Mr. & Mrs.: An Arranged Marriage Romance

by KL Donn

  Mr. & Mrs.

  An Arranged Marriage Romance

  KL Donn

  Contents

  Blurb

  1. Megan

  2. Megan

  3. Megan

  4. Megan

  5. Megan

  6. Jordan

  7. Jordan

  8. Megan

  9. Megan

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Recipes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by KL Donn

  Copyright

  © 2019 by KL DONN

  Mr. & Mrs.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication or any part of this series may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your respect of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names of characters, places, brands and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and owners of various products and locations referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years or older due to bad language, and explicit sex scenes.

  Created with Vellum

  Blurb

  What happens when

  you find yourself alone, pregnant, and wanting to be loved?

  Jordan Maxwell

  Melting chocolate brown eyes suck me in.

  A sinful smirk calms my nerves.

  Arranged marriage wasn't supposed to bring me love. With a baby on the way, can I really deny him?

  Do I want to?

  What happens when

  you're given an ultimatum; find a bride, or lose everything?

  Megan Dolan

  Soft words meant to dissuade me, followed by the tail end of her wedding dress as she runs away.

  A tropical island, sweet words, and soft touches have her melting in the palm of my hand.

  Will coming home bring forth the nature of our situation? Or will she accept my love for her intoxicating presence for what it is?

  Real.

  Dedication

  For all the single mamma’s out there.

  Love and happiness are on the horizon.

  Megan

  “Megan Renee Dolan, you will do this! You will not disgrace this family by having that baby out of wedlock.” Tears pool in my eyes as my mother screams at me, again.

  I made a mistake; I fell for the wrong boy. And he screwed me. Literally and figuratively. Now, I’m paying the price while he backpacks across Europe before starting his fancy new job.

  “Put the dress on, Megan, or I won’t hesitate to have it put on you.” The door slams behind the older woman as I slide down the wall, head on my knees.

  The worst part about all of this is I’m being used. Forced to marry a man I don’t know, in name or on paper, and not because I’m pregnant. That’s all really just a front for my selfish, uptight parents. The truth is, Dad’s in debt, and he’s selling me to get out of it.

  I don’t know if my groom-to-be is young, old, fat, fit, evil, shy. Nothing. I don’t know his name or his profession. What I do know is that he needs a wife because he wants a legitimate heir. I doubt the poor man even knows I’m already pregnant. Which gives me a rather devious idea as I pick myself up off the floor.

  Grabbing the dress my mother has chosen, that, in my opinion, shows off far too much skin, I wiggle my tiny baby bump into it and smile for the first time.

  If he doesn’t already know I’m pregnant, he’s about to. Before the preacher gets a word in edgewise. This sham of a marriage will be over before my parents can protest otherwise.

  Hearing the organ begin my new theme song, I take a fortifying breath before I sashay down the short aisle of the small church. The man I see is not what I was prepared for. He’s tall, looks muscular. Dark brown hair and matching chocolate eyes. When he reaches for me, and we make contact for the first time, my body lights up in a way I’ve never felt.

  For a split second, I feel regret as I’m about to burst his bubble.

  Jordan

  I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Basically, marrying a woman sold to me, so I can have a damn heir, and her parents can pay off their debts. My only excuse is desperation. At thirty years old, I am supposed to be taking over my father’s company as CEO.

  For as long as I can remember, it’s always been passed down from father to son. For generations, my family has manufactured and sold defense equipment to the U.S. Military. I was never a partier, not some spoiled playboy. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, and three weeks ago, my father tells me to find a wife and work on giving him an heir, or he is going to sell the company. I don’t understand what the fuck the hurry is, but he’s dead set on me settling down into married life.

  So here I stand at the altar in a tiny, little church prepared to vow my life to a woman whose name I don’t even know.

  In my head, I’ve been calling her anonymous bride. If she’s anything like the other women I’ve known, she’ll likely skin my balls for that.

  My parents are sitting front and center, and I see hers on the opposite side of mine. All of them look smug as fuck.

  I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wondered what the girl looks like. If I’ll regret my rash decision to do this.

  When I hear the organ start playing the wedding march, my attention is drawn to the back of the room. Unknowingly, I hold my breath as a woman barely the size of my thigh slowly walks down the aisle. Her white dress, short in length and low-cut in the front, doesn’t leave much to my imagination. A veil covers her face, but I see her light curly hair peeking out the sides in soft waves down her back.

