Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club Book 10)

by Elise Faber

  “I know all about families and pushy,” she said, pulling him out of all thoughts fake. “I’m the oldest sibling and the only single one. Oh, the humanity!” Her lips quirked when she rested the back of her hand on her forehead, a la fainting Hollywood starlet of the past. Then she sighed, and a little sad crept into her eyes. “I don’t necessarily want to be single, but—” She lifted and dropped one shoulder. “Sometimes things don’t always work out the way we want.”

  “I feel that.”

  A sigh before she set her fork down and then lightly clapped her hands together. “Okay, so here is your last chance to run away or to demand an exorbitant payment in exchange for playing my fake fiancé.”

  “I thought we covered that already. I’m happy to play your fake fiancé.”

  Brown eyes narrowed. “Just like that? No ulterior motives, no secret basement with a cabinet full of serial killer tools?”

  “Just like that,” he said. “And my condo doesn’t have a basement.”

  She began winding pasta around her fork again. “I noticed that you didn’t address the ulterior motive piece of my statement.”

  A snort. “I already told you I wanted a date.” He waved a hand at the table, the plates, the glasses of wine. “Thus, my ulterior motive satisfied.”

  “Hmm.”

  She put the bite into her mouth, and he took the opportunity to do the same. The pasta was good, great even, but he could barely taste it. Not when his focus was so firmly on the woman across from him. Fascinating. Beautiful. Empathetic. Nice.

  And quiet.

  Just a little quiet, as though she didn’t mind short stretches of silence.

  It was nice, that quiet. Peaceful, not oppressive. She was nice.

  She set her fork down, eyes going wide, and he felt a blip of alarm travel through him. “What?” he asked.

  “I just realized that if we’re doing this, there is so much I need to brief you on. My family. My parents. My siblings—”

  “That’s the definition of family, right?” he teased.

  “Shush, you,” she said, though her smile was teasing the corners of her lips up. “But also, yes, I guess that’s what I meant by family.”

  “Can’t we play it by ear?” he asked. “It’s only two dinners.”

  “They’re going to interrogate you.” She groaned. “They’re going to want all the details of how we met and our first date and—oh God!—my friends. You haven’t met my friends. They don’t know anything about you, and they know everything.” She picked up her fork, shoved a bite of pasta into her mouth, all while shaking her head fiercely. Once she’d swallowed, she shook her head firmly once more, scattering her hair over her shoulders. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this. It’s insanity. I just need to come clean.”

  He didn’t want her to come clean. He wanted more time with her. “It’s two dinners.”

  “I—”

  He shrugged. “I can manage two dinners, Kate.”

  “You haven’t met my family.”

  Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ditto.” He reached across the table, squeezed her hand. “How about you pretend two dinners are my ulterior motive?”

  She frowned.

  “Two more dates,” he explained. “That aren’t family dinners. That are just you and me getting to know one another. That will be payment for your favor.”

  “Deception with a side of ulterior?”

  His lips twitched. “Seems fitting, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Or maybe it’s dinner with a side of engagement?”

  The laughter didn’t just bubble up this time, it burst right out of him. “Yes,” he said through it. “That’s exactly it.”

  “Damn.” She made a face.

  His amusement cut off. “What?”

  “You’re even nicer than I expected.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Only that”—she shook her head—“never mind, it’s a silly thought.”

  “No.” His hand found hers again. “What is it?”

  A forkful of pasta into her mouth, her words muffled. “Really,” she said, “it doesn’t matter.”

  “We can’t start off a fake engagement on a lie.”

  Her mouth fell open, a strangled sound emerging. “What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Sure, it does.” He snagged her roll again, brought it up to his mouth like he was going to eat it, and her gasp of outrage made it clear that was the best ransom around. “Tell me,” he ordered.

  She frowned. “So, sexy, smart, funny, nice, rocks a perfect man bun, and also a blackmailer.”

  “Fiancés should discover these things about each other.” He shrugged, forced himself to bite back his smile when she rolled her eyes. “See, Red? We’ve made progress in our deception.”

  She snagged the much-abused roll back. “Mine.” A bite. “And also, I was thinking that nice never lasts, okay?” She took another bite, chewed and swallowed, deliberately changing the subject. “Okay, so I’m the oldest of three. What about you? How many siblings do you have?”

  Jaime knew he had a choice. Push or let it go.

  Pushing might destroy the fragile bond they were just beginning to build. Pushing might mean he’d never get to his other plans—that being, how to get more than two dates with this smart, lovely woman sitting across from him. Pushing might mean that he’d never get a chance to turn fake into real.

  So, he let it go.

  And then he told her about his family.

  Four

  Kate

  He’d paid the bill, like it was a legitimate date.

  He’d talked about his family with equal parts love and exasperation. That was such a familiar feeling and one that made her like him even more.

