Faking It
Natasha L. Black
Copyright © 2019 by Natasha L. Black
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Bad Boy’s Secret Baby (Sample)
A Note from the Author
Also By Natasha L. Black
About the Author and Mailing List
Introduction
It might be too late to tell my fake wife that I have real feelings for her.
I was looking for a hassle free “wife on paper” when I met Allie.
Which meant… no drama and no love.
A three-year long commitment was all I needed to get my family’s ranch.
But our undeniable chemistry burned that plan to the ground.
She’s all I think about now.
Her playful nature, her s*xy curves.
I want her every second of every day.
She’s clearly not my fake wife anymore.
And I could lose her before getting to confess my feelings.
Then tragedy strikes at the most unfortunate time.
Allie’s life is in grave danger and I’m her best shot.
I’d give my own life to ensure her safety.
To have her back in my arms… as my woman, as my wife.
1
Raul
I scanned the expanse of open ground before me. I could see clear to the tree line that marked the boundary of my property -- or of what should be my property. Unless Papí got his way, the ranch would never be mine.
I’d spent six months and thousands of dollars trying to break the will, find any loophole in those terms. But like Papí’s opinions, the will was ironclad.
That wasn’t the problem at hand though. The problem at hand was the pair of calves that hadn’t followed the round up to the sheds. A storm was rolling in despite what the weather report on my phone said. I had grown up on the land. I knew for damn sure when the sky was changing and when trouble is about to rain down.
I had sent Miguel, Pablo, and Kirby back with the herd to get them under cover in time. I turned back for the calves. Sure, I had thousands of head of cattle, but those two mattered. I wasn’t a man to waste anything, and I wasn’t leaving my livestock loose on the ranch while I hunkered down out of the rain. I nudged Mantilla, my favorite horse, into action. We would search until we found them.
My Papí would make a joke about finding lost lambs, about shepherds or loyalty or something. I shook my head at the memory, wishing he was here. I’d give him a piece of my mind and then share a bottle of whiskey with him one more time. The rain started to fall the way it always did in this part of Texas -- all of a sudden and hard enough to hammer nails. I tugged at the brim of my hat and rode on, skirting the usual pastureland and heading southeast toward the river. Wind whipped up, slinging rain my face like a volley of arrows. I wasn’t a mile on when I saw the two calves huddled near some scrub, lowing in panic. I whistled, got my rope from its place on my saddle.
In no time, I had them headed to the sheds. Mantilla picked up the pace at the first hint that I’d let her hurry toward shelter and feed. We made quick work of the distance back to the outbuildings. Soon I had the calves under roof. I dismounted and led Mantilla into the stables so I could remove her tack, comb her and towel her off. “A man takes care of his animals,” I remembered my grandfather always saying to me. Sure, we had plenty of money and plenty of staff to do that for us, but it was a matter of pride that you do it yourself when it’s the animal that bore you on its back all day. So I set to work, though my clothes were drenched from the pitiless rain.
Pablo came up to see me and sat down on a bucket because he knew me well enough to realize I wasn’t going to let him take over caring for Mantilla after a ride.
“You find the lost ones?”
“Yeah.”
“I never doubted it. You know you could go dry off. I been in charge of these stables four years, and I’m not gonna neglect your favorite mount. Tia here is my old friend, aren’t you Tia?” he said, scratching under Mantilla’s forelock.
I worked in silence for a few minutes. I knew what was coming, but I wanted to make him ask. I wasn’t about to offer information about the most personal blow I’d ever taken. They say that the people you love can hurt you worse than your enemies every time, because they know your heart. I always thought some bitter asshole came up with that. Until the day I sat in the law office and listened to them read his last will and testament, the controlling old bastard. I would have laid down my life for him from the time I was five years old, but I’d be damned if I’d lay down my free will for him, especially after he was dead.
“So are we gonna talk about this? Or are you pretending you can get out of it?” he said.
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“C’mon, caballero. Sometimes you take the strong silent type a little too far. Watched too many of them Clint Eastwood westerns with Antonio up at the big house.”
“When you call it the big house instead of the main house, it sounds like you’re talking about jail,” I remarked.
“Don’t get salty with me. I taught you to ride a bike.”
“True,” I said, “but that don’t give you the right to talk about my personal problems.”
“No, but the fact is, I’m your best friend so that gives me the right. And another thing, when your personal problem is the difference between me keeping this job I love and me driving my pickup clear across Texas looking for another stable this size that needs a man like me to run it, you’re damned right it’s my business,” he said.
He never raised his voice, but his tone had a thread of steel in it then. He grew up on Santiago land same as me, but I was the owner’s grandson and ward, while Pablo was the foreman’s boy. A handful of years older than me, better with animals than anyone I ever met. The best friend I’ve ever had. And I owed him an explanation, no matter how private I wanted to keep it.
