by Leona Lee
She blinks her dreamy, aquamarine eyes. “Be your fake fiancée... for how long? What would I have to do?”
“Nothing you haven’t already,” I tease. “Just be with me. Be seen in public with me. A month or two at the most. Be stunningly beautiful. That part you need no coaching in.” I tap her dainty nose that sports a few tiny freckles I hadn’t noticed until now. She’s fucking adorable, inside and out.
She smiles and shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t know... I’ll have to think about it.”
Who the fuck needs to think about a million dollars? But I have to understand where she’s coming from. She’s blindsided, nervous and uncertain. Christ, we’ve only just met, really. Of course, she wants to think about it.
“Do think about it. Please. It’s perfect. No one knows you so the media will be extra curious. My publicist will be off my back and shitting happy bricks out his ass. And with that kind of payday, you can buy ten new cars if you want.”
“I could,” she says thoughtfully. “But I think one fiancé and one car will be all I can handle.”
Chapter Twelve
Mara
Field Day
I’m taking the train today as I don’t want to tempt fate and tax Shirley any further. It was enough that she got me home on Friday, poor thing. She’s like a beloved horse that must soon be put to pasture, or put out of her misery, one of the two.
It’s Monday, and I’m not sure what to expect when I get back to the GeoRock lab and my same old dingy workstation. It’s the only thing about my life that’s the same as it was forty-eight hours ago.
Since then, all I can manage to think about is my amazing night with Bastian. I’m still reeling from the experience, and not completely convinced it was genuine and not some Tequila-induced hallucination. But it sure felt real; everything, including his “proposal.”
Holy crap. One million dollars. The whole thing is doing my head in. My mind is a mess of conflicting emotions. I’m embarrassed that he found out I was a virgin so easily. But I wasn’t exactly expecting to end up in bed with a man when Lacey and I started out that evening. I wasn’t prepared to reveal my virgin status or think about the physical evidence that might out me later on. Like the blood I left on his sheets. God, I really am a dim-witted hillbilly.
My straight-laced upbringing tells me to be ashamed. Ashamed of having given myself so freely. Ashamed of having unprotected sex; and having that sex with a man who is not only not my husband, but a good deal older than me. Is it really so wrong? I’m attracted to him like no one else I’ve ever met, or even dreamed of. Our sex was incredible. He took me to heights of pleasure I didn’t know were possible. Why should the fact he is forty matter? Plenty of older men married younger women and society never gave a hoot about it.
I catch myself in mid-thought. You’re not really getting married to him. He never asked you that, you dolt. He offered me money to play a part, which presents the next dilemma. Does accepting money from him make me a lottery winner, or just a high-paid whore? I recoil at the idea. What would my mom and dad say if they were here? Or Uncle Doug and Aunt Tammy? There’s no way they won’t see the tabloids and news broadcasts if I agree to this crazy stunt.
If I say yes, I’ll have two months of unprecedented attention and wealth. I get to become inseparable from a gorgeous man I’m hopelessly attracted to. And if I say no?
I shudder to think what my immediate future would look like in that scenario. I’m back to my little desk in the dungeon with nothing but core samples and 3D imagery for company. He might be angry with me, and not arrange for any paid work, or a company car like he promised. He might even fire me. Worst of all, he’d still be in the market for a fake fiancée.
Now that I’ve been with him, could I even stand the sight of him with another woman? It would finish me; tear me apart. But even if I say yes, what happens once the engagement is over? Could I ever go back to my lowly intern status, and be happy about it, even with a million dollars in my pocket? God, my head hurts running all the potential outcomes of what might happen.
He didn’t give me a deadline for an answer. So maybe I just won’t answer… for now.
I reach my stop and hurry up to the street level and the entrance to the GeoRock tower. When I arrive at the lab, Ernst looks up from his desk and motions me into his open office.
“Mara, come in. I need to talk to you.”
Uh-oh. I know I’m late, but only by a few minutes. “Yes, Mr. Schilleman?”
“You’ve been doing excellent work as an intern.”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved.
