Faking Ms. Right Bonus Epilogue

by Claire Kingsley

  Faking Ms. Right Bonus Epilogue

  Claire Kingsley

  Copyright © 2019 by Claire Kingsley

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Edited by Elayne Morgan of Serenity Editing Services

  Cover by Kari March Designs

  www.clairekingsleybooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Shepherd

  Love According to Science: Chapter 1

  Also by Claire Kingsley

  About the Author

  Shepherd

  A cool breeze came off the water, easing the tropical heat. I adjusted my sunglasses and took a sip of my drink. It was fruity, served in an actual coconut shell, and had a little paper umbrella sticking out the top. It looked ridiculous. But I had to admit, it was good.

  Everly wandered down by the edge of the water, dipping her cute little feet in the surf. Her yellow bikini—of course it was yellow—looked fantastic against her sun-kissed skin. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. The sun had nothing on Everly. She lit up the entire fucking world.

  My world in particular.

  She wiggled her fingers at me, then waded out a little further, the water splashing around her ankles. Made for a great view. The enormous sky touching crystal blue water. Pale sand. And my wife in a tiny bikini, shaking her ass at me.

  Perfection.

  The feel of my ring was already familiar, not even a week after our wedding. I rolled it around my finger with my thumb, feeling the smooth metal. It felt good. It belonged there.

  I hadn’t expected much to change when I married Everly. Why would it? We’d already been living together. A wedding was just a formality.

  But something had changed. As we’d stood in front of our friends and families, saying our vows, I’d felt it. That moment had done something to me, deep inside. Bound me to her in a way I didn’t really understand. But like the ring on my finger, it felt right.

  My phone buzzed next to me, so I tore my eyes away from the view—the beach was great, but god, my wife’s body was delicious—and checked my messages.

  It was from Nolan, my CFO. I’d left him in charge while I took the first ever vacation of my adult life. I hadn’t been away from work for more than a day… ever. Everly wanted me to check out entirely, insisting I’d left the company in good hands. That I had nothing to worry about and they could live without me for a couple of weeks. She was right, but old habits die hard.

  I read his text. It started with this is just an FYI, no need to respond. But I wondered if I should just schedule a conference call. I should really check in with everyone, anyway. It wouldn’t take more than an hour. I started typing my reply.

  Everly cleared her throat. I hadn’t realized she’d approached.

  She put her hands on her hips. “You’re working again, aren’t you?”

  I lifted my eyes to meet hers, letting my gaze trail slowly over her curves.

  “I can tell you’re working,” she said.

  “It’s nothing. Just a quick message. And maybe a conference call later.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We’re on our honeymoon. You’re allowed to take actual time off.”

  “I am taking actual time off.”

  “A conference call later?”

  I stared her down, my gaze hard. The way she challenged me was such a turn-on.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips twitched in a tiny grin. Then she snatched my phone out of my hand and darted toward the water.

  “Everly.”

  I stood, but she was already at the water’s edge. She stopped, her feet on the wet sand, and threw my phone into the ocean.

  She walked back, brushing her hands together, a smug smile on her face. “There.”

  “You just threw my phone in the water.”

  “That’s very observant of you, Shep.” She brushed the sand off her feet with a towel before lying on the large blanket we’d set out on the sand. She patted the spot next to her. “Now come relax with me.”

  I scowled at her, but I wasn’t mad. I’d get a new phone when we got back. But I’d take it out on her ass later.

  She reached over and pulled her phone out of her bag.

  “Why do you get to check your messages?” I asked.

  She playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, one of us needs to have a phone. And yours is in the ocean.”

  I gestured to the water. “Because you threw it.”

  “Details. Besides, I’m not working.”

  “Nora?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Do you mind if I call her? I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

  “Not at all.” I got comfortable and took another sip of my ridiculous fruit thing. At least it had a healthy amount of rum.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Everly said into her phone. “No, it’s fine, of course you’re not bugging me. Hazel did what?”

  She paused for a long moment, listening.

  “Wow. You totally did the right thing. And call Sophie. She’s my proxy in the circle of trust until I get back.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Everly had become friends with my new assistant—because of course she had—but I wasn’t sure what it meant that she’d drawn her into her little circle with Nora and Hazel.

  Wasn’t my issue. Sophie was competent at her job. That was all I cared about.

  “That’s a good idea,” Everly said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Okay, love you too. I will. See you next week.”

  She hung up and tossed her phone back in her bag.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I think so. Minor crisis with Hazel. She’s being very… un-Hazel-like. Nora and Sophie will handle it.”

  I reached over and slid my hand across the smooth skin of her stomach. “Good. Because as amazing as you look in this bikini, you’d look better naked.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink and she glanced around. “Here?”

  “It’s a private island. We’re completely alone.”

  “What if the staff is still here?”