“Not much to say about it,” I said, “Either I get married and inherit, or the ranch gets sold out of the family. Maybe taken apart and sold in pieces.”
The words were gravel in my throat. Just forming the syllables was like trying to swallow knives. The idea of having to marry someone, just anyone, to secure what was rightfully mine stuck in my craw. The only thing worse was letting Brock Delany, the executor of the will, sell it off in parcels to the highest bidder and watching Santiago land go out of the family forever. Watching him count every dollar the ranch brought on the auction block and divvying it up between me and some second cousins and a handful of charities. I’d spit on that money. It meant nothing. The land was what meant something, to my Papí, to my dad, to me. That’s why it was a slap in the face that day to learn it wasn’t mine free and clear as I’d always thought it would be. He’d raised me to be the head of the Santiago family business, the expansive cattle ranch and the luxury leather goods company his grandfather had based in Italy before he met my Cuban great-grandmother and established Santeria on tens of thousands of acres in west Texas. Antonio had been born here, had taken a Mexica
n wife, Isabel, and raised my father. Our blood ran in this soil, in that river.
I was raised to kill any man who tried to take Santiago land from me. I could do it in a heartbeat, natural as breathing. I just never thought a woman would stand between me and my birthright. And not just any woman. A bride. The one I had to secure as soon as possible or forfeit Santeria and all it meant.
He knew there was no way I could let it go. He had me over a barrel, so he could make his final act a posthumous demand. Get married and stay that way. If I didn’t make a verifiable legal marriage by the deadline, or if that marriage were dissolved within a period of three years, the ranch and all the Santiago holdings would be sold and dispersed. I shook my head. I wanted to curse, long and colorfully. But it wouldn’t do any good. The only thing that would make a difference was a marriage license from the state of Texas.
“So that’s it then? You gave up trying to break the will?”
“No. But I see how this ends. It’s time to face it.”
“So you’re getting married?”
“There’s no other choice,” I said grimly.
2
Allie
“Come on, Gussie, it’s to make you better,” I cooed to the grouchy Chihuahua. I injected the anti-inflammatory medication into his IV and managed to back away before he could bite me.
“I know it’s no fun being sick. But we’re gonna help you out, and you can go home to your mama tomorrow if you keep getting better and better!” I said.
I was happy that the dog was improving, and it would be so hard and confusing to be away from home and his people, staying at a strange place where the people had needles and everything smelled weird. I felt bad for him, for all the pets who had to be hospitalized, but there were so many that were worse off, who didn’t have caring owners who got them the help they needed. It would be good when Gussie got to go home, partly because he tried to bite me even if all I did was feed him or give him fresh water. I had to do it because the assistants didn’t like his attitude. So in this case, I bit the bullet and took over his care myself. I was the vet tech on duty, and it was my responsibility to see that the animals received the proper treatment. It would have been irresponsible to make lower ranked staff with less training deal with an animal they were skittish around. Plus, I was pretty sure Gussie and all his Chihuahua brethren fed off the fear of us lesser beings.
I tossed him a treat and marked off his dosage timing on the chart. I heard the door chime and remembered that Madalyn had gone to lunch early. The assistants were in exam rooms, and the other tech was in surgery with one of the doctors. I washed my hands and dashed out front to the registration desk. I smiled brightly to greet whoever was coming in.
Before I could launch into my ‘Welcome to St. Francis Animal Hospital, my name is Allie, how may I help you?’ spiel, I lost my breath the way you do when you miss a step going down the stairs. He was something else. Timeless, classically good-looking. Not in a cute, boy-band way. Like a man, like six foot plus of man with black hair, dark eyes, and an impeccable business suit. Whoa, is what I wanted to say. Also, come to mama—which sounded hilariously creepy, so I didn’t say it.
“Is there something I—oh no!” I broke off, my gaze finally reaching what he held in his arms.
A small dog with matted fur shivered in his arms, covering his obviously-designer sleeves with a dusting of grayish white hairs.
“Has he been hit by a car?” I said, rounding the counter in no time.
He met my eyes, shook his head, “I found him wandering around. He doesn’t have a collar, and he’s too skinny. I was on my way to an appointment with my attorneys when I saw him. He was limping along the street.”
“Here,” I said, leaning down to the dog, holding my hand out, palm down so he could sniff it, “It’s okay, buddy,” I said in a low voice, not meeting the dog’s eyes.
My voice was low and soothing. I didn’t want to scare the little guy by being aggressive. He sniffed my hand, but he was still shaking.
“Do you want me to put him down?” the man asked.