“And I think you’re quite capable of handling other assignments. Field assignments, for which you’ll be paid for your time. Does that interest you?”
Wow. Bastian did come through on his promise, in addition to the proposition of a lifetime. How lucky could I get?
“Absolutely,” I answer, excited for the opportunity.
“Good. I know this is short notice, but there’s a site survey scheduled for today, and we require a data analyst on site. I’ve passed your regular work onto another technician for the day. Can you be ready to leave in an hour? The site is about two hours away by car.”
“Um, yes, of course. Do I need any special equipment?”
“Just your tablet, and standard safety gear. Stores department will issue you the proper PPE. Stop by there on your way to the parking garage, level P2. The service vehicle will pick you up there.”
“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Schilleman. I’m looking forward to getting out in the field.”
Ernst nods and waves me away. “Very good, off you go. And by the way, you’ll be accompanying Mr. Kingsley on the tour. He’s already on site, so you’ll join him there.”
Mr. Kingsley? Bastian never mentioned anything about a site visit. I can’t help a rising excitement in my chest at the idea of seeing him again. Officially, of course.
“Right. I’m on my way.”
***
The heavy-duty service vehicle carries two other site officials and me off the I-80 and over graveled access roads into the Pennsylvania hills near Mt. Pocono. It’s a rough ride, and my still-tender nether regions are grateful for the padded interior and industrial grade seat belts. At last, we arrive at an open pit excavation that’s buzzing with other vehicles, people, and equipment.
I’m guided to the portable field office several yards from the pit where they are drilling core samples. As I pass behind the wire safety fence, I can see down into the pit, and I do a double take. Bastian himself is down in the mud right alongside his field personnel. I didn’t expect that, thinking he’d be in the office shack meeting with the client and his project managers.
But there he is. I recognize him even under the brim of a hard hat. He’s wearing reflective coveralls and steel-toed rubber boots, both covered in half-dried mud. My face grows warm as I visualize his ripped abs and muscled shoulders that I now know hide beneath all of it. If I thought he looked hot as hell in a suit, he looks even hotter to me now, down in the dirt and sweating with the rest of his crew like a regular grunt.
I tear my eyes away and force myself further down the temporary boardwalk leading to the shack. There, I pick up the site assessment reports and download them to my tablet. Next, I collect the readouts from the handheld meters that tell me what sort of gases, minerals, and radioactive elements, if any, are present in the exposed strata. After about an hour, I head back to the pit to take documentation photographs.
I switch my tablet to camera mode and get several wide-angle shots of the overall site, then some closer in around the perimeter of the pit. I finish off at the worker’s access platform, just in time to capture Bastian as he climbs up the ladder out of the pit.
“Smile, Mr. Kingsley!” I call out. He looks up and flashes me a smile, his brown eyes twinkling even from behind his safety goggles. He stops his ascent to pose while I take the picture. “Front page worthy,” I say, closing the cover on my tablet and tucking it under
my arm.
He reaches the top of the ladder and clambers out, his crew following behind. When they’ve passed by, making their way to the field office, Bastian moves toward me, removing his hat and goggles as he walks. He’s still sexy even in his baggy safety garb.
“Hello, Miss Snow. Good to see you here.”
“Likewise, Mr. Kingsley.” I look him up and down, a smile quirking up the corners of my mouth. “You look good with dirt on you.”
He tilts his head curiously at my remark and leans in toward me. He reaches out to brush my cheek with his mud-covered finger. “So do you, Miss Snow. So do you.” I blush, and hurriedly glance around for any onlookers who may have seen the bit-too-personal gesture. But there’s no one in sight.
“I know I’ve told you this already, but I really enjoyed our evening together,” Bastian says in a low voice that sets my privates abuzz. “Have you thought any more about my offer?”
“I have, but haven’t made up my mind yet,” I say, casting my eyes down. I know if I stare long enough into those gorgeous browns I’ll be a puddle of spineless goop and say anything he wants me to.
