Single Mom Wanted for Fake Marriage: A Billionaire Romance

by Aubrey Dark

“I do my best,” I said.

  “But you know, now that I’m looking at you, I can tell you’re not Sanders or Dex,” Piers said with a drunken British lilt. “You’re entirely too classy.”

  “William is the brains of Fawkes Financial,” Jake explained. “Wouldn’t trust my investments to anyone else.”

  “Is that why they didn’t let you on the cover of Fortune?” Piers joked, clapping me on the back. “Too smart for your own good?”

  “Something like that,” I murmured. My attention had gone off wandering, and I realized why.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I’d caught a glimpse of a woman coming in through the entrance. She trailed after a group of young models.

  Her hair was a cap of sleek blonde, her heels three inches tall. But there was something strange about her eyes, the way she searched the room, evaluating, seeking—

  “Hello? Will?”

  “Hmm? What is it?” I snapped back to attention at the touch on my shoulder. Who was that girl? But I couldn’t ask Sanders’ friends. They would get the wrong idea.

  “Lucas said he wanted to introduce you to a pretty girl,” Jake said. “We’re not letting Piers get too close. Once they see a TV star, all hope is gone.”

  “Sorry I’m too damn charming, lads,” Piers said. “Come on, ladies. Let’s head to the balcony, shall we? I hear there are hoot owls out this time of night.”

  “What about bears?” one of them asked, giggling.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” Piers said, squeezing the girls tight as he led them away.

  “Well, William?” Lucas pressed.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” I said, stepping away from the men. There had been something odd about that woman. “I’ve got to find someone first.”

  “Sanders is over by the indoor pool, singing karaoke,” Jake said. “If that’s who you’re looking for. He might need a partner to sing a duet with.”

  “God, no,” I moaned. “Don’t let him find me.”

  “No, we’ll focus on finding you a girl,” Lucas said.

  “If we get you a good one, we’ll keep her tied up for you!” Jake called out. He and Lucas dove back into the crowd.

  “You do that,” I mumbled, moving off towards where I’d last seen the blonde woman. I glanced through the doorway to the pool room. A few women were swimming in the circular indoor pool, their tiny bikinis almost invisible. In the back, Sanders was crooning a throaty version of Make Me Bad into the microphone. He had his shoes off and his suit pants rolled up at the ankles. A half dozen beautiful women stood dancing in front of him.

  I sighed. If there was one Fawkes boy who knew how to flirt, it was Sanders. But the one woman I was looking for wasn’t there. I ducked my head as I passed by the doorway so that Sanders didn’t see me. There was only one person I wanted to see right now. That blonde woman.

  I didn’t know what it was that had caught my attention, but my instincts were rarely wrong, at least in business. I’d learned to trust them.

  And right now, my every instinct told me one thing: Go after her.

  Chapter 4

  I slipped through the sea of business suits and glitzy dresses, the gun rubbing awkwardly between my thighs whenever I had to turn sideways to get between two people. It had been easy enough to sneak in with a group of escorts, and now that I was inside, all I had to do was find an easy mark.

  The problem might be figuring out which easy mark to take. As I moved into the luxurious mountain home, half of the middle-aged men turned their heads to watch me go. Well, this was going to be more fun than I’d thought.

  I’d heard about the party from a waitress at the Red Baron who moonlighted as an escort. Hopefully I wouldn’t see her here. It wouldn’t be good for anyone to start piecing together my identity. But with my wig and fake lashes, I thought I would be just fine. More than fine. Wading into this crowd was like picking coins up off of the sidewalk. Easy money.

  The real money, though, would come if I could find a safe in the house. In spite of all my hard work, rent kept going up and daycare wasn’t cheap. Teresa was nice enough to look after Kit on short notice, but I couldn’t pay her in homemade cupcakes forever. A safe. A stash of cash or jewelry. That’s what I needed.

