Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads

by Adriana Hunter

  Dead fucking meat.

  The knot that had formed in my throat sank to my stomach. I had a damn good reason for weathering the media storm. Gorman’s embezzlement had started a chain reaction. I had to come up with the unpaid payroll taxes. Add to that the fines and I was out of business. But, hey, let’s not stop there. No business meant no money to cover the small amount of accounts payable the agency ran—hello vendor lawsuits! It also meant unfinished campaigns that I had received advance payments on and lawsuits on the client side. So, yeah, as much hell as I would go through being Blake’s pseudo-wife, there was a whole other, nastier level of hell waiting for me if I didn’t.

  But what about Blake? Marrying me had the potential to seriously damage the Cross brand. If he bailed on me, I would be double fucked and utterly humiliated.

  I pushed his hands away. “I’m not answering you until I know why you need a temporary marriage.”

  Nostrils flaring, his gaze jumped to the side and his mouth pressed into a grim line. Apparently his reason was on a need to know basis that didn't include me.

  I folded my arms across my chest, mirroring his earlier stance. “I can't even consider agreeing until I know why.”

  He looked back my way, his right brow shooting up. “You remember Anna?”

  Anna Burke—uber bitch and a former Senior Vice President of Cross Incorporated. She had resigned her position about six months earlier for reasons unstated. As the outside PR firm for Cross, I had tried to discover why in case it had the potential to explode in the press. It was the only time Cross had given me the brush off—until now.

  I nodded, urging him to continue.

  “She's suing the company for millions and—more importantly—enough in unearned stock options to make Cross Incorporated vulnerable to a takeover bid.”

  Rage burned in his eyes. Even knowing it wasn't directed at me, I withered beneath its heat. The company was everything to him. He'd built it up on his own, product by product, store by store. Even with billions in annual sales and a cadre of senior executives, he kept a tight grip on the reins. It was his baby and any threat to the company made him feral. I’d seen it on more than one occasion.

  A shiver ran through me, my shoulders twitching in an attempt to shrug it off. As angry as the question might make him, I had to know. “Why?”

  “I'm not going to discuss why with the head of an outside PR firm that won't be in existence a month from now because of unpaid payroll taxes.” His hands drifted down to capture my wrists. He tugged me closer, his gaze softening the slightest bit as he chewed at his bottom lip. His hips gently pushed forward, nudging at my stomach as his voice dropped to stroke deep into my core. “My wife, on the other hand...”

  My knees went weak all over again. I stumbled back. Blake's arms circled my waist. Cinching me to him, he dipped his head down, his breath playing warm against my ear. “I don't have a lot of time, Pippa. Neither do you. Tell me now that you'll do this or I have to move on.”

  Trembling, I clutched his arms. A world of trouble weighing down on me couldn't erase the fact that I was pressed up against Blake Cross, his thick biceps flexing beneath my palms, my stomach rubbing against the hard plane of his hips. My pussy felt like he’d just run his tongue along its length, leaving me wet and achy.

  Tightening my grip, I managed a squeak. “You can give me a few more seconds, Cross. How will marrying me help your lawsuit...what did you do to Burke?”

  His hands dropped to clasp together below the curve of my ass. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but he lifted me off my feet. His strong arms slid my body up along his until we were at eye level. “I didn't do anything to Burke and you only need to know that marrying me will help you. Agree and you'll have a three hundred thousand dollar line of credit tomorrow, a private investigator to hunt Gorman down and a team of attorneys to school the IRS in how to treat a lady at no cost to you.”

  Blake had already offered the money, the loan payable on demand and secured by all of the firm's assets and my own. A demand note meant he could pull it the moment I tried to back out of our deal or failed to perform to expectations. If I went through with it, the note would be canceled with the marriage's dissolution. The offer of a free PI and attorneys was new—which meant he was desperate enough to sweeten the deal.

  I swallowed and managed another squeak. “I never liked Burke, but I need to know I can pull it off. If she has a legitimate beef...”

