Fake It Real: A Billionaire Fake Marriage Romance Read online

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head a bit, sending her raven hair swirling over her shoulder. What I wouldn’t give to see that dark hair of hers mussed up from a night of fucking. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.”

  There she goes, pursing her lips again. And there my cock goes, swelling up again.

  Fucking focus, man.

  “I’ve got a bit of a reputation—” I start.

  “— really? That’s funny, cause I’ve never heard of you,” she says drolly.

  I smile at her. I can’t help it, I like ‘em with a bit of fight to ‘em. “To be fair, I’ve kept out of the news for a little while. I was up in Alaska on this natural gas and mining project in the middle of fucking nowhere… Regardless, if you’d been up on the same kind of news as your friend Alice, you’d have heard of me.”

  It’s cute, the way she glances upward, her semi-buzzed brain looking for clues. Her gaze being elsewhere gives me even more of an opportunity to check out her tits. They’re incredible. Full, perky, made for me to grab hold of while I fuck her from behind.

  “Maybe I’ve heard your name before… Once… maybe…” she says, after another drink of rum. Then she shrugs in this sheepish, semi-embarrassed way that is so disarmingly attractive. “Honestly, I mostly read veterinary journals.”

  Even though she’s looking cute as hell right now, I’m not going to sugar-coat my proposal to her. I’m going to give her the truth, the same way I’d talk to a business partner. I know she’s fought hard to get where she is, she’s smart, and I respect that.

  Hell, between the two of us, I might be the only one who respects her right now.

  “My great grandfather, Mason Augustus Stone, started my family’s business, Stone Capital, a long fucking time ago. He was every bit the kind of person who goes by their full name all the time. He was an asshole,” I say. “Long story short, through a combination of real estate holdings, high-end development projects all over the world, and some shrewd venture capital investments, Stone Capital is worth around eighteen billion dollars.”

  Her jaw drops so far I’m surprised I don’t hear it thunk into the floor.

  God, I love when they do that.

  And the sight of her mouth, with those full lips parted in this awed ‘o’ is sexy as hell.

  “Billion?” she says, slowly, like she’s trying to grasp that number as a real thing instead of some abstract concept.

  I nod. “Billion. With a ‘b’.”

  “So why do you need me?” she says, taking a drink and leaving just a couple generous gulps of rum in the bottle. “I’m sure you could find any number of women willing to be your fake fiance.”

  “I want you because you’re not my regular type, because you’ve never heard of me, which means it’ll be a lot easier for us to go our own ways when this is over. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes. Plus, I need a fiance right now. Stone Capital is in flux — my father’s dead, my older brother’s in jail — and, to convince the board that I’m the one to lead them forward, I told them that I’d mostly changed my ways and even gotten engaged to a good girl.”

  “And let me guess? You have no real intention of changing your ways, right?”

  “I just got stitches in a veterinarian’s office and I feel pretty comfortable with that. What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve made some poor life choices,” she says, dryly. But there’s a smile on her face and I can tell whatever resistance she had is dissolving. “But who am I to judge. My only other patient today was a gassy Great Dane. Think about that. That’s your fiance, right there.”

  “Fair enough. So, what is it going to cost me to have you as my fiance?”

  “It’s fair to say your pretty fucking rich, right?” She bites her lip again. If only she knew the way she’s able to twist me up with a glance, she’d be able to take me for anything she wanted. And I’d happily let her lips do all the taking she wants.

  “Yes.”

  “Ok,” she says. “You pay my rent for a year and I want fifty thousand dollars.”

  It’s so low an ask, she might as well be doing this for free.

  She is way undervaluing herself and I hate just the thought of it. If she weren’t doing me such a favor — and if I didn’t respect her hard work and how much she obviously cares about what she does — I’d take advantage of it and call it a win.

  But this is not the way I want to take advantage of her. I want that to come later, in bed, with my name on her lips and her eyes rolling back in her head.

