’t know. Some interactive game and prizes. Then lunch and that’s it. Oh, yeah. I think Kendra mentioned they’ll be taking pictures during lunch, so they’re asking everyone to stay till then.”

  She peeked over her shoulder and saw that Conor seemed to be resting his eyes but actually was fighting to stay awake. Dummy shouldn’t have lain down.

  She knew how to wake him up.

  “So tell me…what happened with you and the washed-up cheerleader anyway?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Conor. I might be playing your dumb fucking fiancée who doesn’t know what’s going on between her man and an old wannabe flame, but don’t pretend for a second that I’m actually that stupid.” Conor’s brown eyes grew wide. Yeah—that woke his ass up.

  But he still had the dumb look on his face.

  “Seriously, Conor? You’re going to act like nothing happened with the bimbo? You smelled like her skanky perfume.”

  “Raquel?”

  “Yes, Raquel. She wears the most fucking disgusting shit—some nasty musky floral crap that I can’t believe anyone would actually spray on their body. Her sense of smell must have dissipated with her brains.” Ah—catty much? It was unbecoming, even of Morgan—and did that mean she was maybe jealous? Packing the last pair of shoes, she added under her breath, “That shit’s made out of pig sweat anyway.”

  “I went to her room for a minute.”

  Morgan ratcheted it down and started looking in drawers, hoping Conor couldn’t read her tone of voice any more than he could see her expression. “What you do is your own business—but I hope to Christ you used a condom with her. I don’t want her nasty pussy juice in my vajayjay. You know they say you not only sleep with your partners but wi—”

  “I didn’t sleep with her, Morgan.” She turned, seemingly to put clothing in her luggage, but she actually wanted to look at Conor’s expression—and it turned out that he looked almost exactly like she’d hoped he would: slightly disgusted but also frustrated. Morgan had long used profanity and other crude language to get under people’s skin and push the envelope to see what they were comfortable with. Prissy people didn’t stick around to become friends. People with thicker skins got to know Morgan better and wouldn’t let her language bother them.

  That said, she still could sometimes hit a sore spot—and she could tell by the poorly disguised grimace that she’d gotten to Conor. Whether he thought the imagery was revolting or that she was being unkind to Raquel, Morgan neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that Conor understood her position: she didn’t like the idea of being sloppy seconds.

  And that green-eyed monster rearing up inside her was going to give away her true feelings if she wasn’t careful.

  She wasn’t even going to dissect the matter inside her head to determine if Conor was actually telling the truth.

  “It doesn’t matter—and I don’t care if you did. I just don’t want any of her diseases.” She slid the closet door so it closed and then turned around. “Oh, and I’d change my shirt if I were you. You reek of bottled pig sweat.” Compulsively, she went to the bathroom one more time to check for items. When she came back in the room, Conor was still sitting on the bed, looking shell-shocked. “What are you waiting for?”

  “What do you mean? We have half an hour before the game—no need to rush.”

  Could this man figure out anything without her? Obviously, she’d made herself too valuable. “Check-out time is eleven, boss. So we’re going to need to check out right after the game.” She arched an eyebrow to stare him down. “Which means we need to pack now, not later.”

  She could tell all he really wanted was a nap—but no way was she going to let him. This stupid fucking reunion had been his goddamned idea, and he was going to see it through and like it. “Fine.” He sat up, grabbing his t-shirt from where he’d tossed it on the bed, and started locating the hole for his head—until he seemed to remember what Morgan had said about the stench on it. He got up and walked over to the dresser, opening a drawer
that had his clothes. “I don’t know why you call me boss when you’re the bossy one.”

  He started laughing until Morgan rewarded him with a pillow slap in the face…and then, after donning the shirt, he started packing.

  Good. Wouldn’t want to clobber him with the pillow again.

  Now that he was focused on packing his suitcase, distracted, Morgan felt like she could breathe. He’d been looking at her with those fucking dreamy eyes of his—and if he couldn’t get his head on straight, how would she even stand a chance?

