Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection

by Wylder, Penny

  There must be at least 200 million dollars’ worth of vehicles in this one room alone.

  We’re on the lower level now, beneath the manufacturing plant we just toured, and the artists’ design rooms above that. My arm is still looped through Jasper’s, in case anyone stumbles across us on this tour and sees us. But I have to admit, as we’ve paced through the building, I’ve gotten more and more used to having his arm against mine, his muscles brushing my arm with every step we take, and the warm, heady scent of him filling my senses. Flooding me, overwhelming me.

  “We don’t use it much anymore,” he’s saying. “Most buyers come to one of our storefront locations to check out the merchandise. But occasionally we get wholesale buyers looking for a tour, or some of our more elite customers, the ones who don’t wish to be seen anywhere public.”

  “Like who?” I ask, though truth be told, I’m more interested in the cars themselves. I spot an ’88 Phoenix, a brand new Vine, a couple Cougars that would give race car drivers a run for their money, given how the engines are built.

  “Couldn’t say. It’d be breaking the sacred auto customer-seller code.”

  I shoot him a side-eye. “What are you, a doctor now?”

  “We provide a service. An important one. We’re giving people dreams, here.”

  I snort with laughter. Though as we pass the latest Cougar, I run a hand along the bright cherry red finish of its hood. “Dreams of modded V-8 Dynamo engines?” I say, still smirking. “Or just dreams of being the boy in the yard—or on the racetrack in this case—with the newest and coolest toy?”

  Jasper tilts his head to one side. Whenever he does that, a shock of his dark hair falls across one eyebrow, and makes him look way too damn distracting for his own good. “A little bit of both,” he says, studying me.

  My cheeks flush, and I look away. “What?” I snap.

  He shrugs. The movement makes his arm brush mine again, tantalizingly distracting. “You just surprise me, that’s all,” he says. “I didn’t think you really knew your stuff.”

  I bristle. “I told you I’m here for the cars.”

  “Right, right. Not the wedding bells. Message received. Still, I’ve never met a girl who could actually talk shop the way you do.”

  “No other women work here?” I side-eye him, voice laced with sarcasm.

  “Okay, point. But most of the other women working here who I’ve spoken to have been far more interested in… well, getting under my hood than under any vehicle’s.”

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe you should try talking to the girls who aren’t drooling over you, then. It could be healthy for you. Having females in your life who don’t fawn over everything you do.”

  “People don’t fawn over me,” he protests. “They just show an adequate level of appreciation for what I bring to the table.”

  “What, a hot body and not much else?” I mean it to be an insult. Instead, he grins.

  “So you do think I’m hot.”

  “I never…” I groan. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t you care about the non-superficial stuff?”

  “Like my shiny race cars?” He laughs. “Of course I do. I also care about making money from those shiny race cars, and producing good products so that other people will also appreciate our shiny race cars. I’m not the shallow monster you seem to think I am.”

  “You aren’t exactly convincing me otherwise.” I don’t know when it happened, but we’ve stopped walking now. We’re face-to-face, and I stare up at him, breath catching in my throat at his sudden proximity. He’s staring down at me, searching, those dark eyes boring into mine as he looks for… what, exactly? An apology? I won’t give him one. I square my shoulders.

  The motion seems to distract him. Tear his mind back to the present moment. He shakes his head and steps away, gesturing to me. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  In spite of myself, my heart skips. “Really?”

  “I’ll even let you have the wheel. You claim to be such a car lover. Let’s see how well you drive on a test track.”

  My jaw drops. This day just keeps getting stranger and stranger. Swinging back and forth from crazy propositions to annoying new bosses I’m supposed to pretend to be marrying, to my dream event suddenly crashing in my lap. I’ve always wanted to drive a race car on a closed test track. To really find out how fast I can go, and how hard I can push a car.

  “You mean it?”

