by Kylie Hudson
Shaking my head, I acknowledge her concern. “Don’t worry, you know my stepdad well. He wouldn’t set this up if he couldn’t trust the guy.”
“I have to go,” Marie says, brushing my cheeks with her fingers. “I have to head into the town, but I wish you all the best and you have to promise you will keep in touch.”
My eyes cast downward to the parched ground in front of me. A piece of paper blows in the wind, reminding me of my impending journey. The beautiful hills overlooking Montego Bay seem to sway in the distance, as if reminding me of all I will be missing. “Of course I will, we are besties are we not, and hopefully one day you will be able to come and visit me.”
Marie waves goodbye and saunters off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Even the pot-hole filled road leading to my driveway appears to be mocking me. This definitely was not the way I had planned my engagement. I had envisioned a romantic courtship and emotional fireworks, but alas, this is not to be.
But I have learned enough from my stepdad about the cruel world out there, and I am a girl with wits about me. This fake fiancée of mine will not be able to take me for a fool. If he thinks that, then he has another guess coming.
So the next few weeks are a whirl of activities and events move at a dizzying pace. Documents are brought to our house by a mysterious bearer, which are already filled out and only in need of my signature. The bearer also takes my passport and departs as mystifyingly as he had arrived. My stepdad also receives money which he uses to start making funeral arrangements as well as buying me what he calls ‘respectable clothes’. In a matter of another week my passport is returned with a shiny K-1 Visa stamped in it.
My mind is in a state of shock. Who the heck is this man with so much power, and what sort of hold does my stepdad have over him for him to be doing all this for us? I mean, on television I have seen people sweating over a K-1 Visa, having to go to the United States Embassy and answer lots of personal questions. But in my case, I gather I was pre-approved and had no need to go through all that trauma.
I quiz my stepdad as to why I am exempted, but he remains mum on the topic. Yes, his lips are sealed even to his last breath.
Then one night my stepdad summons me into his room. “Promise me you will not bring your cheeky attitude with you when you go and stay with my friend.” He gives me a stern and scolding look.
I blow a hot breath, cheeks quivering. “Dad, I do not have a cheeky attitude.”
“Yes you do,” my stepfather responds, squeezing my wrist. “You are strong-willed, hot-headed and have a temper, so I want you to just stay calm. He can be a handful, but he means well,” he rasps, and I have to strain to hear what he is saying.
I have no choice but to promise. What else can I do when the man is dying? “Yes, I promise, dad,” I recite honestly. “I will fulfill my end of the bargain.”
A peaceful sigh escapes my stepfather’s lips and his eyes gloss over. “Dad,” I scream as he eyes close and his body slumps over lifelessly. “Dad!” Tears begin to stream down my face as I try to shake him awake, but to no avail. My stepdad had taken his final breath and departed this earth.
I sit by the bedside holding his hand for a long time, bawling my eyes out. How could he leave me at this time when I need him most of all? Then, when I have delivered all my tears and I can cry not longer, I lay his hands across my chest. Yes, it’s time to put on my big girl panties and face what the next chapter in my life will bring.
So I grieve for a few days, my heart torn apart that I should lose both my mother and stepfather at such a young age. Then a letter arrives by courier, informing me that I will be leaving for the airport in two days.
I should be filled with excitement at going to the United States, but my heart is heavy with the loss of my protector and it takes awhile for me to get into the frame of mind to start packing and prepare for my adventure.
One the day in question, a fancy Audi arrives at the house with a driver and I am whisked to the Norman Manley International Airport. I am expecting to enter the normal airport section, but the driver channels me through VIP immigration and straight to the hangar housing private planes.
Private planes! What the heck is going on? I realize I am walking toward a sleek, magnificent jet, sitting regally on the tarmac and I appear to be the only passenger.
Shit! Just who the hell is my fiancée and what have I gotten myself into?
***
The flight to Los Angeles seems never-ending. I am anxious, scared and excited all rolled into one. But hey, it could be worse than flying all by myself in a private jet with a flight attendant at my beck and call.