  I swiped a silver cigarette case someone had left on the front counter, dropping it softly into the planter by the bathroom to pick up later on my way out. Then I was back in the crowd, swimming through the appreciative gazes of horny rich men with more money than sense. I greeted a few of them, those who made it obvious they wanted to “get to know me.”

  In every room, I cased the doorways. I quickly figured out the layout of the house. The kitchen, the balconies. The stage where a handsome man sang a ridiculous pop song with a bevy of beautiful women cheering him on. Behind the stage, a door to what must have been a den or recreation room. I was looking for escape exits, rooms where only servants loitered, bedrooms with personal bathrooms where there might be prescription pills to nab. I was looking for security cameras, the hidden gleam of a black case that meant someone was watching. But all the security cameras were outside, pointed toward the entrances. Inside, nothing. A perfect place to rob in the middle of a party.

  One initial sweep of the premises, and then I’d come back through to the rooms that seemed worth my while. It was easy to slip into a den and pretend I was just looking for the bathroom. And in the back room, where only a few of the guests lingered, an empty hallway stretched down the side of the house. Maybe there would be something in there.

  As I watched, one of the hallway doors opened. A dark-haired man backed out of the doorway, a folder clasped under his arm. I wasn’t interested in the man, but in the room behind him. Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of a desk, a bookshelf, a computer screen. I watched his back as he closed the door and turned a key in the lock.

  A home office. Bingo. There would almost certainly be a safe there, or a locked drawer. It was incredible what kind of valuables businessmen kept in their offices.

  As the man turned around from locking the door, I turned too, to avoid his face. Sweeping back into the main room, I decided to wait for a few minutes before going back into that hallway. I could come at it through the side room, I decided. Circling around, I smiled blithely at all of the groups of well-dressed partygoers.

  In the side room, I pretended to examine an oil painting on the wall. I tuned out the chatter of guests as my eyes swept over the pastoral scene. Shepherds in a field, a rustic cabin behind them. So out of place in this house. Why would you stick a painting of poor rural Italy in a mansion surrounded by the Colorado mountains?

  Terrible taste, I decided. The owner of the house must be new money. He deserved to have his office raided. Smiling to myself, I turned away from the painting and walked by the remaining guests between me and the back room.

  A gray-haired businessman caught my eye as I moved close to him. I glanced down at what he was wearing—a gold watch, diamond cufflinks, gold ring. Bingo.

  I slowed my step, and as I sauntered by, the man touched me on the arm. I swiveled into his grasp so that his wrist turned toward my fingers.

  “Oh, hello!” I said brightly, still turned sideways in his grip. “Wonderful party, isn’t it?”

  “Delicious,” the man said, licking his lower lip. A shiver of disgust ran through me, but I stifled it.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t met,” I said, “I’m Belle.”

  “Frank Oliver,” the man said. He smelled like cigars and whiskey, and there were two nosehairs sticking out of his right nostril. I tried not to look at them.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. As I did, I pretended to stumble a bit and my hand grabbed at his wrist. In a half second, the cufflink at his sleeve was in my fingers. I palmed it as he steadied me back on my heels.

  “Sorry!” I said. “Must be the champagne. I just finished my fourth glass.”

  “Then let me get you another one,” the man said, his
voice slick as oil. Ugh. He looked around for a waiter and I adjusted my dress, slipping the cufflink into the top of my bra as I did. It pricked a bit at my skin, but that was an easy price to pay if it was real diamond. I was already estimating how much I could get when I pawned it tomorrow.

  “Oh, there’s my friend!” I stood on tiptoe and waved into the other room at a nonexistent person. “I’ll be back for my champagne later,” I purred into the man’s ear. He smirked and pinched my ass as I turned away from him. I bit down on my smile as I walked away from him. Asshole.

  Frank Oliver might be a good mark, although he seemed like the kind of guy to try and take me to a hotel room instead of back home. And if I only wanted a wallet, I would be a mugger. But it was a decent back up plan, at least.

  As I moved away into the other room, though, I felt eyes on the back of my head. I was being watched. I turned around slowly, a girlish smile on my face. If I’d been caught, I could easily re-palm the cufflink and drop it into the crowd. I crossed my fingers that it was just another man staring at my ass.

