Faking It (UnReal #1)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  “Now that you have calmed, why don’t we get down to business? You have seventeen more minutes of my time.” He quickly releases my face and pulls away, my body immediately protesting the sudden withdrawal of his body heat and delectable scent. Something manly, smelling of coffee, mixed with soap and aftershave.

  Mentally slapping myself, I follow Mr. James as he directs me to sit on the couch while he takes his own seat. I snap out of my hormonal haze, sitting with one square cushion between us. “So, Miss Hall, why should I bring my artwork to your gallery?” he begins, wasting no time. He is all business and anything that happened between us last night seemingly a mere figment of my imagination. With that, it’s time I snap into work mode and sell. “Well. Mr. James—”

  “Call me Hunter.”

  “Oh yes, um… Hunter,” I softy say his name while witnessing his eyes darken. His intense gaze is triggering my nerves and making it hard to remember the end of each sentence. “I…I…”

  Shit. What was I saying?

  It’s wrong and semi crazy to smack yourself in public right?

  I mentally shake off my glitch. “Well, St. Markey enjoys your work. To personally have the feel of you inside me would be a great addition to our…” I trail off because did I seriously just say the feel of him inside me!? Gah! “I meant the feel of your hands inside… No wait. Your talent inside…” Okay, stop saying inside anything, dammit.

  The way Hunter is clenching his knuckles into fists confirms I am not going places with this sale. His voice thick, he addresses my butchered selling attempt. “Would you like to take a minute to regroup and start over?”

  I nod and inhale a hefty chunk of air. “Your paintings. St. Markey.”

  Four words, seven syllables.

  Just shut up, Lexi.

  I know I’m totally blowing this one, but I also know I only have fourteen more minutes to go and then at least I can get the hell outta here.

  “What do you think of my work, Miss Hall?” he asks, his tone serious but filled with something else. Something coaxing. As if he genuinely wants to know what I think.

  I take a deep breath remembering the breathtaking pieces I studied. “I think your work is exquisite. I enjoy the color pallet you choose, and you have an eye for portraits. You seem to understand beauty. You choose your muses just right. At St. Markey, we only carry the finest line of artwork and the most prestigious. All of our pieces are priceless. Once our clientele takes a look at your work, they will be struck by the magnificence of it and will refuse to leave without taking it home for themselves.” I finish sounding more like myself. But then again, I am telling the truth. I googled his art on the way to the airport and learned just how amazing his work truly is. I only hope feeding his ego overrides my botched selling skills enough to consider us.

  I wait for him to respond to my spiel, but he hasn’t stopped assessing me with his penetrating gaze. His eyes are fully black, missing the greenness I saw last night. His hands are by his waist, still clenched, knuckles turning whiter, if even possible. I’m not sure what I said worked, I’m convinced I buried this sale. I suck in my breath waiting for the veritable thumbs down when he finally he speaks. “You are correct, Miss Hall. It seems that they do carry the finest artwork at St. Markey. I will not deny the fascination I have with this gallery or even more so with their staff.”

  Their staff?

  He clears his throat. “So I have an offer for you.” He stands, walking over to the desk in the adjoining suite. He returns with what I recognize to be the contract from St. Markey, its elegant logo proudly displayed on the letterhead. Holy shit he’s going to sign. My eyes light up but I try to maintain a professional demeanor. He sits back down and places the contract on the coffee table.

  “Absolutely, Mr. James. Whatever you need, we are here to accommodate you.”

  “It’s Hunter. And I am glad to hear that,” he answers, looking at me expectantly.

  Oh! “It’s Lexi. My name is Lexi.”

  “Thank you, Lexi.” He draws my name out slowly. Jesus Christ, I just felt that one in my vagina.

  “I will sign this contract, and I will bring whatever paintings you so please to sell at your gallery, but I want something in return,” he states.

  “You just name it, Hunter, and I will work my magic to give you what you need.”

  His lips tilt in a smug smirk. “I find that very comforting, Lexi,” he returns, lifting his hand and brushing away a lose stand of my hair.