  As she stops in front of me, I’m dumbstruck after she lifts the veil over her head. Large green eyes meet mine, full of trepidation, mischief, and sorrow? I wonder about that last one. It’s her lips that draw me in, though. A shy smile plays across the plump pink stain. Holding my hand out for her to take, her delicate fingers touch mine and a zap of electricity shoots straight to my already hardening dick.

  When her soft voice says, “I’m pregnant,” I’m stunned by the husky quality until the words register in my brain.

  Found that regret…

  Megan

  Every time I open my mouth, I swear I’m channelling my grandma. I have no filter. I didn’t mean to just blurt my secret out. Not for everyone to hear.

  Regret burns a hole in my gut the size of Russia when I see the disgust on his handsome face. He smiled when I grabbed his hand, but after that little declaration, it disappeared faster than the Roadrunner after watching that stupid coyote blow himself up. In its place is a hardness I’ve only ever seen on my father. Cold dread fills me as he drops my hand like I somehow burned his skin.

  That’d be my cue to leave.

  “Right, then,” I whisper. A suspicious knot catches in my throat at being rejected by this beau
tiful specimen of a man. “Mom, Dad, I’ll be off. You won’t hear from me again. I’ll no longer be your disappointment.”

  Walking out of the church, I hear my father cursing, my mother pretending to cry, and an old man giving someone shit. I don’t care, though. I can’t care.

  For the first time in my twenty-two years, I’m free of obligation and appearances.

  “Megan!” I cringe at my mother’s voice while walking down the sidewalk in this ridiculous, idiotic dress. “Megan!” she screams again. I wonder if I dart into traffic, will she follow me? A bruising grip on my arm halts me from my forward moment as I’m turned around.

  “What?” I snap, gritting my teeth and holding on to my temper by a damn thread.

  “Get your sorry, no-good, slutty ass back into that church and marry that man. Now!” With so much spit flying from her mouth, she yells the last word so loud, as if that will compel me to listen.

  Licking my lips, I pretend to think about it. The steam coming from her empty airhead almost makes me chuckle. “No.” She’s taken aback by my refusal.

  “What did you say to me?” The most feral growl I’ve ever heard rattles her skinny chest as she takes a step closer to me.

  “Sunshine.” Have mercy. I look up to the voice that has shivers racing down my spine and see my groom advancing on me with wicked intent in his chocolaty gaze.

  My mother is mouthing off still, and I’m at a point with this man that I don’t even hear her. He’s stolen 100% of my attention.

  His long stride with those thick thighs covered in all that sinful fabric has captured every brain cell I have left. His walk is with purpose and strength. Poised and intent. I’m intimidated and fascinated all at the same time.

  When the scrumptious delight is standing right in front of me, he takes another step closer, invading my personal bubble. One hand grazes down my cheek while the other plays with my fingers. “Still there,” he murmurs, right before our lips meet with sparks flying everywhere.

  My entire body tenses and lights up by his tentative touch. I hear my mother huff a breath of annoyance at the same time my groom-to-be deepens the kiss. Pushing his tongue into my mouth, his hands wrap around my back. I can feel his fingers dig into my shoulders as he melds our bodies together.

  “Like sweet sunshine.” I can feel his breath on my lips as he whispers to me. “Tell me your name,” he commands. No questions with this man.

  “Megan.” I breathe, barely above a whisper. I don’t even know if he heard me.

  His intense gaze closes, and he inhales deeply before saying, “Megan,” like a prayer.

  Not another word is spoken as he grips my hand again and pulls me along behind him, back to the dreaded church.

  “Now wait just a minute.” I attempt to protest. Just because our chemistry is off the charts hot, that doesn’t mean I want to marry him any more than I did an hour ago.

  I might want to climb him like a tree, but I still don’t know his damn name!

  Jordan

  After my shock wears off, and I glimpse the young woman running out the doors, her mother hot on her heels, I’m in motion. She may be pregnant, but the damn electric current zapping between us isn’t to be ignored.

  My parents have always told me that one day, I’d feel it, and I’d know. This anonymous bride is most certainly mine. I’ll raise her child as my own, and we’ll have as many as I can plant inside her.

  “Go on, son, get her back here.” My father smirks as I walk past him.

  Hearing the way the mother talked to my girl burns me. I’ll bury her parents soon enough. First, she needs to accept that she’s mine, completely.

  The sound of her name as she spoke it, feeling her lips under mine, her lithe body fitting perfectly into me, I’m ready for the honeymoon phase of this gong show, now.

  Her protestations behind me as I pull her back into the church, mean nothing. There isn’t a damn thing she’ll be able to do to get out of this “no longer a sham” marriage now. She sealed her fate when her little fists gripped my shirt so tightly that I felt a button pop off.