  “God, you look like Christmas just came early.” He laughs. “I’ve never met anyone as hot for cars as I am.” He tilts his head, considering me. “All right, little Ms. Smith. Let’s put you through the paces, and see how well you can handle a real stick shift.” He smirks, inviting a comment, but I don’t take the bait.

  I’ll show you how well, I think. And now it’s my turn to be the one smirking.

  * * *

  I floor the gas pedal. We fly toward the distant side of the track, and my heart pounds in my ears, my heart leaping into my throat.

  I feel… alive.

  “Whoa there,” Jasper says from the passenger side of the car, but there’s laughter in his tone. “You’re almost as reckless as me.”

  “Almost?” I counter, a single eyebrow raised, as the first turn approaches. Then I cut the wheel hard and skid into the turn. For a second, the tires slide under us—holy shit. I’m actually drifting. I’ve never been able to drive fast enough to try this move before, and I’ve always wanted to. I let out a shout of sheer joy, and hear Jasper joining me.

  Then we skid a little too far, and I grab for the gear shift, scrambling to get us back under control. For a second, Jasper’s hand closes around mine on the shift. He locks eyes with me, and gears it into a lower gear, at the exact same instant that I hit the clutch. We transition together, smooth as ice, and then I’m back on the straightaway, and he lets go of my hand, and leaves behind a rush of tingles all along my arm.

  Half a minute later, I pull up to the finish line, beaming like an idiot, and spin to face him. “So? Am I as reckless as you or more?” I ask, grinning.

  But Jasper’s expression has shifted from lighthearted to something serious, penetrating. “I’m tempted to say more,” he replies, voice low and husky, “But quite frankly, I didn’t think that was possible.”

  He’s looking at me like he’s never seen anything like me before. Like I’m suddenly, unexpectedly, the most fascinating person in the room. And then he’s leaning closer, and I find myself mirroring him, unable to tear my eyes from his, those dark, deep pools that latch onto me, seem to peer straight through me into my soul.

  “Where the hell did you learn to drive like that?” he asks, eyebrows lifted.

  “Oh, you know.” I shrug one shoulder, try for a smile. “Grew up racing my dad out in the back country roads by our old farm.” Where did that come from? I haven’t thought about those days in years. I’m not sure I ever even put together the connection between my love of cars and those distant memories, me a little ten-year-old with legs too short to even reach the pedals, and Dad strapping some pedal extenders he jerry-rigged onto his old Jeep so I could reach enough to bump over the dirt paths to the fields he used to keep.

  We moved away from the farm when he got sick, headed into the city, where we stayed after he died. My chest aches with the memory.

  But Jasper is right here with me, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind my ear, his gaze intent on mine. “So you were close with your family?”

  “Oh, yeah. Family means everything,” I reply without thinking about it.

  Jasper’s hand lingers on my cheek, hot against my skin. My eyes are back on his again. He grins, and finally drops his hand, turning to face front. “Do you want to go again?”

  My face, still flushed red from his touch, and the close encounter, lights up. “Oh hell yes.”

  He laughs. “Have at it.”

  I speed us through another three loops around the track, until my hands are shaking from the adrenaline rush, and my head swims with the high. Ther
e really is nothing like this—flying over the pavement at death-defying speeds, all the while knowing that I’m in complete control. At the end of my race, I decide to go for the full drift. I spin the car wheel and hit it at just the right angle to send the car lurching around a corner at a breakneck speed. It throws us both to the side of our seats, and I white-knuckle the wheel to hold on. When we finally level out on the straight again, both of us are cheering in unison, and I spin to face Jasper, laughing, unable to believe how well that worked, how good it felt.

  And then his hands are cupping my face, pulling me to him, and our mouths collide.

  At first, all I taste is spearmint. Then I part my lips, let his tongue slip through mine and wrestle with mine, and I sink forward, into the kiss, losing myself in his scent—dark and heady, like a drug I could never get enough of—and the way he tastes, like salt and sweet and something I can’t resist.

  Then I remember who I am. Who he is, and what we’ve agreed to do.