  I knew Blake well enough to stop talking when I saw the left corner of his mouth twitch once to the side.

  He eased me back down to the floor but didn't release me or loosen his grip. He studied me, his gaze an unrelenting polished steel until he blinked. “Fine. Anna doesn't have a legal leg to stand on, but if she gets the jury on her side—I'm screwed. You've done PR for lawsuits, Pippa. You know I’m right.”

  His hands traveled up to grab my arms just above the elbow. He took a step back, his gaze raking my body for an instant before settling on my face. “I need a counterpoint to Anna. That's you.”

  Speechless, I lifted a brow, my lips parting as anger and hurt threatened to boil over. I wanted to slap him for what he'd just said. It was cruel and unnecessary. With her tiny waist, big tits, and manicured everything—Anna certainly was my opposite. I didn't need Blake Cross to rub my nose in it.

  My jaw tightened and I saw confusion flit across his handsome features. A scowl chased it away.

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re thinking something ridiculous, Pippa?” He pulled me closer, his fingertips starting to dig into the soft flesh of my arms. “I'm saying I need a woman of substance whose very existence exposes Anna as the rejected, scheming fraud she is.”

  Lying to me like that only added insult to injury. I tried to twist free, but he was too strong and the press of his body against mine was annihilating any sense of self-preservation I still had in a slow grind. Every last brain cell knew I had to reject his proposal. Not only had he all but stated he wouldn’t want to marry a woman like me, but Anna would seek to destroy me and the New York press and general public would have a field day pointing and laughing at the fat little pumpkin Blake Cross had mistaken for a princess.

  “Stop fighting and listen to me. I’ll protect you from the fallout and treat you well.” He crossed his arms along my back and squeezed, pinning me to him. “All I need you to do is be by my side as my loving wife until the trial is over. Can you do that?”

  Loving Blake Cross—I was halfway there. Every inch of my body ached from being pressed up against him. My nipples were hard points. A faint tremble ran through my thighs. A flutter of contractions deep up inside me pushed out fresh cream to line my panties.

  Still, he was arrogant if he really thought he could protect me from the fallout. Even if I weathered Burke and the media circus about to be unleashed, there was nothing Blake could do to shield me from my feelings for him. Those feelings would only grow stronger beneath the veneer of a fake marriage. Even now, this extraordinary intimacy with him as he tried to persuade me hurt like hell. I couldn’t escape the fact that desperation alone was driving him to hold me and touch me this way.

  “Pippa...baby.” His hold on me relaxed into a loose embrace. “Can you?”

  Baby? The money, the investigator, the attorneys and, now, baby. Blake Cross didn’t play fair.

  Out in the open bay of desks, a phone rang. I looked at the closed blinds. If I rejected Blake’s offer, the phones wouldn’t be on much longer—or the lights

  Apparently reading my mind, he brushed his cheek against mine, whispering in my ear. “They’re more than just your employees, Pippa. They’re your friends.”

  I nodded. I’d known my core team for what seemed like forever. College, starter jobs in the smaller NY agencies, the first lean months of eighty-hour weeks just to keep the rent paid and the computers running. We’d been through a lot and they had all busted their asses to help the firm succeed.

  Blake smoothed his palm up my arm. “Help them, y
ourself...” His lips brushed my ear and I felt like I was going to faint. “Help me.”

  I nodded again, heart racing. I would do it for them—not him or me, or for moments like this when he was holding me. When it was all done, I might have to hide out for a very long time with no television or internet or newspapers while my heart and pride healed.

  “That’s my girl.” Blake’s mouth tracked left until his lips brushed mine. “But it has to look real, PJ. All the time, even when it seems like we're alone.”

  The apprehension that had been slowly ebbing slammed back into me full force. I leaned my head back to look up at him. “All the time?”

  “Anna will try to get people to sell us out—your staff, mine. We should expect hidden cameras and microphones. And you can't shy away when I touch you in public—that only works if I touch you in private, too.”

  His hand drifted to the center of my back. He captured my head with the other. I had half a second to notice him draw his bottom lip in and then his mouth was pressed against mine. He broke contact, his fingers coiling in my hair.

