“Please do!” Maggie’s smile had slipped, her eyes bright with hope.
“We can’t,” her son insisted, ending the conversation.
I bit back the desire to argue further, though inside, a funnel cloud of rage was stirring. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to smooth things over with the Kings. “We’re just so busy between now and the wedding. I’m sure Weston has a better memory for our calendar than I do.”
“It’s not a calendar issue,” Weston said.
My face went hot. “I’m so sorry…” I trailed off, not knowing how else to make excuses for my groom-to-be.
“Don’t worry about it, honey,” Maggie said, clearly hurt. “We aren’t new to his life. We were hoping you’d make things better, but I see that’s not how things are going to be.”
Make things better? What things? How could Weston have a bad relationship with these people who obviously cared very much about him?
Whatever the problems were between them, Weston seemed to think we’d engaged enough for the evening. “Thanks for coming, Mom and Dad. We have to see to our other guests.” With his hand still at my waist, he steered me away from them and into the crowd.
“What the hell was that?” I hissed so only he could hear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your parents were nice and warm and caring.” I was so frustrated and worked up that I was having trouble getting words out. “And you were so...mean! You should be respectful. A fiancé of mine would be respectful.”
How could he be like that? Did he have parental baggage of some kind? Did his dad work too hard? Not pay enough attention to him? His dad was here. Whatever he thought his folks had done, he couldn’t possibly understand what real parental baggage was.
Weston stopped and turned to look at me, his eyes harder than I’d ever seen them. “You know what? You don’t know the first thing about it. I give respect to those who deserve it. I’ve known them my whole life. You’ve known them for five minutes. Grow up.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. My eyes stung and my face burned, and the worst part was that I’d deserved it. Everything he’d said was true. I was in the dark on this subject, but only because Weston had left me there.
Maybe that’s what hurt most—that he didn’t want to let me in.
And wasn’t that a dick move to keep it from me and then get angry when I didn’t understand? He knew how important this union was, what the stakes were. How believable was it for a bride to not know much about the relationship of her husband-to-be and his own parents?
“You’re right,” I said, thrusting my chin forward. “I don’t know the first thing about it. Because you’ve been too much of an asshole to tell me.”
His eyes sparked and he began to say something in response, probably the kind of thing that shouldn’t be said in the middle of our engagement party, but before he got the words out, someone nearby sang out our names. “Weston, Elizabeth. The stars of the show.”
We turned to see Donovan with a woman I didn’t know.
Without missing a beat, Weston slipped his arm in mine and directed us toward them, likely eager to escape the heated conversation. A smart decision, while admittedly unfulfilling.
Once again, I put on my smile.
“Elizabeth, you know Donovan,” Weston said, sarcastically. “And this is Sabrina Lind, our new Director of Marketing Strategy.”
“Delightful to meet you. It’s so fascinating to see how my love—” as I spoke, Weston glanced covertly around us, and when he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw, he cut me off.
“No one’s watching. And Sabrina knows.”
“Oh thank God.” I dropped Weston’s arm with a huge sigh of relief. “If I have to gush about him a minute longer I might have to throw up.”
Donovan flashed a sly grin in my direction. “Elizabeth, I think you and I might get along better than I once thought.”
Even among people who were part of the farce, the tension between Weston and me felt thick and taut, and I desperately needed a reprieve.
I cozied up beside Donovan, hoping he might be a balm. “I told you, Kincaid, this deal was really better suited for you and me. I can’t believe you turned down the offer.”
Not that I really wanted to marry the man. He was too ambitious for my taste. Even for a fictional marriage.
I shared a smile with Donovan then turned my eyes to Sabrina. She was pretty. Prettier than pretty—she was probably the most attractive woman in the room with her dark hair and dark eyes and legs that went for miles. And she had a respectable position at Reach. All that beauty plus brains too. Good for her.
Good for Donovan.
“You were up for the nomination of groom?” she asked cautiously.
“No one would ever believe I’d get married,” Donovan said dismissively. “Besides, Weston looks much better on Elizabeth’s arm.”
I didn’t miss Weston shooting daggers in Donovan’s direction.
And I absolutely didn’t miss Weston saying, “Sabrina, you’re absolutely stunning.”
She thanked him, and I felt my insides ruffle. “She is gorgeous, Kincaid,” I said, subtly reminding Weston that this woman belonged to someone else. “You make quite an attractive couple.”
“We’re not a couple,” Sabrina said at the same time that Weston said, “They’re not a couple.”
And then I realized.
My insides sank like an elevator with the cable cut, but somehow I managed to keep my voice from shaking as I asked Donovan, “You’re here alone?”
“I’m not,” he said.
But he wasn’t here with Sabrina. And Sabrina knew about our sham, which meant…
“Sabrina is from Weston’s stable,” Donovan said, and now my suspicions were confirmed.
“You are a fucking asshole.” Weston scowled.
“Ah.” Jealousy spiked through my veins with the sharp sting of everclear in the punch at prom. “Recent?”
“The most recent, I believe,” Donovan said, trying to be helpful, or stir the shit—the latter was more likely. “Last girl he spent any significant time with before you, anyway.”