  I jerk back, breath coming hard and fast, and lean away from him, despite every muscle in my body crying out in protest. “We can’t do that,” I say, before I even realize I agreed to let my mouth speak.

  “Why not?” he asks. His dark eyes are still fixed on mine, unreadable. But there’s passion in that gaze, a white-hot desire that I can feel mirrored in my own. His heart must be beating every bit as fast as mine, thundering with all that adrenaline.

  That’s all it is, I tell myself. The adrenaline, making me reckless, foolhardy. “I just met you,” I say, turning away from him, tearing my eyes off his, to start the car back into motion and roll slowly toward the pull-off where I can park it. “And besides, I agreed to be your fake wife, not a real one.”

  “Nothing wrong with having a little fun along the way,” he points out. “Besides, it would help sell the story.”

  “Oh, so you just kissed me to sell the story to this whole bunch of witnesses?” I wave at the empty track with one hand, and with the other, steer the car into the parking area.

  “You know what I mean. It’s good to test out our chemistry. Make sure that will play well in front of others.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

  “Impossible to resist?” When I cast another glance at him, he’s grinning, a knowing smirk on those full lips of his. Almost like he knows how much I enjoyed that damn kiss. Almost like he knows I’m already picturing doing it again, but for longer—crawling over into the passenger side of the car and tearing his shirt off, and running my hands over those sculpted abs of his, which I can already see through that damn tight T-shirt fabric…

  “Oh please.” I roll my eyes. “Are you always this overconfident?”

  “I wouldn’t call it overconfident. Just the correct amount of confidence. For example, I’m confident you enjoyed that kiss just now as much as I did.”

  “I… That’s…” I sputter, then shake my head. “That’s hardly the point.” I shove the car into park and push the door open. “We work together, Jasper. Whether your coworkers know the exact terms of our business arrangement or not, it’s important to me to keep this professional. Understand?”

  “Understood.” His eyes lock on mine for a moment before I climb out of the car. “But you didn’t deny it, I’d like to point out,” he adds.

  I groan. “Are we done with this portion of the tour?”

  “We’re done,” he replies, and my heart seizes a little at the sound of that.

  But still, I follow my instincts. Shut the car door behind me and leave him there while I walk inside, alone. Because I know I’m doing the right thing, hard as it may be when my lips and my body are both singing at the memory of him.

  The last thing in the world I need is to start developing feelings for Jasper Quint.

  * * *

  “I don’t understand, you’re going to need to say this slower.”

  On the other end of the phone, I can hear Melissa chewing the spoonful of cereal she’s eating as we both watch our favorite wind-down trashy reality shows. Her after a long day of nannying, and me after a long day of, well…

  “Basically the owner’s obsessed with family.”

  “Antoine Quint,” she replies. “I don’t live under a rock, Dee. But you’re saying he’s forcing his son to… what, just jump on the first wife opportunity that comes along?”

  “When I say obsessed, I mean really, truly he doesn’t think his son can run a business without a wife.” I twirl my spoon between my fingertips, the ice cream I’m eating poised forgotten on my thigh. “Which, actually, after spending the whole day touring the place with Jasper, I can’t say I don’t understand…”

  “Jasper. You’re on a first-name basis with Jasper Quint. You’ve been hired to pretend to marry Jasper Quint.”

  “I know it sounds crazy—”

  “It is crazy, Dee. You know I love you, and I’ll support you no matter what, but have you considered how this will look on your résumé once you leave? ‘Yes, Ms. Smith, how did your first internship go?’ ‘Well, I married and then divorced the head of the company…’”

  “It’s not going to be a real wedding. We’ll just play-act until his dad hands over the CEO-ship, and then go our separate ways. Plus he’s going to write me a letter of recommendation specially—”

  “Recommending you for what, wife of the year?” But I can hear the amusement in her voice. Not to mention the tap of keyboard keys.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.

  “Googling your hubby-to-be, of course, as any good friend would do.”