“Please say yes. Save me from the toothy jaws of the ravenous, drooling media machine, won’t you?” he pleads mockingly. I stifle a giggle. He takes hold of my elbow and pulls me close. Thank God no one is around to see us together. “Save me from missing you by my side every night, pining for your hot bod and sweet lips,” he teases, but underneath I know he’s serious, and it would be so damn easy to say yes. But I can’t right now. Not here. He bends his dark head, his perfect hair uncharacteristically mussed from the hard hat, to whisper in my ear. “Please. I want you, Mara. I’d take you right here in the dirt if there weren’t a work crew twenty feet away.”
His bold words and warm breath caressing my ear send my pussy into convulsions, and I feel a flood of cream release in my panties. God, how will I ever resist this man?
“You’ve reduced me to begging, you incredibly beautiful thing. Please, I’m desperate to know your answer. Say yes. Help a desperate man find his 'wife-to-be.”
“Tonight,” I say, laughing, prying myself loose from his grip even though it’s the last thing I want. “I’ll give you an answer tonight.”
He beams at me and straightens to his full height. “Good. I’ll take you to dinner after we’re finished here. You can tell me over a glass of wine and a fabulous meal.”
“I’m not exactly dressed for dinner,” I say.
Bastian shrugs. “There’s staff showers at the office. I’ll probably want one myself,” he says, gesturing at his mud-ugly outfit. “I’ll wait for you, and we can leave from there, alright?”
I sigh in mock defeat. “Alright. But for now, get back to work, Kingsley.”
“Yes, ma’am. Wait, you’ve got something just… there,” he says, pointing to the streak of dirt he’s left behind on my face, then suddenly reaches out to give the opposite side the same treatment. He flashes a wink before turning and striding away toward the field shack. Both palms fly to my sullied cheeks, my mouth hanging open as I stare after him, clamping my knees together to keep them from wobbling and my crotch from vibrating. Dammit, his ass is even sexy in coveralls.
***
I’m grubby and sweaty when I return to the GeoRock tower with my crewmates. Bastian left the site in his private limo ahead of the rest of us lowly worker ants, so I enter the building and head down to the lab to gather my stuff and find the staff showers. I don’t have a change of clothes, but I left my nicest summer blazer hanging on my chair this morning. So at least I have something to throw overtop before going out to dinner. I hope it won’t be any place too fancy, but then I laugh at myself. I can’t imagine Bastian in any place less than a Michelin star establishment.
The staff rec facilities are on the floor above mine, so I don’t have too far to go to get ready. Off the main lounge area, there are doors to separate men’s and women’s locker rooms opposite each other. I duck into the ladies’ and gape in awe at how well-appointed even this area of the building is. Spartan yet sparkling, I admire the tastefully tiled and mirrored walls and gleaming marble floor.
I walk into the shower area that’s set up like a fitness gym, with a line of open shower heads along a long wall. There are even dispensers for soap, gel, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion. Whoever designed this room thought of just about everything. A pile of neatly rolled, fresh towels nestle in a large basket on the counter. I undress and hang my clothes and bag on one of the shiny, chrome robe hooks and turn the handle on the faucet. It’s then that I notice the multiple spray heads on the wall, just like a high-end spa. Wow.
The water’s hot and feels delicious raining down on my tired body and shooting out from the various jets. The empty room echoes with the sound of rushing water striking the porcelain tiles. I wash and rinse my hair and then face the wall while slathering the pleasantly scented shower gel from the dispenser all over my body. I close my eyes and luxuriate in the warming sensation of the massaging spray, letting the stress of my day dissipate, and my thoughts wander.
I picture Bastian naked, taking his own shower, but, of course, in the elite confines of his executive suite. If the amenities down here are this good, what does the CEO facility boast? It is hard to imagine anything grander than the Zen-like bathroom of his penthouse. I’d nearly gotten lost in its marble and glass expanse.
Suddenly the hairs on my neck raise, and I’m jolted out of my daydreams with the sense that someone is at my back. Before I can turn around, a muscled forearm reaches around my middle, and a warm wet body presses against me from behind. I let out a startled shriek and fumble for the faucet handle.
“Shhh… it’s just your personal relaxation assistant at your service,” his voice croons amid the torrent of splashing water.
