Across the table, Emily glares at me, the insults coming through loud and clear in our silent conversation.
I know what you’re doing, Emily.
Doesn’t matter. You can’t stop me. And you know it.
Bring it on. This is my man, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
A-bitch-gail Andrews.
That’s what she always called me, and I can hear it as if she said it aloud.
Suddenly, a movement catches my eyes off to the side of the booth. I look closer and blanch.
It’s Meredith and Claire!
Claire looks happy but tired, as though she’s ready to turn in for the night. Meredith, however, looks freshly ready to crush her enemies, see them driven onto stakes before her, and hear the lamentation of their children.
Meredith can’t see Lorenzo and me together. Not again. It’s too suspicious. I can imagine the judgment in her steely questions already.
Are you here to work, flower girl? Or slut around with the closest man you can find who’ll have you?
Not knowing what the hell to do, I duck down, practically burying my face in Lorenzo’s lap.
“Are you okay?” Emily asks from above the table, confused. “What are you doing?”
“Maybe she’s getting a little sausage to go with those teeny-tiny bites of lobster?” Doug suggests, and in a dim corner of my panicked mind, I wonder what it is with some men and their obsession with getting blowjobs in public.
Then again, Lorenzo’s crotch is right here, and it smells sexy, feral, and manly. He’s not hard but halfway there, and if I just rub my lips . . .
What the hell am I doing?
So what if Meredith sees me out on a date? I’m not a nun, and as long as I do the job I’ve been hired to do and do it well, the rest of my business is none of their business. But at the same time, I don’t want them seeing me out the night before an important business meeting. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in SweetPea or me.
I peek under the table, trying to ignore the whispers from above. I feel something twitch and press against my cheek, and I realize that Lorenzo’s getting harder, too. Either I’m going to have to at least give him a little nuzzle or really have to explain what the hell I’m doing . . .
Phew. I see Meredith’s stilettos and Claire’s sandals walk out, and I sit up, brushing my hair back behind my ears. “Sorry, guys,” I blurt out, grinning. “Dropped my napkin.”
Lorenzo looks at me with a question in his eyes, but I shake my head imperceptibly. I’ll explain later.
Taking his hand, I decide I’ve pressed my luck enough. “This was fun, but Lorenzo and I really should be getting to bed . . . like now.”
“But it’s early!” Emily protests. “We can still—”
“I didn’t say go to sleep,” I add, pushing Lorenzo out of the booth as Doug laughs and shoots Lorenzo a thumbs-up. “Have a fun night!”
“What about tomorrow?” Emily asks as I get to my feet, freezing me. “I mean, whatever you’ve got planned, it can’t be all day, right?”
Shit. “Ahh . . . not really,” I reply, knowing that my schedule includes the early morning meeting with Meredith and then a bit of preparation with Janey. Then we’re taking the afternoon off to get some sun and talk through the arrangements for Tuesday’s luncheon. But really, most of my work this week is the rehearsal, the wedding, and the reception, and since I can’t put together bouquets this early, the majority of my work tomorrow will be phone calls and confirming the deliveries of our fresh materials. “You know, we’ll probably hang out some.”
“Are you kidding? You’re on your honeymoon and don’t have every moment planned?” Emily says, springing her trap. “I have an idea. Doug and I are going kayaking tomorrow afternoon to a private island just off the coast. They have private cabanas, flamingos you can feed, and the most beautiful backdrop ever. What if you guys came along?”
I really, really want to decline, and I open my mouth to say it’s impossible when Lorenzo speaks up. “What time should we meet you in the lobby?”
What is he thinking?
I look at him, shocked and a little outraged. That was totally off script. I want to be done with this pretend thing. Especially after the scare with Meredith. I mean, I got my comeuppance on Emily. Mission accomplished.
So why are we continuing this farce? I can’t keep it together like this again, that’s for sure.
And I really do need to focus on work!
“That’s great, Lorenzo. How about two o’clock? We’re doing a balcony brunch and then we’ll be ready to go.” Emily throws out one more jab, letting me know that my plan of ‘hanging out’ is grossly lacking compared to her romantic brunch overlooking the lush grounds of the resort.
