by Christa Wick
Behind me, a voice hissed.
"Beau Kelly, you are not using the airhorn app on your phone. You will mortify your sister!"
"And terrify the baby," Liz added.
I dipped my head, grinning as my son opened his blue-green eyes. I cupped my palm lightly against the blanket covering his ear as the next student was announced.
"Two," Michael said before looking at his son and admonishing him to listen to Liz and Shelly.
My son stretched, tried to kick but was defeated by how Ginny had swaddled him before the ceremony. His gaze glossed over me before his eyes drifted shut.
"One," Michael announced before closing the brochure and holding it tight against his chest. His shoulder brushed mine a second later, seeking my attention before he whispered in a raspy voice.
"Thank you for supporting her decision to finish college."
I nodded like I had a choice. Ginny might tremble with excitement and abandon each time I possessed her body, but she would always be her own woman. I wanted it that way.
It didn't hurt that she was getting a finance degree from one of the best colleges for it. She already ran my office for me, letting me focus on the fields and the safety of the men we employed. With all the classes she had taken, and all the ones she still planned to take in getting her Master's, I had a source I could trust to help guide me with our fortune and, when the time came, to advise our son as he took over.
Heck, maybe she would take over at some point. She had the brains and the fire for it.
A smile lit my face at the thought, the moment coinciding with the Dean announcing her name.
"Virginia Kelly-McKinley," he called out into the speaker system, which echoed throughout the entire graduation ceremony hall.
Virginia Kelly-McKinley.
To this day, I still got a thrill when I heard someone call her that.
But I still called her Sweet Tea.
— The End —
CLAIMING HER CURVES
Blake & Pippa’s Story
What’s a guy to do when the one woman he can’t stop thinking about doesn’t believe he’s got real feelings for her? Get downright stubborn and sweep her off her feet, that’s what.
* * *
Pippa: The idea that my richest and most gorgeous client just proposed to me feels like a crazy joke, or a pitch for some weird reality show. But the thing is, my situation is dire enough that taking Blake up on his offer is a given. I’ll have to keep my wits about me though. Otherwise, the man who’s willing to go through all this to rescue me (because that’s just the kind of guy he is) will be the man I’ll end up falling for harder than I already have.
* * *
Blake: So, that just happened. I just proposed and saved Pippa's business in one fell swoop. Of course I did. I’ve been protective of her from the very start of our friendship. And now that she’s wearing my ring, protective doesn’t even begin to cover the way I feel. That I stepped up to help her out of the mess she’s in was always a given. But the fact that I had to take such drastic measures to begin with? That’ll all make sense soon enough.
* * *
All I have to do first is convince the most stubborn woman alive that I really am in love with her.
* * *
Previously published as Curve Contract (c) 2012 with revisions throughout, newly added content, and an extended ending.
ONE
- Pippa -
Blake Cross leaned forward, his face half a foot from mine as his hands gripped the sides of my desk. For the first time in a decade, I felt small, almost delicate, as his dark, powerful gray gaze pinned me to the spot.
“Think about it, Pippa. If we got married, your problem would be solved.”
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and was trying hard not to do either—or both. The idea that my richest and by far most attractive client had just proposed marriage to me felt like the lead-up to a punchline, or the trailer for a far-fetched romcom where the girl somehow lands the guy that’s just way too far out of her league.
I pushed my chair back from the desk. I couldn't think straight with him so close to me. The warm spices of his aftershave were curling around my senses, his tall, muscular frame distracting in its sheer masculinity.
Just looking at him eroded my self-control.
Was I actually considering this? This was Blake Cross, for heaven’s sake.
Wealthier than most royalty, and drop-dead sexy, Blake spent his weekends swimming through a stream of A-list actresses, supermodels and socialites. His very public, very short-lived affairs were legendary, and one of the main aspects of the Cross brand I’d busted my ass repairing and refining as his PR manager over the last year.
I shut my eyes to try to get a handle on the offer he’d just laid out for me. It was, in short, insane. Ignoring the fast-growing attraction I'd been feeling for him for months now was hard enough on a good day, but this…
The man wasn’t just offering me a shoulder to cry on, big strong arms to hold me, and that memorably deep baritone voice whispering assurances that everything would be okay.
He was offering—and asking for—so much more.
“Pippa.”
I looked up to find him leaning closer, the distance I’d just put between us already bridged.
“If you won’t answer me, at least talk to me.” He peered down at me, his husky voice as caring and soothing as always. “What’s going on in that busy little mind of yours?”
I shook my head, trying but failing to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts banging around in my skull. “Blake, you can’t be serious right now.”
“I’m being very serious. You know me well enough to know I’d never do something like this without thinking it all the way through. So, I repeat, P.J. Will you. Marry me.”
Oh, God. I had no doubt that lots of women in the world have fantasized about Blake proposing to them. And there were probably just as many out there who’d jump at the chance to be on the receiving end of an offer as exceedingly generous and highly pragmatic as this.