“May I offer you something to drink or eat?” Jenny, the flight attendant asks, her eyes twinkling. She is a very pretty Latino girl, with a nice smile and a knock-out body. Curiously, I find myself wondering if all she does is serve my fiancée meals, or does she perform other services for a man of his obvious wealth. Let’s just say I have heard tales about The Mile High Club and the crazy things rich men do with their flight attendants on long business flights.
“Yes, I would like a glass of champagne,” I reply, flashing my most radiant smile. I am so happy that I recently turned twenty-one which is the official age for drinking in America. In Jamaica we can drink at eighteen, so I am tickled pink that I won’t have to hide and consume alcohol, or when I do go out with my fake fiancée I can drink in public.
Jenny returns with a bottle and shows me the label. Wow, it’s Cristal, and I know the shit is expensive. If truth be told I am pretty apprehensive about meeting this mystery man, hence my accepting the bubbly, and after a few glass of the champagne which tickles my nostrils, my fears have dissipated somewhat. Chalk one up to the ability of alcohol to drive way nervousness.
I try to make small talk with Jenny, desperate for some info on the man I am soon to meet, but she seems a bit reluctant to engage in any meaningful conversation, as if she has been instructed not to share information with me. So I just peer out the window and sip my champagne, girding my loins for the meeting to come.
“We are approaching Los Angeles, so please fasten your seatbelts.” The voice of the pilot crackling in the cabin jolts me out of my lethargy and I feel a tightness in my chest and my palms become sweaty. There seems a heightened flow of adrenalin throughout my system, as finally the moment of truth is near.
Listen, I am apprehensive of the match that my stepdad has found for me, and the reason he shielded the identity of the man from me. It must be that it is one of his fat old friends of yesteryear, I presume. It’s obvious the man is wealthy, or has wealthy connections, but I am starting to rue the fact that I let dad talk me into this. It is one thing to escape Jamaica and the dangers that country posed to my safety, but to spend the next year or two with a man I may detest, or horror of horrors, find downright disgusting, is certainly another matter altogether.
The aircraft begins its descent and I am hit by lightheadedness. It’s always like this when I fly. My stepdad had taken my mom and me to two Caribbean islands, so that’s how I found out that I hate flying.
My hands instinctively grip the arm rest and I breathe deeply as the plane touches down. Unlike my previous flights, however, this is a smooth landing and I begin to breathe much easier.
The jet slowly taxis down the runway before stopping in front of a smaller set of buildings; a private airport hangar no doubt. My eyes eagerly strain themselves to catch a glimpse of my new surroundings, but all I can see are airport staff rushing to the plane.
I am here. I am in the big, bad United States of America.
“Time to go, Miss Ward,” Jenny says, as she glides toward me and assists with the small carry-on, which along with the suitcase that was checked in at the airport, are the only two pieces of luggage I managed to pack. I was instructed to travel light, a request which I honored.
As the door of the aircraft opens, I nervously disembark and gingerly walk down the steps, careful not to fall flat on my face. I am normally a confide
nt kinda girl, but right now my heard is racing a hundred kilometers an hour and nervous energy is surging through my veins. There are so many questions swirling in my head, but I guess they will be answered very soon.
I follow Jenny and the pilot through a private Immigration and Customs area, and in a jiffy I am processed and being steered by Jenny through a large hallway. “Mr. Dean is waiting for you,” she smiles mischievously. “And once again, Miss Ward, it was a pleasure having you on board and congratulations on your engagement.”
Mr. Dean, so that’s the last name of my fiancée. Finally I get some intel on the man. Suddenly, it hits me that this is all real. This is no longer a subject of my fantasy. My life is at stake here.
It would be too silly of me to ask her the first name of my intended husband, obviously. “Thank you Jenny and I enjoyed the flight,” I reply, eyes flashing around and drinking in the immaculate nature of the private terminal.