  “No,” I say.

  She gets that perplexed look on her face that only semi-drunk people can manage. “No? I thought you wanted my help?”

  “I do, but my fiance isn’t going to sell herself short. You need to realize, when I say you’re going to be my fiance, I mean you’re going to act the part in public. I will touch you, I will kiss you, I will put my hand on that incredible ass of yours and give it the kind of squeezing it demands. Do you understand?” I say, pausing for a moment.

  She nods.

  “So, here’s my counter offer,” I start. “I’ll buy this whole damn building and give it to you — not just your office, but all the adjoining shops — so you can collect rent and I’ll give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  She gapes at me. That look is worth the quarter million on it’s own. Then, swishing the rum around in the bottle, her face hardens.

  “Make it a half million.”

  I have to fight back a smile. She’s starting to get it. This is going to be fun.

  I have myself a partner.

  “Done.” No hesitation. She’s going to be worth every penny.

  She takes a swig. “Then, Mr. Stone, you just bought yourself a fiance.”

  Chapter Five

  Melody

  We call it a night soon after — the rum’s gone, the tow truck shows up, and Julian goes off to who-knows-where, probably to rent out an entire wing of whatever hotel will take him.

  I go back to my tiny rental house wondering just what the hell I just got into.

  It can’t be that bad, can it? I mean, all I’ve got to do is pretend to be this guy’s fiance for a while, go to a few fancy dinners, meet some executives and pretend like we’re in love.

  Why then, was he so quick to agree to my demand for double the cash?

  I try and wrap my head around what it’s going to look like having that much money in my bank account and it’s almost unsettling.

  Stop it, Mel. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be the hot guy’s doting arm candy for a month, two months tops, and then you’ll come back here to anonymity and you’ll get to run your practice however you want.

  It’s a small price to pay for being set for life.

  I’m still uneasy, though. I came here to Rockaway Bay because it was beautiful and I could be anonymous here. I could start over as whoever I wanted, however I wanted, with none of the baggage from my old life.

  I think I manage about four hours of sleep that night, my head spinning the rest of the time as I think about money and how my life might change.

  And through it all, I think about saying ‘no’.

  I can tell Julian to go fuck himself, I can feel proud in my independence, in making — or failing — on my own, and Julian will be just fine in the end, I’m sure. There’s no way he won’t find some other woman.

  Heck, he’s probably got binders full of women ready to and waiting to take my place.

  But I just can’t say no to him. His eyes and his limitless confidence draw me in.

  Somehow, despite my reluctance, I show up where I told him we should meet. Nine in the morning, right in front of my office.

  He’s there, waiting for me, pacing in front of his bike, impatient. Dressed in designer jeans that highlight his powerful legs and round, muscular ass, a t-shirt that clings to his abs like it has separation anxiety, and a leather jacket that looks tailor-made for him. Heat stirs between my
legs just looking at him.

  The man is mouth-watering.

  “Why here?” he says, once I get out of my beat-up Ford Fiesta that is anything but a party to drive.

  “Because I still have work to do. There’s a gassy dog in there that needs to be reunited with his owner, and I need to see if I can move up my appointment from this afternoon to, well, now.”

  “Can’t Alice handle this? We have a lot of driving to get done today.”

  “She can, but I’m not going to call her in early, dump this afternoons appointment on her solo, and have her cover my practice for me for an entire month. The least I can do is let her sleep in today,” I say. “Which reminds me, were you able to sort things out with my landlord?”

  He nods. “Yes. You’re in the clear for the next two months.”

  Immediately it feels like a weight’s lifted off my shoulders, looking at my little practice and knowing it’ll be around for at least a bit longer. I smile.

  I make it through the morning. Time just flies by. Rex goes home, Alice comes in bearing coffees and handles the news like a better-than-best friend, and we get through our sole appointment in record time.