I roll my eyes, but Lorenzo nods for us and Emily beams. “See you tomorrow!” Emily says as Lorenzo takes my hand and leads me . . . well, half drags me, out of Heat.
Once we’re in the elevator, I growl at him. “Why’d you agree to tomorrow?” I ask, finally able to be furious. “What are you trying to do, Lorenzo?”
I’m prepared for all sorts of answers. He likes kayaking. He thinks he and Doug can be bros. He wants to work on his tan, although that’s sort of stupid.
But I’m not prepared for what he says.
“Because I want to spend time with you,” Lorenzo says, his utter honesty flooring me as surely as a bonk on the head. “Without this fakeness, we have no excuse to be together. And all through dinner, all I could think about was that as I had you pinned to the door earlier, I never got a chance to taste your lips the way I want to. I want to taste them, feel your tongue on mine, feel your legs wrap around my waist for real.”
Heat shoots through me, but it’s not anger any longer. Nope, we’re back to pure, unfiltered lust.
And then he says the one thing that could make this whole fiasco even better. “Besides, after really meeting Emily . . . pissing her off is pretty much the most fun I’ve had in ages. It might be the best thing I can do in Aruba, especially if it keeps me close to you. She thinks you’re beneath her and wants to remind you of that at every opportunity when the truth is, you are so far in the stratosphere above the rest of us that we shouldn’t even be able to see you.”
I’m . . . speechless. This isn’t some spiel in a fake date. This is real, authentic, and as he looks into my eyes, I feel a fuzziness in my stomach. No, not fuzzy . . . fizzy and sparkly and sweet, like I’m filled with rose champagne from my toes to my nose.
He sees it, sees me, and thinks I’m fine just the way I am, not lacking because I’m not what an Andrews should be. And he sees Emily for what she is too. Everyone else is fooled by her fake saccharine sweetness, but not me. And not Lorenzo.
My defenses are crumbling, and all I can do is stammer. “I . . . I don’t know the first thing about kayaking.”
Lorenzo chuckles and pulls me close. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you or at least draw attention away from you with my own lack of skill so you won’t worry about it.”
I want to lean in and kiss him, to give in and let him have me, but something stops me. “Uhm, listen, that table thing? Meredith and Claire walked in,” I explain, not wanting to fake more than I have to with Lorenzo. “Meredith could’ve seen us, and even though there’s nothing wrong with our having a relationship . . . it’s not something I can afford to have her hold over me. Especially because it’s not real.”
I’m reminding myself. I’m reminding him. We’re here for one reason only . . . to work. Even if my thoughts of flowers are more stupidly romanticized porn right now than bouquets . . .
He spreads my silky petals, tasting the sweet nectar of my pleasure.
Lorenzo chuckles and cups my cheek. “What are you thinking, mia rosa?”
I shake my head, losing the silly train of thought, and he acts as if I were mentally here with him the whole time. “So no pretending, except with Emily and Doug. If Claire or Meredith sees us, we’ll simply be two contractors enjoying the reso
rt.”
“Right,” I agree.
That smirk of his is back. “Then let us go to bed.”
I realize how stupid all of my arguing about appearing to barely know each other seems when we’re staying in the same room.
The same bed?
No, he’s sleeping on the couch. I’m putting my foot down on that.
Chapter 7
Abi
The light is too bright, and I squeeze my lids shut, praying for another few minutes of sleep. Seriously, I know I’m closer to the equator, but does that mean that the sun needs to launch itself up out of the horizon to stab death lasers into my—
A soft snore has me waking up a hell of a lot faster than the glare of the sun.
I lay stock still, though, trying to pry the cobwebs out of my mind and remember.
Lorenzo.
In my bed, by my side, damn near snuggled up next to me.
I should be mad. This is not what we negotiated during our hotly contested discussion last night.