Sabrina’s face went red, a mixture of anger and embarrassment, if I had to guess. It was the color that I felt, even though I was pretty confident I’d managed to keep it from showing on my skin.
And who else knew about her? Was I the laughingstock of the town right now? Letting my groom parade his ex-girlfriend under my nose.
The way they kept exchanging glances, I couldn’t actually be sure she was an ex.
“Huh. I might want in on that pool after all,” I said, spitefully. “What were the terms?”
Weston ran a hand through his hair, which made him look ridiculously sexy. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to fuck around.”
I wanted to trust him, but the compliment he’d given her, the fact she worked in his office, the way they kept looking at each other… The scale was tilting against him.
I winked at Donovan. “We’ll talk later.”
“Fuck off,” Weston muttered in Donovan’s direction. He scanned the room again. “People are watching us. Better play cozy.” He took my hand without looking at me, and the lie of his fingers in mine burned my skin. Because he’d probably rather be holding hers.
“Is it you who wants to fuck around?” he asked suddenly. “Is that why you keep bringing up concerns about me?”
I rolled my eyes, hoping to hide my stupid confusing emotions. “It was just a joke. You’re so sensitive about everything I say.”
“Everything you say is a criticism.”
“Everything you do is stupid.” Good one, Elizabeth.
He swung his head toward me. “Anyone told you lately you’re a bitch?”
God I wanted to claw his eyes out, stomp on his feet, and then grab him by the lapels and kiss him hard.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Not since the last
time you told me, which was, I think, oh, twenty minutes ago.”
From a few feet away, I heard an older gentleman exclaim, “There’s the happy couple!”
“That’s us,” I said with a big grin, looking over to see who was calling us. “Mr. Jennings!” The loan officer from my mother’s bank. If he pinched my cheeks like he usually did, I was going to have to dig my fingernails into Weston’s arm so that I didn’t reflexively punch him.
At least I wouldn’t have to worry about Weston checking out his cleavage.
After visiting with Mr. Jennings, Weston and I did another round of the room to make sure we’d seen everyone, which proved to be a true test of our acting skills. By then, I was tired and miserable, my feet and my spirit hurt. The contention between Weston and me was worse than ever, but I didn’t have any energy left to give to our arguing.
Finally, after what seemed like decades, it was time for us to wrap things up and make our formal speech. I’d volunteered to be the one who spoke, not trusting that Weston’s remarks would be either on point or appropriate.
I took my place at the microphone and welcomed all our guests once again. “It’s so lovely to have all of you here to celebrate Weston and me, and our future together. There isn’t anything we’d like more than to share our happiness with those that we hold most dear, and that’s all of you.” Even though I could only name a third of the people in the room. “Please make sure to finish off the hors d’oeuvres and the champagne; there’s plenty to go around and we’re not taking any home with us.”
There was the expected round of applause and cheering.
And then it happened. The thing I should have been prepared for. Why hadn’t I been prepared? Someone—was that Nate Sinclair?—heckled us to kiss.
Then it was several people heckling for us to kiss. “Kiss her,” came from Weston’s assistant, Roxie, clear as day.
And my bridesmaid, Melissa, “We want to see you kiss!”
Soon it was the whole dance floor cheering in unison, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.”
Weston, better at improv than I—or at least this kind of improv—already had his hand at the small of my back, drawing me to him, away from the microphones. “I guess we better give them what they want.”
Hell, it was only a kiss. With someone I was truly beginning to think I might hate. Why did I suddenly feel so nervous? So terrified? So absolutely weak in the knees?
“We should have practiced this,” I whispered. My belly fluttered as I met his blue, blue eyes.
He dimpled, leaning closer. “Just let me lead, for once.”
I parted my lips, my tongue running nervously around them before his mouth brushed softly against mine, testing me. Tasting me. Then, when I tilted my chin up for more, his lips pressed firmly and eagerly, sending heat through my body like a fever, unraveling the knots of tension in my shoulders and back and winding a different kind of tension in the pit of my belly.
I threw my arms around his neck, without even thinking as I did. Thank God he was holding me, because I wouldn’t have been able to keep standing on my own, the way that his kiss spread through my body. I could feel it everywhere. In my toes. My knees. In my belly button. I felt it at the bottom of my spine and behind my eyelids, which were closed, and underneath my toes. I felt it in my mouth. In the places where his tongue searched and explored, and I for sure felt it in the deepest core of me, spiking arousal that I hadn’t felt in—well, maybe ever.
It was just a kiss and I felt like he was undressing me. Just a kiss, and I felt like he was discovering things about me that I didn’t even know about myself. Just a kiss, and I never wanted him to stop kissing me.
Then the kiss was over, and I was out of breath and dazed, confused by the applause.
“You okay?” Weston asked, quietly. Smugly.
I was still clutching him, and I let go quickly, then pretended that I’d done it just to straighten my dress. “I’m fine.”
I spun toward our audience and smiled once again. They clapped some more, and as soon as possible, I made an excuse and escaped to the restroom.