  When I turned, though, there was only one man facing my direction, his face hard as steel, moving toward me. And his eyes were locked on mine. He tossed back his dark hair as he stepped forward and I saw the glint of his irises, blue-gray in the light, his expression solemn. He looked like a security guard.

  Shit. I’d been caught.

  My heart skipped upward, into my throat, and my pulse thrummed quickly in my ears. I turned away as though to pretend I hadn’t seen him, my fingers fumbling at my bra. If I could lose the cufflink—

  “Excuse me.”

  Another pulse in my ears. A hand on my shoulder. The touch was hard, possessive. I spun back, looking up into bullet-gray eyes, and my breath caught in the same place as my heart.

  The man in front of me was the same one who had been singing karaoke only a few minutes before.

  Not a security guard.

  He was young, tall and broad-shouldered with a square, clean-shaven jaw. His cologne was subtle, earthy, and his suit was too expensive to be a guard’s outfit. Still, my breath didn’t come back to me, and I had to force myself to swallow before my lungs seemed to remember how to expand again.

  “Yes?” I said. I tried to be sultry, confident, but instead my voice came out as a breathy squeak.

  Don’t be too paranoid, Sierra, I told myself. My dad had dozens of stories about thieves who had psyched themselves out of a score because of irrational paranoia. “Be cautious, not paranoid,” he always said. “And if you get caught, you can always bat your eyelashes at ‘em.”

  That was an advantage my dad never had. I’d gotten into a few early scrapes when I’d been caught pickpocketing, but a teenage girl was never detained for very long. And as I grew up, I learned the stupid truth that the prettier I was, the more I flirted, the less trouble I would get into, even if I was caught.

  “I thought I recognized your face,” the man said. His light, piercing eyes cast down over my cheeks, my nose, and came to rest on my lips. A pulse of desire, unbidden, throbbed through me. It wasn’t only his looks, although he was handsome. He had been handsome on stage, too. But somehow, now, he looked… different. More serious. More powerful.

  “I don’t… I don’t think we know each other,” I said, trying desperately to stifle the heat running through my body. I pressed my lips together. What was happening to me? Keep it together. That’s all I had to do. Make some small talk, flirt a little, and remember how to breathe. It shouldn’t be so hard. But his hand was still on my shoulder, and he made no move to release me.

  “But you know Frank Oliver,” the man said. “He was my father’s friend.”

  “Right. Frank Oliver,” I said. “We only just met, I’m afraid. I don’t know him very well.”

  I batted my eyelashes slightly with a smile, as though to insinuate something else. I might not know Frank well, I was saying, but I could get to know you better.

  The man cocked his head to one side, examining me. A lump rose in my throat as his dark hair fell to one side of his forehead. I wanted to reach out and brush it back behind his ear. I wanted to rest my fingers on his broad shoulders, to feel his arms. God, what was this feeling coming over me? I couldn’t even flirt with this guy without getting all riled up. I swallowed back the lump and set my face in a blankly pleasant expression.

  “You did a great job up there on stage,” I said. “I couldn’t sing in front of a crowd like that.”

  The man’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Oh!” he said, with a quick chuckle. “No! No, you have me wrong. That wasn’t me singing.”

  I frowned. It had been him, I was certain of it. Playing back the image in my memory, I could see him again. On the stage, microphone in hand. The same blue-gray eyes. Was he teasing me?

  “That was my brother,” he continued, seeing my confusion. “Sanders.”

  The way he said it, I knew that I was supposed to know who he was. Who both the brothers were.

  “Right,” I said, laughing lightly to cover up my confusion. “I don’t know how anyone can tell two twins apart.”

  Now that he had mentioned it, I realized that the man on stage had been wearing navy blue pinstripe pants. The suit this man wore was dark, almost black. Their hairstyles were slightly different. And the way that this man was looking at me with those eyes made my heart twist in my chest. Like he knew something about me.