As we saunter toward the main entrance, the door opens and in walks a giant of a man. I say giant because he is One World Trade Center tall, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. The mood of the hall is broken by the massive thud of his shoes hitting the pavement, almost causing the ground to shake under his feet. Then jenny looks up and smiles. “Your fiancée, Mr. Ryker Dean is always on time as you well know, Miss Ward.” She tugs at my arm excitedly, her eyes sparkling in awe at the sight of her boss.
Oh my God.
My hand shoots up covering my lips and my breath hitches in the back of my throat. The human skyscraper is Ryker Dean. The person who I had assumed to be a fat, old and probably balding friend of my stepdad, is a drop-dead handsome hunk that sends my knickers all in a twist.
Ryker stops on a dime in front of us. “Welcome, my dear.” He grips me in a bear hug with hands that are hard as granite and almost suffocates the life out of me. He is playing the game of the doting fiancée, I figure, rationalizing my urge to push him away. If we are to pretend to be lovebirds, I guess in public I have to play the part, so I return his hug. For some unexplained reason, though, my heart is thumping and tightness cramps my tummy.
Butterflies are swirling around in my stomach. Ryker Dean is suffocating in more ways than one.
Here it is that the lecture I had planned to give him at our first meeting about how he is to respect my boundaries and that I am not his plaything, but my own woman, has suddenly been thrown out the window and I am left gasping for breath in the clutches of a fiancée who I am meeting for the very first time.
Something tells me that this fake engagement is going to be much more complicated than I had ever imagined. This is not what I had expected. No, not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 3
Ryker
I barge through the main entrance door of the Van Nuys Private Airport, happy that I am not late to meet my newly-minted fiancée. It sounds damn strange to be saying that word, as never in my wildest imagination did I ever envision getting married, and certainly not to a young woman who I have never met.
For some goddamn reason I had been too busy the past few weeks to even glance at a photograph of Siena. Well, that’s not quite true, is it? I deliberately didn’t want to take a peek, afraid that she may be unattractive and cause me to change my mind since I will have to share my space with this person for at least three months.
Yeah, this is how the K-1 Visa business works. You have three months to marry your fiancée or she is sent back to her own country, so during that period it is best to play the loving mate and at least live in the same residence. I am using my contacts to try to get her a Green Card without having to marry her. But if I have to, then after the wedding I can always put her up in her own place and ensure all her needs are met financially and otherwise.
Shit. I kick myself for getting tied up in this mess, but there was no way I could deny the wish of a dying man, and not just any man, but one who saved my life on more than one occasion and the person responsible for my privileged education, and hence most of my early successes.
The entrance door opens and I hustle inside, looking anxiously around for my favorite flight attendant Jenny, who is chaperoning Siena.
Well, I don’t have to look too far, because Jenny is striding toward me with another young woman by her side.
And then the fucking world stops spinning.
Whoa, what have we here?
My heart goes off for a run up Mt. Everest, because standing in front of me is a vision of loveliness I never expected. What I thought would be a few months within which I would have to grit my teeth and endure a bit of inconvenience, just took on a new dimension. Standing a few meters away, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, if you will pardon the corny expression, is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life, and this is coming from a man who has fucked some of the finest of God’s feminine creations.
I kid you not. I have heard that Jamaican woman were among the world’s great beauties, but I chalked that up to mere tourism marketing talk. Now I can justify that for myself that it’s not idle chatter, the women from that Caribbean island are the real deal.
Siena is tall, with legs wrapped up in a tight pair of jeans that seem to go on for days. Where her eyes should be are dark and mysterious sparkling diamonds on either side of an angular nose, above bee-stung lips that cry out to be kissed. But if her face is Cleopatra-like, her body is something other-worldly. She is a big girl, not fat, but thick and shapely, with ample meat on her bones and hips that flare into an ass that sticks out at an impossible angle.
To put it simply, Siena is built like the proverbial brick shit house, but in this case a Jamaican brick shit house.