  Pretty soon, I’m standing in the parking lot, wondering just what the hell I’m doing.

  Julian’s there — he’s been coming and going throughout the day, urging me to hurry up. The afternoon sun’s shining down on him, setting off the burnished black of his jacket and the glittering green of his eyes.

  “You finally ready?”

  Am I?

  This decisions been eating at me, and I’ve been weighing just how I want to go through with it, because, when it’s done, I want to come right back here to my life in Rockaway Bay and pretend that this whole misadventure never happened. That can’t happen if everyone knows me as the woman who rented herself out to some rich guy. Even if that rich guy happens to be disarmingly handsome.

  And beyond that, I don’t want my name or anything else about me getting back to my ex from hell. I’d rather he stay buried in my past, thank you very much.

  “I have some more terms,” I say, tentatively. “Well, one more term.”

  He only slightly rolls his eyes. “What would that be?”

  “I don’t want this to be too public,” I start in, and, in my head, I have this whole logical explanation worked out about ‘why’, but it all goes to pieces at that look in his eyes — confusion, exasperation, yet there’s concern buried deep in there too.

  I continue on after a sigh. “I like my life here, Julian, and one of the things I like the most is that it’s quiet. Here, I’m just Melody Peres, the veterinarian. I know how I fit in and who I am, and I know it’s small compared to the life you live, but I like it. This thing of ours,” I gesture between the two of us, “could change all that in a way that can’t be fixed.”

  Julian nods, exasperation replaced by understanding. “Fine. We’ll keep it low key. And if anyone hassles you, I’ll make them fuck off. Simple enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  I head towards my Fiesta, my car keys already in hand. I’m ready now.

  “What are you doing?” he says. “You’re not riding in that.”

  “Well, I’m not riding on that,” I say, pointing at his motorcycle. “No way.”

  It’s scary looking. Matte black, with pipes and panels and a big engine that roars every time he started it up; it sounds like the love child of an angry tiger and Barry White — deep and low and animalisticly sexy, but also terrifying. There’s some Italian name on the side that I’m sure translates to ‘Speedy Violent Crash’.

  “How is it going to look if my fiance and I are driving in separate vehicles?”

  “How is it going to look if your fiance dies because she chose to ride on that death machine?” I shoot back.

  “It’s not going to kill you.”

  “Says the man who got stitches for a knife wound at a vet’s office. Your word isn’t worth much right now.”

  “Says the vet who gave those stitches,” he says, then he stops for a second, turning his back to me and opening up one of the saddlebags on his motorcycle to take out something steely and sharp.

  “What are you doing with that knife?”

  Ignoring me, he approaches my Fiesta, holding a wicked-looking bowie knife. There’s a burst of air from the tire as the knife slides into it and then a long, steady hiss.

  I stare, speechless.

  Asshole.

  “Problem solved,” he says. No remorse, no hesitation.

  “You stabbed my car. Are you a psycho?”

  “I’m your fiance. I’ll buy you another car. One that isn’t a piece of shit. Besides, how is it going to look if my fiance is driving a fucking Ford Fiesta? Seriously.”

  “I kind of hate you right now.”

  I kind of mean it, too. The car was a total piece, but it was my car and he just vandalized it without a second thought. He’s already acting like he owns me.

  Besides, now I definitely have to ride behind him on his death machine, because I sure as heck can’t afford new tires and I doubt he’s going to buy me any.

  “Darling, I have only your best interests in mind,” he says, and that smirk is back out again in full force. “Trust me.”

  I take out the backpack I’d packed for the trip, which contains mostly the basics: toothbrush, toothpaste, a first aid kid, a few changes of clothes and my one good dress. Even packing what clothes I’ve got was a chore. I have no idea how to dress like I’m some wealthy kept woman.

  I know I’m not good enough to actually be a part of his life. I’m just me. And who I am is not the kind of person that would date a man like Julian Stone, or even be in the same orbit as this insanely rich, insanely handsome, and probably just insane man.