  “So… um, what is it you need?” I stutter breathlessly while enjoying the feel of his fingers now grazing down my cheekbone. Possibly a little bit too much.

  “I need a painting for my private collection.”

  “Okay great, which artist are you interested in? I will begin to make some calls immediately,” I offer.

  “I will be the painter, Lexi, but it is the muse I am searching for.”

  “Oh,” is all that I say, my breath coming out in a rush.

  His dark eyes lose contact with mine for a moment, almost as if avoiding my gaze before he continues. “It’s been too long since I have painted something…flawless. My hands have been itching to create a masterpiece. Something so breathtaking that it is almost taunting to look at,” he says. At this point I’m pretty sure I’m leaning into his hand and I can’t really remember what the hell we are even talking about. It’s irrelevant though, because whatever it is he is alluding to, I plan to agree.

  “Anything you want,” I breathe.

  “Great, because I want you.”

  “Anything… wait, huh?” I snap out of my horny haze. He didn’t just say me, did he?

  “I want to paint you. If you’ll allow me to do so, I’ll agree to having my work featured at St. Markey. We both win.”

  I’m definitely still drunk. Did he just say he wants to paint me? This hot piece of artist ass must be off his rocker! No way would I let him paint me. But wait, shit. Then I picture coming back with no signed contract and having to live on the streets, or worse, an apartment that doesn’t sit on a high rise.

  “That’s it? You just want to paint me, and then you sign?” Wait, I’m actually inquiring about this!?

  “That’s correct,” he returns.

  Okay, so on the outside it seems easy enough. What’s the harm? He paints me, I get a huge bonus and get to move one floor higher in my building. I mean I have said yes to stranger things in my life. Oh, to hell with it. “Fine, you have yourself a deal,” I agree all too quickly.

  His eyes flash instantly with approval, a slow smile breaching his face. He brings his hands together massaging his palms. Suddenly I find myself fixated on his movements, wishing my body was in between those hands. Shit. What is wrong with me? I blame the inappropriate thought on my hangover. Even though I know it’s more. Because this guy is letting off a vibe so strong, I can feel it trembling under my heels.

  “Great. But I have one more request.”

  “Fine. Whatever it is, it’s yours.” I can smell the bonus I’ll score from this deal over my hormones and it makes me giddy with excitement.

  “I want to paint you nude.”

  And that smell of money just got overridden with an explosion of Oh shit.

  AT THE SAME TIME my jaw hits the floor, the hotel phone buzzes, breaking Hunter’s intense stare. He prowls over to the end table to unlatch the receiver, bringing his attention back on me as he proceeds with his quiet conversation. I close my mouth and attempt to swallow. My throat thick. This has to be a joke. He has to be messing with me. After what I did last night, he must not have any intention of signing that contract. I should have known he wasn’t going to. I bolt up and grab for my purse.

  Hunter’s body tenses as my intentions register. “Where are you going? We’re not finished, Miss Hall.” His dominant voice carries across the room.

  Oh yes we are.

  “This is not a joke, Mr. James. I’m not some sort of hooker,” I argue sounding hypocritical considering I did just proposition him l
ast night.

  He ends the call abruptly, prowling toward me. “It’s Hunter and this is not a joke. I am completely serious with my offer.” He stops in front of me. I glance at him once more, his eyes hard, his body stiff.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have time for games, Mr. James.”

  “Hunter,” he barks back, “—and I am dead serious. I will sign the contract.”

  “Yeah, if I get naked for you. What, can’t you get a woman on your own?” My words sting as they leave my mouth. I need to get out of here. With a grimace, I turn to the couch to gather my belongings. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time and mine. Good day, Mr. James.” I turn to walk away. He doesn’t follow, but his voice hits me straight in the back. “I will pay you one million dollars.”