  “Your brother is an excellent singer,” I said, swallowing the feeling.

  “Don’t flatter him. There’s a reason he’s not a pop star.” There was a quirk at his mouth. Instantly I understood the relationship between him and his twin brother. Friendly, but competitive. Like most twins.

  “At least he has the courage to try.” I lifted my chin. It was a bit of a challenge, a bit of a flirt.

  I expected him to banter back lightly, but instead he asked a question that took me completely aback.

  “Are you an escort?”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Wh—what?”

  I’d been to a hundred parties like this, where guests and escorts mingled. And nobody—nobody—ever mentioned the idea that escorts existed. It simply wasn’t acknowledged. That was basic etiquette, for God’s sake. But now this man was looking at me with a fierce expression, his gray eyes penetrating deeply. I felt my tongue grow thick in my mouth.

  “Are you an escort?” he repeated.

  “No!” I exclaimed, jerking out of his grip. It was the only answer possible, and it wasn’t even a lie. Not even an escort would admit she was an escort. My face was hot. Was it from the touch of his fingers on my skin, where I suddenly felt cool? Or was it something else?

  I was totally flustered. I’d never been in a conversation like this. He must know that I was a thief. He had to know.

  But instead of accusing me, the man let his hand fall away. His cheeks flushed slightly to match mine.

  “I’m so very sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I thought—that is to say—I’m not good at these sorts of parties. I didn’t mean— please forgive me.”

  His embarrassment was palpable, and I almost felt sorry for him. He seemed uncomfortable in the midst of these surroundings, and I wondered if he belonged here as little as I did. For a moment, I hoped that he wasn’t rich after all—that he was here like I was, an outsider. But then he straightened back up, and the moment passed.

  “Are you looking for an escort?” I asked, my heartbeat returning to normal.

  He shook his head vigorously, then brushed his hair back with one hand.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “I’m not—no, just the opposite. I—this is my brother’s party.”

  Ah. Right. Rich family.

  “I know that he invites a lot of…ah, a lot of girls, and I didn’t want—I didn’t want to accidentally—well, you know.”

  He was rambling, and he realized it, clamping his jaw shut. As he bit his lip, another pulse of heat rippled down through me. Such a handsome man. I
wanted to bite that lip myself, to take it in my teeth and suck a groan from his rich, beautiful mouth.

  “Are you married?” he continued.

  “Used to be,” I said, my weight shifting on my feet. I longed to scratch the place where the gun was nudging against my inner thigh. Why was he asking me all of these questions?

  And worse, why was I answering him? I hadn’t wanted to bring up Justin at all. I was supposed to be a young, single girl looking for a good time. But there was a force in the way he stared me down with his rapid-fire questions, something in his gaze that made the truth come unraveling out of my mouth before I could shut it.

  “You didn’t seem like the kind of guy who needs an escort,” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from myself. If he asked me how I came to be at the party, I had no good cover.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He frowned, as though he thought I was insulting him. I smiled again, trying to defuse the situation.

  “I mean you don’t strike me as a man who needs to pay for his company. Tall, handsome, rich. I’m sure you can make do on your own.”

  His face softened, his cheeks still ruddy from before.

  “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

  An awkward pause lengthened between us. I needed to get away from this man. He would blow my cover if I talked to him for much longer. He wasn’t a good mark, anyway. No ring on his finger. No reputation to uphold. Although I didn’t doubt that he was rich, there was something about him that made me uneasy. Like he was looking right through me, down to the depths of my being.

  And yet—yet—I didn’t want to go. There was a magnetism about him, the way he held me in his gaze. His eyes were a sky that was preparing to storm. So fierce, and so beautiful. If I didn’t have Kit waiting for me at home, I’d abandon this plan completely and let him take me home.

  At the idea, my body lit afire. The image of this man bending me over a luxurious bed, his hands tearing my clothes off, seared my mind. I could almost feel his fingers sliding over my body, exploring me, taking possession of me completely. His lips wandering over my skin…