“You get the couch. This is my room.” It takes all I have not to stomp my foot as I make the decree. Dinner was amazing, sexy, and romantic, and he boldly told me he wants to spend more time with me, which gets my blood racing and my pussy slick.
But I don’t think I’m strong enough. That’s why I’m dying on this hill . . . we are not sleeping in the same bed.
“Suit yourself. If you don’t want to share, we don’t have to.” It’s too easy, plus the quirk of his dark brow tells me he’s got something up his sleeve.
Still, I’m not expecting a king-size feather pillow to fly through the air and bop me square in the face. I sputter, “What the hell?”
He shrugs, pulling off his shirt and tossing it carelessly to the floor beside his suitcase. Utterly at ease, he tells me, “You don’t want to share, and I assume you’ll want a pillow to sleep on the couch. No?”
I bend down to grab the pillow and throw it back. But my aim isn’t as good as his and it goes sailing past him and into a lamp. “Shit!” I yell. But he catches it, righting it on the nightstand with sure hands.
“We are doing this pretending for your Emily, and I am not sleeping on a cot in my room or on a couch in yours. We can be adults about this, Abigail. This bed is near the size of some rooms.” He sounds so damned reasonable and mature.
Good for you, asshole. You can be mature and not attack me like a sex-starved bear in the middle of the night. I can’t say the same and I’m trying to save you—and myself—from getting sprayed with bear spray.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes off, and sighs at my ridiculousness.
He’s right. I know he is. I just have to manage to not impale myself on his dick for eight hours. I glance at the clock . . . make that six hours, if I’m lucky.
“Okay. But you’re sleeping on top of the blankets and I’m sleeping under them. No funny business.”
“Of course.” I think we’ve reached an accord, but he stands once again and drops his slacks to the floor, kicking them and then his underwear into the same pile as his shirt.
I screech, “What are you doing?”
He is nude. Fully nude and half hard. And not a blurry shape behind a foggy shower wall. No, he is live in Technicolor, every carved muscle and ink line, right down to his cock, which is lying down his leg.
My eyes lock on it. His hair is trimmed short and tidy, very European, and as I stare, it grows. “Uhh—”
“Abigail.” My name is soft on his lips, as though he’s in pain, and when I glance up to meet his eyes, he cups himself. “I sleep nude. I’m going to sleep as you requested, but you’re making it hard.”
“I can see that,” I murmur, wishing he’d move his hand again.
He chuckles, a deep vibration in his chest that makes his abs jump, and I come back to myself.
“Shit. Sorry. Okay, we can sleep in the same bed, but you have got to wear underwear. Briefs, boxers, tighty whiteys for all I care, but you have to cover up.” Or I’m never going to make it till sunrise.
That is my final offer. Every other line, he’s blown right past, and though I argued, I secretly wanted him to. But this one . . . I need him to do this for me.
“Very well, mia rosa. For your honor, I will respect this. This time.”
A shiver runs through me when he basically tells me tonight will be one of many nights he sleeps by my side.
Back in the morning light, he snores again, kicking a leg out of the sheet and rearranging himself. The blankets have fallen by the wayside to leave him gloriously exposed, and I’m rethinking my demand that he cover up because behind those boxer briefs, his morning wood is tall and thick, proudly greeting the day too.
And I want to see him fully aroused. I want to touch it. I want to taste it. I want to feel it.
Maybe I could just peek a little? If I’m careful, he might even sleep through it.
“Good morning, Abigail. Every filthy thought running through your head is written on your face, mia rosa,” he growls out, his voice rough with sleep. “I love it, so bold and eager.”
Busted!
But I’m not one to throw my cards down and walk away from the table, even when I’ve lost. I double down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was looking out the window at the beautiful sunrise.”
“Mmmhmm,” he says, not believing a word. He casually reaches down and scratches his balls, and I track the movement. Until he chuckles again. That gets me moving.
I hop out of bed, snatching up my robe to throw over my own nightclothes. Thanks for the super-short nightgown, Archie!