  Even my ears must be hungover because I swear he just said one million dollars. I stop in my tracks and turn around, shocked at his offer. His jaw is clenched, his hands gripping his narrow hips. It isn’t until now that I fully take in his appearance. He’s wearing a pressed, crisp white business shirt, the sleeves rolled up, combined with a pair of, what appear to be, some ratty old jeans. Holes and random flecks of paint peppered throughout. His shirt is untucked and his jeans, loose. “I will sign your contract, as well as pay you one million dollars to allow me to paint you,” he repeats, a slight beg to his offer.

  “Why?” I ask, not that it would matter. Because one million dollars sounds completely unappealing. Wouldn’t even consider it. Nope!

  “Because… you fascinate me. And from the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one.”

  Say again? “Excuse me?”

  “The one. My muse. I have been suffering…unable to find beauty in anything. I haven’t held a brush to canvas in over seven months,” he confesses, as though he were letting me in on a deep dark secret. “The moment I saw you, though, I felt it. After you slapped me last night, I came straight back to my room and painted. I haven’t even slept. It’s you. I need you and I will pay you.”

  I’m not sure what more to say. Besides, I’m too busy with my mouth back open to form a sentence. The crazy thing is there isn’t even the slightest bit of bullshit to his words; in fact, they are spoken with raw honesty. “I promise you no one else will see them but me. You have my word.” He looks worried now. Almost scared that I will say no. And he should be because I need to say no. Who agrees to something so completely crazy like this?

  “And how long would this take?” What did I just ask?

  “Maybe two days. A few days, max. I will pay all your expenses. Anything you need.”

  “And what happens if I say no?”

  The rigid posture returns, his facial expression hard. “Then we do not have a deal.” Yep, that sends me back to square one. Screw this guy. I love money like the next girl, but what I don’t love is jerks.

  “Yeah well, thanks but no thanks,” I reply and turn again toward the door. The clacking of my stilettos on the shiny marble of his penthouse floor is the only sound that can be heard between us. As I hit the button for the elevator, I feel Hunter behind me. His body heat is setting my back ablaze as he pins me with his dominant frame. I expect him to say something. Do something. But he doesn’t. His solid chest pressed against my back, his heavy breaths hitting the outside of my earlobe.

  “Please,” he finally whispers, almost like a plea. “Please say yes to me, Lexi.” His words sending a spiral of heat down my spine. He’s barely touched me, yet I feel as if I’m going to combust. “Let me paint every contour of your exquisite body. Every curve, every dimple.” His mouth is so close to my skin that I imagine his lips on me. His warm breath caresses the back of my neck, traveling down to my collarbone. “Tell me you don’t feel just a little bit intrigued at how freeing it would be to sit for me. To expose yourself to me while I take in every part of your body and transform it into my own private masterpiece.”

  I exhale audibly, my shoulders beginning to weaken. His arms lift, enclosing on each side of my now pulsating body. His strong hands press against the wall forming a barricade around me. “Tell me that you don’t agree that your body is a paradise for any man’s eyes. I need that. I need to be able to capture that beauty and paint a vision that leaves me struggling for air every time I look at it. That is what you will give me if you say yes.”

  I'm a little embarrassed but I think I may have just climaxed. His words definitely hit the spot. And he is right; I am curious about what it would be like for him to paint my naked body for his own personal pleasure. I know there is something wrong about this offer, yet wickedly tempting all the same.

  At this point, my breathing is unsteady, the feel of his strong form up against mine is making it hard to even think straight. I should tell him no, because it’s the right thing to do. I won’t offer my body just to get a sale. No matter the price.

  I am about to tell him that when he brings his torso even closer, and I feel him press fully against me, his solid flesh hard and straining. Everywhere. “Say yes Lexi,” he whispers into my now throbbing ear. Every part of my body is pounding. My mouth opens, struggling to speak, my throat drier than the damn Sahara desert. Before I have a chance to say no, he flips me so I’m face to face with him, his height just mere inches taller than mine. “Say yes to me, Lexi.” His unforgiving gaze holds me captive. He has me right where he wants me.