I wasn’t one of them.
“You’re right, I do know you, Blake. You don’t like complicated. And anyone who knows you knows that you don’t want to settle down yet.”
“What I want isn't part of this particular equation.”
Ouch.
Blake straightened and folded his arms across his broad chest. He stared at me, his gaze unreadable. “What I mean is that this arrangement is strictly addressing things we both need. What you need is my help. And what I need is my brand to include a wife—fast. This arrangement will give us both.”
Realizing this wasn’t an idea he was throwing out on a whim, I took a slow breath in to compose my thoughts. He’d actually given this some real thought.
Could I really do this?
I looked beyond him to the glass wall separating my workspace from my employees. Half the crew of twenty was gone for lunch or off-site with clients or vendors. Of those remaining, half a dozen were casting furtive glances in our direction. Blake was to blame for that. His visits always drew attention, particularly among the women.
Today was worse than usual though. He was more…determined than I’d ever seen him before, almost alpha aggressive. A lethal additive considering the man just oozed sex appeal.
His gaze followed my line of sight. Walking over to the glass wall, he looked out across the floor for a long beat before slowly drawing the blinds closed. “How many of them have enough savings to get them through to the next job, you think?”
As my view of my employees became shuttered and my office seemed to shrink in size all around us, I forced myself not to flinch or even blink. Tears would fall if I did. “You’re not playing fair.”
“Nothing about this mess you’re in is fair, Pippa.” He crossed back to me, stepping around the desk so that he stood next to my chair. “It isn't fair that Gorman screwed you, it isn’t fair that everything you built is crumbling faster than you can stop it, and it i
sn't fair that your employees would also be affected because you misplaced your trust in that criminal.”
I tried to inch my chair to the side, but he stopped me before I could get very far.
“Running away isn't your style, Pippa.” Blake reached down, gently captured my wrist and tugged me up to my feet. “And hoping for a miracle isn’t either.”
Tilting my head back, I felt my knees weaken. I’d been dealing with this Gorman problem on my own for a month now. Nearly sleepless, unable to eat without feeling like I was going to throw up, I was in no shape to handle Cross and his tough love. I was even less prepared for his expert negotiating tactics.
Only, I didn’t think this was him negotiating so much as him being exactly the man I’d come to know. The man I’d been trying to get the world to see as I did. “Blake, you don’t have to do all this for me. I’ll find another way.”
“You won’t.”
Blake gripped my shoulders and held me steady. I didn’t even realize I was swaying.
I still had no idea how he knew about Gorman embezzling from my firm or the IRS agent that had visited me, threatening both jail time and a financial penalty even bigger than the hundred thousand plus in unpaid payroll taxes I’d apparently been racking up for some time now. I hadn’t told a soul about any of it.
But even more mysterious was Blake's sudden need for a wife, and his decision to essentially pay for one. Especially when the would-be bride was the chubby bunny who was on retainer to know every last aspect about him, good and bad, and spin both for the public from way, way behind the scenes, on account of her having the glamorous looks made for radio.
Bloody hell. Just thinking about the can of worms a development like that would open PR-wise for him was enough to make my head spin.
The gossip-hungry press and paparazzi would have a freaking field day. Any woman Blake went out with was always assured plenty of coverage—frequently accompanied by a veritable public vivisection from head to toe.
Now, if that woman were also to be wearing his ring, along with a plus-size wardrobe?
The poor thing would likely never survive the social media carnage.
I should know, this was what I did for a living.
For now, at least.
That gut-wrenching reminder was the reality check I needed to actually start considering Blake’s offer.
He was right; I was out of options. Gorman’s embezzlement had started a chain reaction I simply didn’t have the funds to even begin to fix. The inability to pay my employees from a now emptied-out bank account was just part of it. Add to that the unpaid payroll taxes, along with the accompanying IRS fines at both the federal and state level. Plus interest. But, hey, let’s not stop there. The sudden loss of clients that would probably result in me being thrown in prison for a stint meant no money to cover the accounts payable my agency ran either. Hello vendor lawsuits! It also meant unfinished new and ongoing campaigns that I’d already received payments on. Meaning justified legal claims from clients as well.
So, yeah, as much hell as I’d face becoming the most unlikely Mrs. Blake Cross imaginable, there was a whole other, nastier level of hell waiting for me if I didn’t.
Okay then.
So, first things first. If we were going to do this, it was time for Pippa freaking Jones to enter these proceedings. “Tell me why you need this, Blake. Or this negotiation ends here and now. No one proposes a fake, temporary marriage without a hell of a good reason.”
I thought I saw a flash of amused admiration for a split second when I pulled out my ‘strict librarian’ voice Blake often teased me about. But then when the latter half of my words registered, his gaze hardened in an instant, his mouth flattening down to a grim, unyielding line.
Clearly, his reason was on a need-to-know basis.
Well, tough.
I folded my arms across my chest, mirroring his earlier stance. “I can't even consider answering you, let alone answering with a yes, until I know why.”