“Bastian!” I shout, shocked that I hadn’t heard anyone come in and that he would be so audacious as to cross the gender barrier in a public shower. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”
“It’s my company; I can go wherever I like,” he says, nuzzling my neck. The water splashes off his dark head, and his hands slither up through the soapy gel over my stomach to cup my breasts. My nipples peak to both his touch and the gentle barrage of the shower on my tits.
“Stop,” I say, half moaning and half giggling.
“Soap? You want more soap?” he teases, pretending to misinterpret me. He palms a handful from the dispenser and swabs it on my nipples. My innards twist in excitement, and I’m trapped between his strong arms around my front and his thick, stiffened cock pressing into the seam between my buttocks from behind.
“I said stop,” I repeat, sounding totally unconvincing.
“I don’t think I can,” Bastian says. “Not until I’m sure I’ve done a thorough job. Get my dirty girl squeaky clean again.”
“You’re the dirty one,” I say.
“Mmm, dirty is as dirty does, Miss Snow.” He unfolds my arms and presses my hands flat against the shower wall, then slathers more gel on my back, and then down over my ass cheeks in excruciatingly slow motion. My knees are trembling in spite of the hot water streaming over both of us. My tits are tingling in sweet agony, and my pussy is throbbing, clamoring for attention.
I gasp as he palms the next dose of slippery gel between my legs, rubbing it lovingly into the cleft of my pussy lips. My clit twitches in anticipation. A murmured “Oh, God...” escapes my throat as he swaths it through the length of my crotch. I’m at the edge, perilously close to falling over the cliff into a raging orgasm any second.
“That’s my good dirty girl,” Bastian says in a low, sexy growl. A wave of heat surges through me at his scolding words. Calling me dirty turns me on even more than I am already. He nudges my wobbly legs apart and fits his soapy cock into my crack. I flinch, and his left arm slinks around my waist again, to hold me tight against him.
“Relax,” he says. “Let me do the dirty work. All part of the service.”
He slides his slick cock
back and forth, his groin pressing into my ass with each gentle thrust. I’m going insane with arousal. My hands clench into fists against the tiles, begging for mercy and release. Then the fingers of his right hand slip down to stroke my swelling, wet bud.
Fuck.
My wail of ecstasy echoes in the deserted cave of marble and porcelain like a yodeler’s call in an alpine glen.
“Good girl,” Bastian is saying, pumping me through my orgasmic journey. I shut my eyes against the flowing waves of sensation and the water streaming down my face. Before I can catch my breath, Bastian flattens me against the wall and lifts my leg, pressing my knee up against the tiles. I feel his hard cock entering me.
“Say yes, Mara.” He grunts as he thrusts upward. “Say you’ll be my fiancée, say it.” A helpless gurgle is all that my strangled throat can utter. “I won’t stop until you say yes.” Water splashes everywhere as his groin spanks my wet cheeks with each stroke.
“Yes!” I cry out. “For Pete’s sake, yes!”
Chapter Thirteen
Bastian
Blast From The Future
She’s stunning. Glittering like a superbly-cut gemstone in a velvet display case. In this instance, the backdrop is a lavender-hued Valentino gown I’ve chosen for her. I have no idea of the price tag and care even less. All I know is that it was meant for her the moment I saw it. Flowing drapes of airy chiffon gather at the empire waistline with a diamond-studded buckle. A halter neckline plunges daringly in front, cradling her luscious tits, unfettered by a brassiere.
I struggle not to reach out and fondle them right here in the ballroom of the Plaza Hotel; I don’t give a damn who’s watching, but I’m sure Liam Dunnigan does. He’s sitting across the round table from me, chatting with my CFO and his wife, pretending not to be aware of every move that Mara and I make at this charity gala for Natural Disaster Relief.
But he’s not the only one. No male, straight or gay, could miss Mara Snow tonight the way she looks in that dress and her sleek, dark hair swept in an elegant up-do. She’s been amazing over the last month and a half; there couldn’t have been better casting for the role of my imaginary intended. She handles the whole media spectacle with surprising self-confidence, considering her youth and inexperience with being in the public eye.