  I shifted closer and palmed her breast, feeling her nipple harden through the thin yellow fabric. “They’re at the villa. No one’s watching. And if they are, I’ll just fire them.”

  She laughed softly, her eyes drifting closed while my hands roamed over her body. I turned her onto her stomach and pulled on the string to unfasten her bikini top. She let it drop to the blanket and glanced at me over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip.

  I smacked her ass and she gasped. “Bottoms off.”

  She rolled over again and slid her bottoms down her legs. With a flick of her foot, she tossed her last scrap of clothing aside.

  “Good girl.”

  This was heaven, right here. The warm sun shining down on my wife’s beautiful body. The soothing rhythm of the ocean waves. A gentle breeze. This vacation thing was proving to be pretty fantastic. I was definitely bringing her here again.

  Leaning down, I captured her mouth in a kiss. Ran my hand along her delicious curves. She raked her fingernails across my chest, the light scratch making my blood run hot.

  Splaying her palms against my chest, she pushed against me. “You still have clothes on.”

  I moved onto my back and watched, a hint
of a smile on my lips, while she took off my shorts. My dick was hard and ready for her, but I loved to watch her play. She kissed up one thigh, then nudged me onto my side.

  “God, this ass. It’s so cute, I want to bite it.”

  Meeting her eyes, one corner of my mouth turned up and a low growl rumbled in my throat.

  She giggled and kissed her way across my hip. Then she sank her teeth into the tight flesh of my ass, biting hard.

  I groaned. Fuck, I loved it when she did that.

  Her hand moved to my erection and she gave it a good squeeze while she leaned over me and bit my ass cheek again.

  “Fuck,” I growled. “Get your ass over here.”

  I manhandled her onto her back and climbed between her legs. Her eyes sparkled with her smile and her cheeks flushed pink. Holy shit, I loved her so much.

  She raked her hands through my hair as I thrust inside her. God, that pussy. So hot and wet. I groaned, sliding in and out. Her hips tilted to meet my thrusts and she let out a breathy sigh.

  “Shepherd.”

  I loved hearing my name on her lips. Leaning down, I kissed her sweet mouth. She tasted like summer. Her teeth caught my lip and she nibbled, teasing me with a light scrape.

  Growling again, I drove into her harder. She ran her hands down my back, letting her fingernails trail over my skin.

  “You feel so good, baby.” I kissed down her neck, feeling the pleasant pressure of her tits against my chest.

  “Harder,” she murmured.

  Her fingernails sank into my back and it was like a spark flaring to life, the sharp sensation rushing straight to my groin. With a low grunt, my muscles clenched, and I drove into her, hard and fast. Over and over, slamming my solid cock into her sweet, wet pussy.

  Burying my face in her neck, I was surrounded by her strawberry scent. I fucked her hard, my cock driving deep. She clawed at my back, moaning into my ear with every thrust.

  Her pussy was hot and tight around me, pulsing with her impending orgasm. My balls drew up tight, heat and tension rising.

  Still fucking her hard, I growled low in her ear. “I love you.”

  “I love you t—ahh—” Her last word cut off as her pussy pulsed around my dick. She rolled her hips to my rhythm and clutched at my back, moaning as she came.

  It was enough to set me off, but I held back. With my cock buried deep inside her, I kissed her deeply, my tongue dragging across hers.

  “Good?” I asked.

  She sighed, her eyes rolling back. “So good.”

  “On your knees.”

  I pulled out, the aching pressure almost painful. She turned over and got on her knees, arching her back. I gave her ass a good smack.

  She giggled as I grabbed her hips and thrust inside. This view was amazing. Her round ass in my hands, her hair falling across her back. She glanced back at me over her shoulder.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” I said.

  Holding her hips tight, my back burning from her nails, I pounded her hard. My muscles flexed and my fingers dug into her skin. The tension built fast. I was ready to fucking explode.

  I leaned back enough to pull out and grabbed my cock. She watched over her shoulder while I stroked my solid length. Grunting, I burst, my dick pulsing. Thick ropes of come spurted out onto her luscious ass. I kept stroking, groaning as I came all over her.

  With one last pulse, I was done.

  She giggled again. “That was fun.”

  My heart hammered in my chest and an intoxicating mix of endorphins swept through me. I grabbed a towel and wiped the mess off her ass, then leaned in to kiss the pink spot where I’d spanked her.

  “Oh, poor baby, did I scratch you?” she asked. “Do you need me to kiss it better?”

  Smiling, I lay on the large blanket and closed my eyes while she kissed my back. She even kissed the spot on my ass where she’d bitten me.

  “Oops, I left a mark down here.”

  I took a deep breath. “You know you can’t hurt me.”

  As if to test me, she smacked my ass cheek.

  I rolled over, grabbing her, and hauled her down on top of me. She melted into me, her body draping over mine, her head resting on my chest. I traced my fingers over the smooth skin of her back.