Alone outside the ladies’ room, I put a hand to my chest and attempted to get control of my breathing. I was a wreck from that crazy, incredible moment. From the dizzying lust that Weston sent spiraling in me with just a simple kiss. And also from the herd of other emotions taking residence inside. Hurt by the secrets Weston had chosen to keep from me. Anger because they threatened my whole end goal. Shame for what these lies did to his family. The sharp prongs of jealousy for a woman I’d just met because she probably knew more about the man I was going to marry than I did. Confusion because all of these feelings wrapped around a guy who wasn’t supposed to be anything but a stepping stone to what was next. Inferior because...well, I didn’t even know how to pinpoint the source of that particular feeling.
And then that kiss…
Shaking my head, I slipped into the restroom to fix my lipstick and freshen up. In front of the mirror I reminded myself that tonight wasn’t about Weston. It was about me. It was about me moving in the right direction, toward the target—Dyson Media. The party had gone practically flawlessly, in that regard. We’d sold ourselves as a couple, and I needed to feel good about that.
I did feel good about it. Really good.
Feeling confident after my mental pep talk, I came back out of the restroom to find someone else in the hall. Someone whom I’d invited, but hadn’t expected to show up.
“Darrell,” I exclaimed. My heart rate sped up again, and this time it wasn’t because of Weston or because of kisses that had knocked the wind out of me, but because the person who could ruin my whole scheme was standing in front of me. “I didn’t know you were coming. I’m so glad to see you.” I stepped forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.
He took it brusquely, then looked me over. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He straightened his tie and brushed a wisp of orange hair out of his face.
“Did you just get here? I should introduce you to Weston.” I was talking too fast, eager to make sure he saw everything he needed to validate my betrothal as real.
He shook his head. “No need. I’ve been here for a bit. Saw that speech and kiss of yours.” He paused, studying me. “That’s some act you have going on there.”
“Act? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How could he know? How could he know? We’d been careful in our setup, spending time together, being seen. We’d been attached to each other all night. Our chemistry was good.
“You and the King boy. You think I’m going to buy that you’re suddenly engaged to such a perfect candidate for husband? Of course I was going to come and check this whole thing out. The relationship screams sham, and I intend to prove it. It shouldn’t be too hard. You’re not capable of pulling off a scheme like this.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, breathlessly. “We’re in love.” It sounded so weak, so trite.
“Right,” Darrell sneered. “Love. I bet you think that YouTube footage proves it too.”
He’d seen the video. My face went red with shame. Well, wasn’t that what I’d wanted?
But then it hadn’t been what I’d wanted, and by then it had been too late.
Darrell snickered. “That video does prove one thing: how slutty you are. Your mother spread her legs for money too, and how did that work out? She didn’t end up with anything except a measly trust fund. And that’s what I’ll make sure you get too because you’re not getting your hands on my company.”
And the feeling that I’d had, the feeling that, just maybe, Weston and I could survive this crazy scheme after all, it left with a whoosh.
As I watched Darrell stalk back down the hall, unable to think of a parting shot to offer, I realized he was right about one thing—I had no idea in hell what I was doing.
Nine
That kiss.
God, that kiss.
It was Monday, two days after the engagement party and all I could think about was that
goddamned kiss. My balls ached from it. My stomach twisted inside from it. It kept me up nights, kept me distracted through work all morning, made my dick sore from all the jerking off I’d done in the shower, and still it wouldn’t leave my mind.
And it was stupid, because I really was starting to think I might hate the girl—the girl being my fiancée, of course.
By the end of Monday I’d thought about her so much—thought about wringing her neck while I led the weekly executive meeting, thought about scratching her up while I walked Sabrina through her new duties, thought about spanking her ass while Donovan gave me the rundown on the latest financial goals—that I’d even put Elizabeth’s picture on my dartboard and thrown darts at her. Then I’d felt so guilty about marring her gorgeous face, I’d immediately printed another and slapped it over the autographed copy of Watchmen that I had in a frame on my shelf. A guy should have a pic of his bride-to-be on his desk, right?
So now I had to hate her and stare at her and fight my dick for having a mind of its own for the better part of the afternoon.
She was driving me insane.
I had to remember why I was in this predicament in the first place, why I was still participating in this stupid farce. There were a million and one reasons why I should just quit the whole thing and walk away.
But there were also reasons why I shouldn’t. Good reasons.
I’d told Elizabeth I would help her, for one. And I’d told Donovan. And also because of the money. Mostly, of course, it was the money. I didn’t know why I listed that last.
And to remind myself further, I decided to make a phone call that I normally made monthly but had neglected the last couple of months in all the Eliza-bitch hubub. I sat back in my chair and dialed the number that I knew by heart.
When the female voice answered, an easy smile spread over my lips. “Hello, Mrs. Clemmons, it’s me. Weston.”
“Weston, it’s so good to hear from you. It seems like it’s been ages. How are you? And you know I told you to call me Nicole.” She was always cheery, no matter what time of day I caught her, no matter what the circumstances were in her life. But there was no way I was ever calling her Nicole. I’d known her and her husband since I was five years old. Remembered climbing onto her lap at company picnics. Her twins were the age of Noelle, my little sister.
Dirty Sexy Player Page 9