  “What’s in there?” he says, seeing my backpack.

  “My things. Some clothes, you know, the kind of stuff you take on a trip.”

  He holds his hand out and doesn’t even have to say anything for me to hand over the backpack. In seconds, he’s rummaging through my best things and I can see they don’t measure up.

  “Leave most of this here,” he says, handing be a wad of clothes. “This can stay, though.”

  In his hands, he’s got my dress.

  In his eyes, he’s already stripping me down, casting off my casual jeans and blouse combo and replacing it with the dress.

  Instead of the usual smirk on his face, he’s wearing something else. Some other kind of smile. It’s softer, but fleeting and gone almost as soon as I see it.

  “Let’s go,” he says.

  I toss my clothes in the car while he loads my backpack into one of the storage compartments on his bike and puts on his helmet. Once it’s all set, he pats the seat behind him and hands me a helmet of my own.

  The bike is already purring like some angry jungle cat and I’m not in any hurry to get close.

  “Hop up,” he says.

  I get over and, very clumsily and absolutely certain I’m going to fall, lift my leg and mount the thing like I’m the world’s most uncoordinated cowboy.

  “There’s a few things to remember,” he says to me over his shoulder and the roar of the bike. “First, keep your body close to me, but not too close or we’ll bump helmets when we stop and you’ll probably end up falling off.”

  “This sounds like fun already. What else do I have to remember to do so I don’t die?”

  “Lean the way I lean, especially when we’re turning. If you try to lean the other way, you’ll fuck up the balance and we’ll likely crash.”

  “Oh, lovely. Another way to die.”

  “And, last and most important: trust me,” he says. “I know you’re not enthusiastic about this, I know it scares you, but I know what I’m doing and the last thing in the world I’d want is for you to get hurt.”

  The bike growls and suddenly we’re moving forward, effortlessly accelerating and bending our way around corners and zipping our way down main street.

  Whate
ver other thoughts I have are left behind in that parking lot.

  All I can think is that this is mortifying.

  My hands dig a white-knuckle grip into his hips, my back goes rigid, and every single bump and mawing pothole and body-bending turn seems like it’s going to be the point where I fall off and die.

  Five miles outside of town, we pull to the shoulder on a forest service road. The motor slows to a dull roar and the ocean thunders against the bluffs below us.

  Pulling his helmet off, his hair tousled and sweat beading his brow in a way that is both gritty and spine-tinglingly sexy, Julian looks at me over his shoulder.

  His eyes flash.

  “Melody,” he says, his voice quiet, just loud enough for me to hear over the waves. It’s comforting, confident. “Breathe, relax and put your arms all the way around my waist. Pretend it’s a hug, ok?”

  He puts his hands over mine and wraps them around his waist. My fingers interlock, my chest presses against his back and I sink into him. I feel his muscular back against my breasts; I feel the way his body flexes and relaxes as he shifts his weight and moves his arms; I feel his firm abs, hard as steel, beneath my fingertips.

  Any lower and I’d feel his…

  “Trust me,” he repeats.

  “I trust you,” I manage to say. I force the words out like they’re an order to myself, a way to chase away doubt.

  The bike roars again and we pull forward, back onto the road.

  The scenery slips by around us, miles chewed up by tires, and vibrations — endless vibrations — surge between my legs with each rumbling mile we go.

  My mind wanders as we drive, and I can’t hep but thinking thoughts that make me blush, thoughts spurred by the endless vibrating going on between my legs. Pressed up against Julian in this intimate way, my body against his, my hands just inches above his crotch, I let myself imagine what would happen if I were to reach lower.

  Hours drip by.

  I lose track of time, clinging tight to Julian Stone, this rich man who’s taking me away to his world. This man who bought me.

  The ocean extends endlessly to my right, forests and grasslands to my left, and a small city sprouts in front of me as we cross the Oregon-California border.