  “Can you do that?” He kissed me again, his tongue curling against my upper lip, sucking it into his mouth. “Can you make it real in my home, the car, the office...”

  I wasn’t used to performing like he obviously was. He was buying in lock, stock and barrel—right down to the press of his erection against my stomach. I looked down at the hard line of his cock straining against his pants. “We won’t have to...uhm...”

  Hell! I couldn’t believe I was stuttering like some virgin schoolgirl.

  “We'll discuss that before you sign the pre-nup and I release the funds.” His free hand roamed my body, caressing my hips, squeezing an arm before stopping at last to curve under my breast, cupping the swollen flesh as his thumb and index finger tested the hardness of my nipple.

  Blake Cross in my office, feeling me up with the blinds closed! The quiver of need rolling through my body intensified. “Are you sure you're being sued?”

  Realizing how stupid that sounded, I blushed. Of course he was being sued. He wouldn’t be in my office if he had any other choice. He’d admitted that much already.

  Stupid as the question was, he didn’t laugh. His tongue swept into my mouth. The hand on my breast grew more demanding, kneading and twisting as the kiss deepened. The room started spinning and I closed my eyes, my knees giving out as he took one straining nipple between his finger and thumb and pinched.

  His powerful body with its muscled abs, thick biceps, and sculpted thighs, wasn’t just for show. Blake lifted me, his mouth still devouring me. Images of being laid out on my desk, his cock spearing into me, filled my head. Instead, he carried me toward my office door. Lowering me to my feet, he braced my back against the window. His mouth dropped to my neck.

  Feeling the blinds shift against my back, I tried to stop him. “They'll see—”

  His lips teasing the sensitive skin along the underside of my chin, I heard Blake murmur, “I know. I want them to.”

  The words were like a cold, wet rag to the face. He was getting me all worked up as part of the charade! I pushed against his chest. “What do you mean?”

  Blake leaned against my hands, his broad chest pinning me against the window as his hands cupped my face. “It begins now. We need to start selling the fact that we're a couple—that we have been for months.”

  “A small show for your staff, then reservations at Robuchon's for seven.” He glanced down at his watch. “I'll pick you up at six—”

  “Robuchon's?” I mentally inventoried my closet, trying to remember what was back from the dry cleaners.

  “Don't worry about clothes. I'm sending something over to your brownstone.” He ran his hands over my full hips, an impish grin flashing across his face. “Size sixteen, right?” His hands ran up the sides of my waist to cup my breasts and give them a gentle squeeze before his mouth crushed mine. Leaving me breathless, he broke the kiss and correctly guessed, “Thirty-six B.”

  Feeling the heat rise up on my cheeks, I pushed his hands away. “You know, you might be in less trouble if you didn't have that skill.”

  The grin re-surfaced before his expression grew serious. “I'll be bringing a ring tonight, it was my great-grandmother's. When this is done...”

  He tilted his head at me, gray eyes glittering, and I nodded. “I understand. The ring will stay in your family.”

  Blake lifted his chin, his gaze hooded in what felt like predatory speculation as he stared down at me a long second. A slow blink and then he tugged me away from the window. “Exactly, PJ, it stays in my family.”

  Opening the blinds, he lightly pinched the tip of my chin before planting a slow kiss on my mouth. There wasn't the same heat as a few minutes before but anyone looking in would know that, despite all the cold facts to the contrary, it wasn't business Blake and I had discussed with the blinds shut.

  Standing in the door of my office, I watched him leave. The reality of what I had just agreed to sank in as I heard the building whispers of my staff.

  I felt the brush of knuckles against my elbow. Looking to my left, I saw Kevin—my dearest friend and second in command at the agency. We'd grown up in the PR business together, starting a year apart at our old firm. When I opened my own agency, he had followed me over with nothing more than the promise of long hours and too little starting pay. He was probably the biggest reason I'd see Blake's deal through to the end. There was no way in hell I could reward that kind of friendship, loyalty and faith with a pink slip.