  “I—” am not doing this, “I—” am so saying no, “I—I want the contract signed before I do anything,” I blurt, shocking us both. His eyes darken, as mine go wide. I don’t have a chance to retract my answer because he is crushing his mouth onto mine. I don’t move at first, the shock of his intentions paralyze me, but once his tongue makes its way into my mouth, and the taste of him triggers my brain, I melt into his kiss, moaning at the feeling of his lush lips bruising mine. As I bring my arms to wrap around his neck, he pulls away abruptly. My arms freeze midair and my eyes flutter open. He’s backing away hastily, the businessman back in command. “I’ll um … I will have the papers signed by noon. I want you here by one o’clock. Don’t be late. I need to attend to some other business.” With that, he turns quickly and retreats back to his penthouse.

  I, well I don’t retreat anywhere for at least a solid two minutes. And that is because I am frozen in my spot, still gawking at the place where he once stood. I bring my shaky hands to my bruised and swollen lips. “What the fuck was that?” I mumble to myself. I need to get the hell out of here. I swiftly turn and jab at the elevator button, because clearly when you press it a billion times a second, it comes faster.

  The door finally dings, and I practically throw my body into the compartment. “Down, down, down.” I panic as I press the close button. Thankful when it finally shuts, I press my back against the cool mirrored wall.

  What in the hell did I just agree to? I do what’s normal and smack myself. “Ouch.” Okay I’m awake. Just then the elevator sounds again, letting me know I’m back on my floor. I race to my room. Once I am in, I slam the door shut throwing my body against it.

  “Shit,” I say to no one. “Shit, shit, shit,” I repeat like a mantra, hoping it will make things more clear. Nope, doesn’t work. I begin to pace my room. Okay, so good thing is, I got the signed contract. Well not officially, but he is going to sign it.

  But at what price?

  He wants to paint me.

  Naked. As in, stark nude.

  I slap myself again. “Shit, that hurts.”

  I’m still pacing my room when my phone goes off. I grab it from my purse to see it’s Chrissy. “Shit!” Answering it, I lay on my happy act. “Hey, you hussy homemaker!” I fake chirp.

  “Well, what happened?” she presses. “Did you get it?”

  “Who am I?” I gloat, trying to act confident about my sales skills.

  “You got it then?” she pushes.

  “Duh, what’s my name?”

  Chrissy begins to scream into the phone, “Whoooooo!!!! Oh my God, so awesome! I knew you could do it. So what did you have to say? Do? Tel
l me everything!” Oh, you know, just offer myself to him on a silver platter, naked. “Just a little swindling. He was all for it. Pretty easy sale honestly.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “I knew you could do it! Great job. Cornelius is going to shit his pants.” Weird, he’s not the only one.

  I let Chrissy go, because I officially have less than three hours to come to terms with what I just agreed to. And how do I begin to try and decipher that kiss? I mean, it was panty-dropping hot. The way our bodies aligned perfectly together as his mouth ravaged mine. Like the beast in him came out hungry for its prey. But then again, he did jump off me like I had tried to set him on fire.

  Little did he know, he had my entire body in a blanket of flames.

  I HAVE BEEN PACING my penthouse like a mad man since she left. My palms are clammy and I can’t stop rummaging my hands through my hair at the realization of what she just agreed to. Or the fact that I fucking kissed her. God those perfect lips. I can still feel them pressed against my mouth ready and willing. Then I propositioned her to pose nude for me which I’m not even sure I can go through with. What have I just done?

  I must be losing it.

  I had no intentions of giving this gallery the time of day. I don’t need the publicity. Nor the money. It all means nothing to me. But the moment I saw her standing in my living room, I snapped. Possessiveness that I’ve never felt before exploded inside me as the memory of last night surged through me. From the instant she sat down next to me at the bar to seeing her standing so close, the need to know everything about her has tripled. No, it’s quadrupled.

  But it wasn’t just because of how she looked. Although, she is heaven to look at. That, not a single man would deny. Before I even got a glimpse, it was her scent that almost knocked me to my knees. A mixture of something sweet mixed with a tiny aroma of lavender drifted into my nostrils and my body wanted nothing but to engulf her.