“No, just hold him close but not tight. Did he growl or nip at you when you picked him up?”
“He cowered away,” he said.
“Okay, if you’ll go sit right over there, I’ll sit by you and calm him a little so I can take him.”
He did what I said. I got a kick out of the fact that the unbelievably handsome man in the suit did exactly what I told him without question. I wanted to laugh. I felt like a total badass, like I should put on leather and snap a whip against some knee-high boots. I pushed that thought aside and slid into the chair beside him. I shushed the dog, petted him on the back where his hair was matted and dirty.
“You gonna come see me? Or you just wanna stay in his lap?” I said, all my focus on the dog, smiling and cooing to it.
Slowly, I leaned closer, gaze still down and not making eye contact. I breathed in the musky cologne of the man who held the dog. Lucky stray dog, I thought, sitting in that lap against soft fabric, cradled in strong arms, free to inhale the cologne that smelled like a mixture of citrus and a spicy musk that somehow reminded me of the ocean, of tropical beaches and kisses in the sand. Scratching lightly behind the dog’s ears, I slid my other hand under his belly, the back of my hand sliding along the heat and muscle of the man’s stomach, his thigh. Color heated my cheeks as I picked up the dog carefully, giving it scratches and making kissing noises to it.
“Got him,” I said triumphantly.
“That was quick. You’re good with animals,” he said.
“I better be! I’m a vet tech here. The receptionist is at lunch,” I said, babbling a little because he made me feel a bubbling excitement.
“Like I said, he was a stray, and I couldn’t just leave him there.”
“Thank you. I wish more people felt that way. This guy just needs some TLC. Sometimes we can board a dog for a few days here until it can be adopted, or it can go to a foster home.”
“There are fosters for dogs?” he said, raising an eyebrow in a way that made him look vaguely wicked in a way that made for a dangerous storm in my mind, the kind that flashed naughty images through my head and made it hard to concentrate.
“Yeah, I foster dogs myself. I have one of my own, and then I take in dogs that need a temporary home. It’s better for them than just staying in a kennel at a rescue or here.”
“That sounds very nice. My name is Raul Santiago, by the way. I’ll pay for his treatment and grooming, whatever he needs to help him find a home. Here’s my card,” he said.
He passed me a business card, then paused to scratch the dog behind his ear, “You’re gonna be okay now, right?”
“He will be. You made sure of it,” I said, “I’m Allie Shaw,” I added.
“I see that,” he said, indicating my nametag.
“Right. Are you from around here?”
“I have a ranch outside town.” he said.
A ranch. That fantasy just expanded to include Raul in jeans and a cowboy hat—maybe shirtless—riding a horse.
“Well, I can’t thank you enough for bringing him in, making sure he’d be safe,” I said.
“You act like I’ve done you a personal favor. It’s a homeless animal. Anyone would have done the same.”
“Not everyone, trust me,” I said, an edge to my voice.
The dog chose that moment to lick my neck and chin, not just once but a lot. I giggled, “That’s enough, buddy! I know you’re happy to be here, but I don’t need a puppy bath!”
Raul chuckled, “I have to be on my way.” His whole face changed when he smiled. He went from handsome to completely devastating.
“You said you had an appointment. Good luck,” I offered.
“I wish luck would help,” he said sounding grim, the smile dropping from his rugged features.
I watched him walk away, took the dog back for some water and checked him over for ticks and sores. I added him to a vet’s caseload as a work-in and then
texted my sisters.
Just met the hottest guy on earth.
Rly? Megan replied, so Justin Timberlake brings his dog to you?
No smartass, I answered, way hotter than that skinny JT!
Do NOT take JT’s name in vain! Addie answered. I laughed.
Tell me about this guy, Megan said.
Tall dark handsome brought injured stray to vet, so sexy! I texted.
Did u get a pic? Addy said.
NO! I do not take pics of guys I just met at work.
How hot can he be if you didn’t take a selfie with him? Megan said.
Are u in middle school? Who does that? I said, will tell u more at dinner tonight.
3
Raul
That woman at the vet’s office. Damn. If I’d known someone like her worked there, I would’ve been walking around offering bacon to strays just so I could take them in to the office and win her gratitude, her smile and her attention. She was so attractive it nearly knocked me over. And I wasn’t a man who was easily dazzled.
I didn’t do relationships. Not after the shitty end to my six-month stint with Lauren who thought it was fine to spend the night at her boss’s house while we were dating. It was too much drama and I was a busy man. The downside was that I really liked women, their curves, their voices, the way it felt when they whimpered, the way I liked to make them scream my name. That one though—Allie Shaw. That was a name I would remember. Not just her name, but everything about her.
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