  “Blake Cross, I swear! At least we know why you've been hiding the last few weeks.” A conspiratorial gleam lit his gaze as he ushered me back into my office and closed the door. His hands went to his hips and he shook his head. “I want all the details, this instant, starting with the juicy bits. How big is he?”

  “You want some popcorn and soda with that?” I asked as I walked around the desk and settled into my chair. Blake was right—this could work, people would actually believe the marriage was legitimate. Most would be shocked as all hell, and some of those would be outraged at his choice. I’d probably get death threats from the crazier women.

  Whether it would play well with the jury was not my problem.

  Kevin waved his hand at my sarcastic offer of refreshments. “You know I'm on a diet, so quit stalling and start spilling! Long, thick, curved—all of the above?”

  Leaning back in the chair, my mouth shaping vague lies of a months' long courtship, I glanced one last time at the door Cross had left through. I'd made a deal with the devil, a dead sexy, notorious playboy who would soon be slipping his great-grandmother's ring on my finger in one of the city's most expensive restaurants.

  I should have been worried and reconsidering my options instead of calmly lying to my best friend while my panties slowly soaked through and a steady throb pounded deep inside my pussy.

  Apéritif

  Suggesting to Kevin that I might have big news in the morning, I went home early. My doorbell rang at five. I answered it with a robe around me, my body dripping water from the shower.

  A deliveryman from a plus-size boutique I recognized stood at the threshold, a box almost as tall as me tucked under his arm. “Where would you like this?”

  I pointed down the hall to my bedroom. He disappeared, emerging a few seconds later to quietly retreat. I waited until I heard his car engine turn over before I locked the door and raced into the bedroom.

  I approached the box with trepidation. Not only was the store wildly expensive, but its management also seemed to live by the motto of “flaunt it if you got it.”

  I certainly didn’t have “it.” Great hair, yes. Near flawless skin, ditto. But I was no Christina Hendricks or Charlotte Coyle. I didn't have their cleavage, for starters.

  Heart hammering in my chest, I lifted the box’s lid. My eyes about popped out of my head. A dark silver-sequined tube dress with a hem length that would just make it to the top of my knees was encased in a pewter-color
ed wrap of brushed silk that would fall to my ankles, except for the high split up the front left side where the waist knotted.

  The tube’s bodice had a boned inset that would push my smaller breasts up to an attention grabbing height, while the plunging neckline of the wrap would do nothing to hide them. Pewter mesh panties were tucked among the folds of the dress. Silver chain sandals and a silver clutch were nestled at the bottom of the box.

  The outfit was gorgeous—in the box. On me, I had the uneasy suspicion I’d look like a drag queen.

  Frowning, I picked up the purse. I felt a bulge and looked inside to discover a small jewelry box. The box held a spinel-beaded platinum necklace, matching earrings and a bracelet. Stunned, I took a step back.

  The boutique was at the far side of the city. Even if he’d spent all of five minutes selecting the outfit—highly doubtful—there still wasn’t enough time for Blake to have reached the store and the driver to have delivered the box by five. That meant that the bounty in front of me wasn't from a last minute shopping trip. Blake had picked this out in advance of our meeting this afternoon. He'd been certain I would accept. Whether that was because he thought me completely desperate or viewed himself as so damn persuasive, I didn't know. Nor did I know whether I should be ticked off by his audacity or secretly thrilled.

  The warm flush heating my body had me leaning toward thrilled, but I had to be careful with Cross. He wasn’t the first man seeking aid in my arms after some beautiful, razor thin woman had done him wrong. Those men had sought to rebuild their ego, to use as they had been used, to reject as they had been rejected. I’d learned my lesson. I wasn’t about to lose my heart to Blake over something he viewed as nothing more than a business deal. Marrying me was part of his litigation strategy.

  Want isn't part of the equation.

  Those had been his exact words. They'd stung at the time—still did. I pushed the thought to the back of my head, close enough to remind me this was a business deal without it spoiling my performance at Robuchon’s.