I greet her with a hug. I mean what else can a guy do when he meets his fake fiancée at the airport with the eyes of the world on him? And man, does she feel fucking good. Her body is firm but soft at the same time, if you follow my drift, and her flesh quivers at my untamed touch. For a moment I sense she is going to push me away, but instead her warm body melts into mine. And just when I think I have safely passed the first hurdle with this goddess, my unruly cock begins to stir, and I back away not wanting to scare the poor girl with a hard and unwelcomed dick pressing against her tummy.
“Welcome to Los Angeles, my love,” I say raggedly, hoping my erection is not too obvious. But my cock is trying to burst out of my slacks and I feel a trickle of pre-cum oozing from the slit in the head.
Siena’s eyes shimmer and there is a surprised look on her face, as if seeing my features for the first time. I had assumed Aiden had shown her pictures of me, but it appears I may be wrong. “N…Nice to see you, Mr… I mean Ryker,” she gushes in her sexy Jamaican accent. She speaks English fluently, but yes there is a slight accent that I find rather interesting. “You are not at all why I expected.”
“And what did you expect, I though you knew what I looked like?”
“No, my dad, I mean stepdad, kept me in the dark for his own reasons.”
“Now that’s interesting.” Shaking my head and taking her hand, I play the part of the dutiful fiancée to the hilt, not that it is difficult. No, no man could find it difficult being the fiancée of Siena Ward, fake or real. “You must be tired after your flight. Come, the car is outside, let’s go home and tomorrow I will show you all that Los Angeles have to offer.”
Despite her long journey, she seems pretty excited arriving in the good old US of A. “Tired? Really, Ryker, I am so excited to be in Los Angeles, why would I be tired? Plus there is so much I want to see; maybe we may even run into some movie stars, you think?”
I laugh out loud. Her girlish enthusiasm is infectious. Her size hides the fact that she is still only twenty-one and just developing into a woman. So holding her hand in mine, I lead her outside the terminal to where my car is situated. For some reason, today I had decided to drive myself to the airport instead of using a chauffeur.
The car is parked at the curb and I press the key causing it to roar to life. “That’s … That’s your car?” Siena’s eyes
are bulging in her head at the sight of the fiery red Ferrari. She sucks in a breath and bites on her bottom lips. It’s an instinctive act, but everything she does appears sensual and I trap a moan that was threatening to tear from my lips.
“Yes, it’s one of my little toys,” I chime, as one of my bodyguards places her luggage in his car.
“Who are those guys and what are they doing with my suitcases?” She walks after them and I have to catch her hand and whirl her around.
“They are my bodyguards?” I drag her toward the Ferrari. “I mean our bodyguards, my dear.”
Siena scrunches her brows, her eyes darkening a shade. “Bodyguards, Ryker?” He lips curl into a pout. “Why would you need bodyguards? You’re not a gangster, or some sort of criminal, are you?”
I burst out into one of the heartiest laughs I have had in a long time. “No, of course not, but when you have so many business enterprises like I do, you’re always a target for kidnappers.” How can I tell her that yes, in another life I ran with a very fast crowd, but that her stepdad was the biggest Shot Caller of them all at that time? She sweeps the bangs out of her eyes as if she is self-conscious, but it’s the wrinkling of her forehead which tells me she is still concerned. “But it’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.” I open the door and she slips inside the car daintily. “It’s just a precaution.”
I jump into the driver’s seat and step on the gas. The Ferrari responds, motoring noisily into the late afternoon traffic. It is the peak of summer, so I slide down the top and watch the pure unadulterated look of pleasure on her face as the breeze hits her squarely on the cheeks. Why am I so happy I drove the sports car today? I can’t quite tell why, I’m just pleased that I did.
The beast takes the road up to Hollywood Hills like a sleek cat. Glancing over at Sienna, I note her face a mask of excitement as she looks around animatedly at the lavish houses as we wiz by. “You live in Hollywood Hills?” She stares at me wide-eyed.