But before I can escape into the bathroom, my bedroom door opens. Janey stands there with two cups of coffee and a mouth open so wide, she could catch flies. She recovers quickly, though, her open mouth becoming a wide grin. “G’morning, Boss. G’morning, Boss’s dick du jour.”
“Janey!”
She has zero shame or apology as she hands me one of the cups. Then she has the nerve to bypass me and offer the other to Lorenzo. “This one was supposed to be mine, but you can have it. It’s black, and you’re hard.”
“Seriously? Can you cover up?” I shriek at both of them as Lorenzo nods his thanks for the coffee.
“She’s a little grumpy in the morning,” Janey stage-whispers, “but with you here, I’d think she’d be a little more chill. Unless you didn’t get the job done?” she pries with narrowed eyes. “You’re working with quality dick, but it’s not just the equipment. You gotta put in the work too. Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work.”
“Janey! Get out!” I yell, forcibly pushing her out of the room. As I slam the door, Lorenzo laughs heartily.
“Get dressed, Abs. We need to be downstairs for the meeting in an hour. No time for hanky-panky, Romeo,” Janey says.
“Lorenzo,” he calls out to correct her.
I don’t think she misspoke, though. She knows his name, and she knows me. I like love and romance, and she thinks Lorenzo might be my Romeo. But did she forget that everyone dies in that play?
We get dressed, and the process feels intimate, a dance around the room as we take showers, brush teeth, and pull on clothes for this meeting.
“I think we need to leave a few minutes apart so we arrive separately. Less suspicious that way,” I tell Lorenzo as I slick waterproof mascara onto my lashes. The heat here is fierce, and I might cry angry tears if Meredith gets too bitchy, so the heavy-duty stuff is a necessity.
He pauses to give me a narrow-eyed glare. “Everyone will be arriving at the same time because that’s when the meeting starts.”
That sounds so reasonable but feels so risky. I’m not sure I can walk in there at his side and not be tomato-faced and obvious about where we spent the night. Even if it’s not exactly what people would think.
When I don’t answer, Janey does for me from the bedroom doorway. “Just go along with it, dude. She needs to be on her A-game, and I can’t have you fucking up this opportunity.”
<
br /> He shakes his head. “Fine. I’m ready, so I’ll head down now.” But he doesn’t leave. No, he comes over to the vanity, framing me with his arms and pressing me to the cabinet. Meeting my eyes in the mirror, he says, “Go to this meeting and be The Abigail Andrews. Later, you will be mine.”
He passes by a starry-eyed Janey with a nod, and once the door of the suite opens and then closes, she screeches. “Ahh! Holy shit, Abs! I need to hear everything. Every. Single. Thing.”
I open my mouth to share some of what happened last night, but she holds up a hand. “Not now. As much of a greedy bitch as I am, we have to get our asses in gear. Unless Lorenzo got yours? I’ll be late this morning if you’re telling tales of anal with that particularly wow specimen of maleness.” She holds out her hands in a movement that reminds me of Carly reaching for her beloved Cheerios. Gimme, gimme, gimme.
“No! Nothing like that!” I claim.
“Then you, out the door. Now.” Janey’s not kidding, literally shoving me toward the door.
Downstairs, Meredith looks at her watch with a lift of her brows as Janey and I walk in, despite the fact that we’re not only on time but early. The room is full, way more people than I expected.
“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started . . .” Meredith directs.
She starts to her left, working her way around the room. I sit through check-ins with makeup artists, hair stylists, photographers, videographers, security, drivers, a DJ, musicians, decorators, and even Meredith’s assistants. God, what an awful job that must be.
Lorenzo gives a quick rundown of meals he’s doing, ending with the reception’s fettuccine alfredo.
“Last and least . . . oh, pardon me! I meant, last but not least, of course,” Meredith says, eyes dancing as she smirks at me. That was intentional, for sure. What does she have against me? “The flowers.”
She can be petty if she wants, toss insults my way, and call me ‘flower girl’, but I’m on top of things. I did the checks with Janey and everything looks good. The boxes arrived and have been sorted and refrigerated.
My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon Page 10