  “Best honeymoon ever,” she said.

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  This sweet girl had bathed my cold and sterile life with her warm summer sun. I’d appreciated and respected her as my assistant, but this was so much more. I loved her. I loved her with every piece of my heart and soul, but I wasn’t sure if that was enough. She had more love to give than anyone I’d ever met. And somehow I was the lucky man who got to spend the rest of his life basking in her sunshine.

  Wondering what Hazel did that was so un-Hazel-like? Find out in Love According to Science!

  * * *

  Turn the page for a preview…

  Love According to Science: Chapter 1

  Hazel

  “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances. If there is any reaction, both are transformed.” ~ C.G. Jung

  * * *

  There were three things I knew with absolute certainty: The scientific method was humanity’s greatest invention, a vodka martini was best served dirty, and Corban Nash was an impostor posing as a scientist.

  Which was why, at the end of my second week at my new job at Woodward College, I was staring at the bulletin board outside my office in the psychology building. The notice pinned there had to be a mistake. There was no other logical explanation.

  I put my hands on my hips, tilted my head, and narrowed my eyes, as if squinting would somehow change the announcement’s content. The hallway behind me bustled with activity, mostly graduate students and lab assistants making their way to their classrooms, offices, or the interview rooms in the lab. And there I stood in a crisp white blouse and herringbone skirt, tapping the toe of my practical black pump, like an irritated librarian on the verge of hushing a noisy study group.

  But a librarian I was not, and this wasn’t a library. And no amount of hushing would change what it said.

  “Good morning.”

  I startled, blinking at the interruption to my thoughts. Dr. Sheffield, head of psychology research here at Woodward—and my new boss—stood next to me with an it’s in the syllabus coffee mug in his hand and the hint of a smile crinkling the lines around his eyes.

  “Good morning, Dr. Sheffield.”

  “Please, Hazel, call me Elliott. Being on a first-name basis with my staff creates a friendlier environment.”

  A respected researcher in the field of social psychology, Dr. Elliott Sheffield looked every bit the academic. He wore a gray sweater vest over his button-down shirt, a pair of slacks, and brown shoes that didn’t match the rest of his attire. Wire-rimmed glasses and a sprinkling of silver in his brown hair and beard gave him a scholarly, distinguished air. The dullness of his gold wedding band suggested he’d worn it for many years.

  He’d recently recruited me away from my former position at the University of Washington. Leaving the large university hadn’t been in my long-term life plan. But Woodward College had a strong psychology research program with a focus on my areas of interest—nonverbal communication and human relationships.

  It suited me so far. Or it had suited me. Looking at the notice on the bulletin board made me wonder if I’d made a grave error in judgment.

  Corban Nash was giving a talk—here, at my college—today. It was absurd. Unconscionable, even. I couldn’t fathom why an institution such as this, with a stellar reputation to uphold, would let that man on campus, let alone provide him with a forum to promote his unsubstantiated and outlandish claims.

  Elliott took a sip of his coffee, then nodded toward the bulletin board. “Are you familiar with Corban Nash’s work?”

  My eyes flicked to the notice. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Not a fan?”

  I tapped a finger against my skirt.
Not only was I not a fan, I’d been embroiled in an online debate with the charlatan for months. I didn’t doubt his intelligence. He’d invented the algorithm that powered the world’s most popular dating application. But he had no business calling himself a scientist.

  “His background is unorthodox, but primarily I question the accuracy of his work.”

  “Do you? Why?”

  Where did I begin? “He claims to have cracked the code to falling in love. But he has yet to provide any real, scientific evidence that his questionnaire works.”

  “You’re right; his research is anecdotal at this point. But I find his data fascinating. And he approaches the subject of intimacy formation from a fresh angle.”

  My cheeks warmed as a surge of irritation rushed through me. Corban Nash’s research wasn’t fascinating. It was unsubstantiated pop science. He had the audacity to claim that two people who answered his questionnaire together would inevitably fall in love. It was unscientific, not to mention ridiculous.

  But getting into a debate with my still-new boss at nine o’clock in the morning over a guest speaker was probably ill-advised. I schooled my expression to stillness and let my hands drop to my sides so I no longer appeared confrontational.

  “I suppose one of the hallmarks of any free society is the open exchange of ideas.”

  “Exactly,” Elliott said, gesturing toward me with his half-full coffee mug. “Have you ever heard him speak?”

  “No.” I’d read every single one of his articles, despite their tendency to increase my stress level. And he and I had engaged in some rather rigorous back-and-forth debates online. But I’d never seen him in person.

  “You should come. He has a unique way of captivating an audience.”

  I had to admit, I was tempted. But I didn’t want to legitimize his talk by attending.

  Plus, Corban Nash made me irrationally angry. Under normal circumstances, I was a calm and reasonable person. But he made my blood run hot, even when our only connection was via the internet. What would I do if I was in the same room with him?