  Her heart wanted him; her head knew better. And if he could take that same approach, maybe they could make it back to a simple boss-assistant relationship.

  “I think I need another coffee. Want one?”

  “Nope. All coffeed out.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll be right back.”

  She didn’t really even want a coffee—but she needed time alone to chat with her sister. As she walked down the hall toward the elevator, she pulled up her text messages and typed a short note to her sibling. Dee, are you free to talk?

  One minute passed, followed by another and another. By the time she reached the bottom of the elevator, she began wondering if she’d have to find someone else to talk with. She had plenty of other friends she could call but not many she wanted to discuss Conor with. After all, Dee didn’t know Conor from Adam—but her friends did, and Morgan didn’t want her words to taint the way they viewed him or interacted with him...because she wanted to try to find a way to save this friendship.

  Finally, as she was walking toward the coffee shop on the first floor of the hotel and scrolling through her contact list, she got a text back from Dee. Not really. I’m in church with mom. I think they’d frown on me getting up to take a phone call.

  Shit. And church would last way too long. She needed to talk now while she had a few moments to herself with the added bonus of the boss being busy. Okay. Thanks anyway. As she sent the message, though, she got another one from her sister.

  Why? What do you need?

  Let’s just say it’s complicated.

  A few seconds passed, and Morgan found the line at the coffee shop by the time her sister sent another text. Could you be a little more vague?

  Promise not to say anything?

  Of course.

  The moment of truth. But, first, her coffee order. “Can I get a mocha latte? The smallest you got.” The barista nodded and took her money and, before she could throw a tip in the jar, she had another text from her sister. I’m waiting…

  I slept with Conor.

  This had to be the slowest coffee shop ever—but that was okay, because she needed time before she went back to her room. Unfortunately, it was like her sister had disappeared off the face of the earth. Morgan had her mocha latte in hand and decided to find the overstuffed chair around the corner next to a coffee table, because no way was she going back to the room yet.

  Say something.

  Dee finally texted back. Sorry. I told you I’m in church. Mom would have noticed I was texting when we’re supposed to be praying. But that was it. Had she read the text where Morgan confessed what she’d done? Would she have to repeat herself? Trying to stop being so damned high strung, she took a sip of her coffee, realizing that wouldn’t necessarily help, either, considering she was consuming more caffeine and sugar. Dee finally sent another message. So why did you sleep with him? Was that part of the deal?

  No!!! Of course not. It just sort of happened.

  How could you let something like that happen? Before Morgan could respond, Dee followed up with Or did you want that?

  Her words gave Morgan pause. Had she wanted that to happen? No. No way. Yes, over this extended weekend in tight quarters and weird situations, she’d found herself desirous of her boss, but what about now? When she rationally considered it, was a relationship with Conor what she wanted?

  No.

  Yes.

  Maybe. I don’t know. But she had more important things to discuss. Here’s the thing, Dee. Whether I wanted it or not, it happened. Twice. And it’s made our relationship feel strained and weird—and I don’t know how I feel about working for him anymore.

  But you love that job. You used to always go on and on about how much you loved the work and how awesome Conor was for a boss. You really want to give that up?

  Morgan felt better already, just having an opportunity to hash out her emotions with someone who cared about her. That’s what I mean. I really don’t know right now. All I know is I’m acting like a stupid jealous girlfriend, but I have no right to do that.

  Um, you slept with him. You have every right. Morgan wanted to tell her more but wasn’t sure where to start. Fortunately, Dee asked, Anything in particular make you feel jealous?

  Yeah. There’s this woman here—used to be a cheerleader when they went to school. She didn’t give him the time of day until she found out I was his “fiancée” and then she was all over him. And I felt this monster inside me, just ridiculous. Especially when I shouldn’t feel that way.

  Why shouldn’t you feel that way, Mo? You’re kidding, right??? You SLEPT with him. Our bodies are wired to get all serious after that. You know this.

  Yeah. But I’m not like other women. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.

  But you do. It’s hard to dictate to your brain how your heart should and shouldn’t feel, sis.