He studied my determined expression, his right brow shooting up when I snagged his gaze and held it.
“Fine. But this information doesn’t leave the room.”
TWO
- Pippa -
He sighed heavily. “You remember Anna? Anna Burke?”
The uber bitch and former senior exec at Cross Incorporated? Oh yeah, I remembered her. She had resigned her position a couple of months ago for reasons unstated.
As the outside PR firm for Cross, I’d tried to uncover the details of her resignation, just in case there were factors that had the potential to explode in the press. It’d come as a shock when Cross had refused to give me an answer. It was the only time he’d ever kept something from me.
And even now, I could see I wouldn’t be getting the whole story. I could practically see him mentally weighing what he could say against what he should say.
“Just tell me as much as you can, Blake.”
“Long story short, she's suing my company for millions and—more importantly—trying to gain enough in unearned stock options to make Cross Incorporated vulnerable to a takeover bid.”
Pure, unholy rage burned in his eyes from beginning to end of that brief explanation. Even knowing it wasn't directed at me, I still withered beneath its heat. This company was everything to him. He'd built it up on his own, product by product, store by store. Even with billions in annual sales and a cadre of senior executives, he kept a tight grip on the reins. It was his baby and any threat to the company made him feral. I’d seen it on more than one occasion.
As far as reasons for a fake marriage go, I had to say, this was a pretty good one.
“Why is she suing?”
Now he was the one crossing his arms and staring me down. “Tell me, P.J., is the answer to that question really something you think I should be giving to the head of an outside PR firm that’s on the verge of shutting its doors due to unpaid payroll taxes?”
Wow. That was harsh. But fair. If the positions were reversed, I wouldn’t either.
At my slight nod conceding his point, his hands drifted down to capture mine. He tugged me closer, his gaze softening the slightest bit. “Now my wife, on the other hand...”
My knees went weak in an instant, causing me to stumble back.
Blake caught me quickly, circling his arms around my waist to cinch me to him. He dipped his head down then, his lips warm against my ear as he finished what he’d been about to say, “My wife would have access to all those answers…and much, much more.”
Before I could fully process what he was trying to tell me, his hips pushed forward gently, nudging at my stomach.
Did he just… Did I just feel what I thought I felt?
“Now, enough stalling, Pippa. I don’t have much time here, and neither do you. You need to decide. Yes or no.”
Trembling, I clutched his arms. I was pressed up against the man I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for months, his thick biceps flexing beneath my palms, my rounded stomach all but rubbing up against the hard plane of musclebound torso. But somehow, I managed to keep from unraveling completely. “I still need more answers first. If you can’t tell me why she’s suing, at least explain how marrying me will help you.”
His hands dropped to clasp together below the curve of my ass.
Before I could gasp—for a couple different reasons—he lifted me off my feet, his strong arms sliding my body up along his until we were at eye level. “I promise you, P.J., I’ll give you all the answers you need, but not now. Not until you’re my wife. All you really need to know and focus on right now is how marrying me will help you. Say yes and you'll have a half-million-dollar line of credit by tomorrow morning, a specially-trained private investigator to hunt down Gorman and drag him back here by whatever means necessary, along with a team of well-paid attorneys to school the IRS in how to treat a lady.”
Blake had already offered the attorneys and the money, the credit line set up by those very attorneys exactly how I’d exp
ect a billionaire worth their fortune to structure it, payable on demand and secured by all of the firm's assets and my own. A demand note meant he could pull it the moment I tried to back out of our deal or failed to perform to expectations. It was a business loan, through and through, and as was the case with any business arrangement, the note would be canceled with the dissolution of our deal—in this case, our marriage.
The offer of the rather delightful-sounding P.I. was new though.
Blake was sweetening the deal, and I still had no idea what he’d be getting out of it.
Instead of asking him to put me down—because truthfully, my brain was not in control of the decision-making on that matter at the moment—I told him firmly, “You know that I never liked Anna, but if she has a legitimate beef, I can’t in good conscience go through with any of this. So you need to tell me something, Blake.”
He studied me for a beat, his gaze an unrelenting polished steel before he slowly eased me back down to the floor. But he didn't release me or loosen his grip. “P.J., do you really think I’d put you in that kind of position? Anna doesn't have a legal leg to stand on. She truly doesn’t. But if she can manage to get a jury to fall for her bullshit, then all her lawyers would have to do is hire a jury consultant to show them exactly how to make that jury dislike me. And they would. You've done PR for lawsuits, Pippa. Hell, you’ve done PR for me. You know I’m right.”
He took a step back, his gaze raking my body for an instant before settling on my face. “Frankly, I need a counterpoint to Anna. And that's you.”
Speechless, I lifted a brow, my lips parting as indignation and hurt threatened to boil over. Yes, with her tiny waist, big tits, and manicured everything—beautiful, sophisticated Anna certainly was my ultimate opposite. But I didn't need Blake Cross to rub my nose in it.