  Standing in front of the minister once again, he shakes his head at her struggles, so I do the only reasonable thing I can. I tug her hand so she falls into my body, our mouths meshing together like a brand to cattle. When I feel her relaxing into my hold, I pull away slowly. A nod to the minister has him continuing with the ceremony. This sassy woman is going to give me a run for my money, but she’ll bear my last name.

  She stares in a daze as we recite our vows, pledge our lives to each other, and finally, it’s announced, “I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Maxwell. You may kiss the bride.” Her gaze darkens and narrows at the use of my name, and I wonder if it’s because she knows who I am and how much money I have, or if she hates me now that she’s mine.

  I don’t give her long to ponder the answer. Grasping her mesmerizing frame in my embrace, I step into her and seal our lives with a kiss.

  Hot.

  Hard.

  Deep.

  Searing.

  I’m bonding myself to her. Imprinting my mark on her soul. “Dammit,” I feel her mutter as I nip her lip and sweep my tongue inside her mouth.

  “You’re mine now, Mag-pie.” Picking her up in my arms, I don’t wait around for either of our parents to say a word. We quickly stop to sign our names to the marriage license, and I’m taking her out of the church and into the waiting limo.

  As the door closes behind us, I have her straddling my lap and silence surrounds us.

  Her arms crossing, followed by, “This could be considered kidnapping,” has me smiling because I can feel her struggling to remain angry at whatever has her pissed off.

  Megan

  Jordan’s irritating smirk really isn’t necessary. He wouldn’t let me off his lap as we were driven to the airport where he had a private plane waiting to take us to our destination. But now, he won’t let me leave his side at all. I have to pee, and the ass is following me. Waiting outside the door to make sure I’m not bounced around in-flight.

  I hate that I find it oddly sweet. I hate that I’m attracted to him, and I hate that he makes my heart beat faster with each possessive look of his sinful gaze.

  Returning to our seats, I say, “Jordan Maxwell, huh.” It’s the first time I’ve spoken since he dragged me from the church. Well, carried me, actually. And let’s not dwell on the rippling muscles under his fancy suit.

  “Yup.” I want to smack that damn grin off his face. But I’m more likely to kiss it right now. My body feels like it’s burning up from the inside out.

  It has to be the pregnancy hormones.

  “Did you know who I was?” I asked. Surely, he wouldn’t really want the spawn of my father.

  Turning in his seat, he looks at me. Jordan’s eyes wander down my body, landing on the tiny bump in my stomach. I wrap my arms around the area to hide it. Not due to embarrassment, but I’m just not understanding why he wants a woman who is already pregnant. I gave him an out.

  “Yes and no.”

  “That clears it up.” I roll my eyes.

  “Watch it,” he warns, and I see it in his gaze. He’ll only take so much. “I obviously knew who your father was, but I had no idea you existed.”

  Ouch.

  “He doesn’t talk about you. I don’t think he’s ever mentioned a child, nor has your mother.” My husband looks thoughtful for a minute before shaking his head.

  “How do you know them?” I inquire. It’s not the first time the question has popped up.

  I knew Jordan was wealthy before I heard his name. It’s in every line of his body, the cut of his hair, his personal aura. What I don’t understand is how my parents could possibly know someone so wealthy.

  “Dad is only a salesman.” The sardonic look he gives me tells me I should know better. “He’s not?” Now I’m really confused. For as long as I can remember, my father has worked for an office supply company, going from company to company hoping for exclusive con
tracts.

  “Your father works in the IT department of my company.”

  “Oh.” Perplexed, I ask, “Why lie?” I don’t expect an answer from him but feel the need to say it out loud.

  Sighing, he pulls me closer to his warm body. Relaxing into his arms, I listen to his soothing voice. “Your father has worked for my family for over twenty years. I don’t know why he’s lied to you. Nothing Maxwell, Limited does is hidden from the public. We sell military-grade equipment to the U.S. Defense Department.” Taking a breath, he squeezes my arm. “Your father is an ordinary IT guy. He fixes viruses and bugs in our computers. He doesn’t have access to our equipment, blueprints, or anything worth selling.”

  “So how did he incur so much debt?” Again, not expecting an answer from Jordan. But he seems to know my father better than I do.

  “Horse races, mostly.” His voice sounds frustrated. “Bet on the wrong horse, and everything went downhill from there.”

  “How do you know this? Why haven’t they told me?” The answer is simple. They didn’t want me around anymore. Informing me that they were having financial problems wouldn’t have even been a blip on their radar.

  “Enough of them. Tell me about you, Mag-pie.” Well, at least, he’s not calling me Maggie. I hate that nickname.