  Morgan took another sip of her mocha latte, savoring the sweet chocolate flavor on her tongue as she let Dee’s words sink in. She was right. Okay, so my feelings have shifted. For some stupid fucking reason, I have deeper feelings for my boss. But I don’t know why—especially since we’re both acting like it’s no big deal.

  So you’re saying he doesn’t know how you feel.

  Right. And no way am I telling him. He’s been acting like a dick off and on this weekend.

  But you SHOULD!!!

  Morgan took another sip. No, I really shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve to know any of that shit, and I don’t want him holding it against me.

  Then she waited a minute, followed by another and another…and no response. Yes, she knew Dee was in church and understood that she might not be immediately available, but the waiting was stressing her out, especially since she wondered what Conor might be thinking now that she’d been gone a while. She looked at the time and knew she had to get her ass back up to the room.

  Not sure where you went, sis, but text me back when you can. Thanks for talking me down.

  Or had she? As Morgan rode in the lonely elevator, she wondered why Dee had given her permission to act like an actual fiancée when she should have virtually slapped the shit out of her.

  It wasn’t until she got to the door of the room that she got one more text. Sorry. We’re singing now and that might last a while. But I just want to say it again: TELL HIM!

  No fucking way.

  She barely had the door closed when Conor asked, “Did they have to milk the cow?”

  “What?” Morgan strode across the room to the bedroom doorway.

  “Your coffee took a while. Wondered if they had to milk the cow first.”

  “Oh, funny.” But a little honesty wouldn’t hurt. “I was texting my sister.”

  But you’ll never know what about.

  * * *

  The area where they’d had all their activities had again been transformed from a dining room with a buffet to a simple room with lots of tables—and the same decorations that had been there since night one. The smell of bacon and coffee lingered, though the steam table and all the dirty dishes had been carted away. When Conor and Morgan walked through the door, good old Kendra handed him two squares of paper—one for him and one for his “fiancée.”

  “What are these for?”

  “Look for the table that has your number on it.”

  Morgan got close to Conor as they walked all the way inside. “Do we have the same number?”

  He handed her one of the pieces of paper. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked
yet.”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Me, too.” Which made sense. Why would a plus-one want to mingle with people she might not ever meet again and likely had little in common with? The two of them started looking around the room for the table with the lollypop stand in the middle displaying the number they were looking for. When they found it close to the back where Kendra had played announcer that morning, there were already three people sitting there. When Conor saw one face in particular, he did a double take. “Steve Powell? I’d started to think you hadn’t made it. Why didn’t I see you earlier?”

  “Conor? How you been, buddy?” Steve came around the table to where Conor stood and shook his hand. “We just got here today. Our daughter got married yesterday, so we really couldn’t miss that.”

  Ouch. A daughter already getting married and Conor hadn’t even committed to a woman yet? When he thought of it that way, it made him feel like a loser. “I guess that explains why I didn’t see you at the last reunion, either.”

  “Yeah. Too many kid issues. But that’s why I didn’t want to miss today. I won’t recognize a soul at our thirty-year reunion.”

  “You’d think that but it’s amazing how many faces I’ve recognized this time around. It’s kind of surreal.”

  “So what’s up with you?”

  “Lots. This is my fiancée, Morgan Tredway.” Now that the lie was out of the way, he could move on to reality. “Because we’re friends on Facebook, you probably already know I own my own accounting business. But what about you, man?”

  “I drive trucks. Probably a good thing, because if I was home more, we’d probably have a dozen more kids.” Steve had the same short brown hair that went a little past his collar, but Conor had a hard time picturing the guy driving a semi when, back in the day, he’d been all about videogames and computers. He also had the same nasally laugh, and he let it rip until he caught the daggers his wife was throwing him. “Oh, sorry, honey. Do you remember Susan?”

  “Susan…Ruppert?”

  “Not anymore.” Conor held out his hand but she came close and gave him a hug. “And this lovely woman is your fiancée? So nice to meet you.”