  I groan. “Melissa…”

  “Holy shit girl.” I hear the click-click-click of her keyboard as she scrolls through images. “Okay, I revise my earlier stance. Husband that immediately. Is he really that good-looking in person?”

  I snort. “I mean… He’s not not. But he’s also a, a…” I think back to our tour today. The way he leaned in in the car, adrenaline racing through our veins, and for a moment, I could imagine the taste of his lips, the feel of that scratchy five o’clock shadow against my cheek… “I don’t know. He’s too flirty. Too forward.”

  She laughs, too. “I’m sorry, are these bad things?”

  “It’s a business transaction! He’s blurring the lines. That’s a red flag.”

  “Mhmmm.” Melissa’s tone on the far end sounds far too knowing for my taste. “Well, I hope you enjoy your business transaction. You’ve got to keep me posted on how much you enjoy blurring the lines once your new hubby gets you into the wedding night bed—”

  “I’ve got to go now,” I call into the phone, though we’re both cracking up.

  “Also, you need to tell me if his hair still looks that good after he’s been rolling around in the sack all night—”

  “Goodbye, Melissa.”

  “Love you, Dee.”

  “Love you too.” I hang up with a groan and an eye roll. But I can’t deny it. I’m smiling, too, ear-to-ear. And that makes me more nervous than anything else.

  4

  Jasper

  I tell my father I’m going out of town for the weekend. Then I leave several brochures for the romantic getaway I’ve planned for me and Dee, all in very obvious places, so that Dad will be sure to stumble across them. Nosy as he is about my personal life, he won’t be able to resist asking around, and Greg will be all too happy to report that I’m out of town with a girl I’ve been courting. A girl, who Greg will tell my father, I’m actually serious about for once.

  We figure this will help cement the lie that we eloped, once we finally spring our marriage on my father in time for the family reunion. Which is in three weeks’ time now—not a moment to lose.

  I sent Dee a text inviting her to meet me at the office and bring a suitcase for the weekend. I figure that if Dad doesn’t get nosy and snoop around, at least this will stir up enough office gossip to reach his ear before I return on Sunday evening, hopefully engaged. Well, fake engaged, but still.

  Now to jus
t put the finishing touches on the weekend. I call ahead to the resort and request the honeymoon suite. There’s a little back-and-forth, until I drop the surname Quint, and then suddenly, “Oh of course, Mr. Quint, not a problem at all, of course it’s free.”

  I have to hide a smile when I disconnect. Normally I hate to pull that card, but it does come in handy, at times.

  Especially in situations like this. Situations where I’m about to go away for the weekend with a woman I cannot get out of my head.

  The moment I first saw her, sitting in Greg’s office in an outfit that looked like she found it on a sale rack at Target, sounding desperate while she talked about her college plans, I knew she’d be perfect. Just the unwitting gold-digger type my family would hate. Lack of class and poor and all.

  But the more I got to know her, giving her the office tour and listening to her ramble about the cars like she’d grown up under the hood of one, the more I started to realize… I could actually like this woman.

  The way she handled the stick shift on the test track, I have to admit, made my own stick shift hard as a rock to watch. I’ve never seen anyone drive like that—well, anyone except yours truly. And the kiss we shared afterward, her pert little mouth hot against mine, her tongue curling my own. She wanted it. She wanted it as bad as I did, I could feel it, taste it in that kiss.

  And then she pulled back, walked away, and it’s been all I can do not to text her constantly or linger around the offices where the other interns are working to try and catch glimpses of her. I spotted her near the water cooler the other day, in a perfectly work appropriate top that still made me think all kinds of naughty thoughts.

  I keep coming up with excuses to text her—first I had to compliment her on a small job the intern supervisor tells me was very well done. Then I had to ask for her preference on getaway locations (“outdoorsy but not too I’m-going-to-murder-you-in-the-middle-of-nowhere,” she’d replied, which led me to pick this amazing little seaside resort town over a cabin in the woods type). Then I had to find out her dress size, since obviously she won’t be packing anything we’ll be able to wear to a decent restaurant in town.