  It made him dangerous, the degree with which she liked him, and yet she also wanted to live in the moment, wanted to grasp on to that floating feeling of a new relationship.

  When everything was all puppy dogs and rainbows and fun.

  Before it deteriorated and the asshole appeared.

  “Can I—?” She blinked out of her woolgathering, saw that Jaime was gesturing at her hand, asking to hold it.

  Her ovaries were already dead and gone from one bowtie wearing guinea pig and kind brown eyes, and now her heart spasmed.

  Fuck, he was nice.

  She nodded, and he laced his fingers with hers. Such a simple touch, but it still took her breath away. His hand engulfed hers, the sensation from the roughness of his palm rubbing against the softness of hers. It raised the hairs on her arm, made heat drift down her spine, slid in—

  “Your fingers are cold,” he murmured, wrapping his other hand around hers and bringing it up to his mouth, blowing warm air over her skin.

  She shivered.

  “That’s not all that’s cold,” he said, dropping her hand and shrugging out of his jacket. He dropped it over her shoulders, covering the thin wrap she’d donned but that didn’t do much to protect her from the cool evening air. “As much as I hate to cover up that pretty dress,” he whispered in her ear, “I can’t have you turning into a popsicle.” Then slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her against his side.

  Being there, pressed against the hard of his muscles, the spicy male scent surrounding her, his arm a hot brand around her middle, meant it took a few moments for her to whisper, “I wasn’t actually cold. I just like the way your hand feels against mine.”

  A soft admission. One she almost couldn’t believe she’d spoken aloud.

  But then again, nothing about this entire scenario was believable.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Are you too hot now?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then it’s win-win for both of us.”

  Smiling, she snuggled closer, and when he asked if she wanted to walk down to the waterfront, she agreed even though her feet were killing her. “Why does it feel like I’ve known you for more than one date?” she blurted.

  His f
ingers tightened on her waist. “Because we’re fake engaged?”

  Kate snorted. “Somehow I doubt that’s it.”

  “Because you’re really into me?” he teased.

  “I’m really into your Instagram profile, that’s for sure,” she teased back. “All of those animals.” A shrug. “And I guess that fact that you’re in them too is fine.”

  He tickled her lightly. “I feel the same.”

  She tapped her chin, teasing aside, it was a legitimate thought. She never felt this comfortable with men after just a few hours. There was just something about Jaime that made her feel like she’d arrived home. “Maybe it’s because we’re both part of big families?”

  “Big, nosy families?”

  “Yeah, that, too. Wait. Come this way,” she said, pointing to a walkway when he was going to miss the best part of this area. After they’d rounded the building and slid into a little alcove that overlooked the perches where the sea lions liked to rest during the day, but for now was beautifully illuminated by the bright moon overhead, she said, “Well, either way, I’m just really thankful that you agreed to my scheme. I know it’s wrong to lie to my parents, but I just want . . .”

  Ick. It made her sound like a total wimp to admit that she didn’t want to disappoint them. But . . . it was the truth. She’d disappointed them far too often in her life.

  “When your family is close, it’s hard to feel like you’re not meeting their expectations.”

  A sigh. “Yeah. That.”

  And also, maybe that was the fact that this man had led her over to a bench and was cuddling her close.

  Because that was incredible.

  Big body. Warm hands. Intoxicating smell. Gentle words. Soft hold.

  Jaime was a cornucopia of her fantasies come to life.

  “What else should a fake fiancé know about his woman?” he asked when they sat in quiet for a couple of minutes.

  Kate thought for a few seconds. “Her favorite color is purple. She likes sunflowers and loves Hermione Granger. She can’t stand tomatoes but loves all things marinara and ketchup.” She nudged his shoulder. “How about you? What should I know about my fake significant other? Besides his amazing blackmail abilities and his abuse of my roll.”

  A grin that hit her right in the gut, his voice close to her ear and making her shiver all over again. “Well, his favorite color is red. He’s partial to dogs over cats and will eat anything as long as he can drown it in ketchup.”

  She fist-pumped. “Ketchup buddies.”

  “I can see it now,” he said, spreading the hand that wasn’t resting on her waist wide as though he were a director painting the scene for his actors. And maybe he was, for all that she’d had fun the last few hours, the crux of what was between them was just acting. “We fell in love at first sight when we both reached for the same ketchup bottle at the diner.”

  “Our hands touched.” She reached out, squeezed his fingers, forced herself to keep her tone light. “And sparks flew.”

  His voice dropped, a silken thread sliding across the back of her neck. “And that was it for me,” he murmured, tugging her closer and resting his chin on the top of her head. “I somehow convinced you to give me your number. The rest is history.”

  A blip of disappointment slid through her. Not because she didn’t like the story, but because she liked it too much.

  “Exactly,” she said, straightening, sliding from his hold, and pushing to her feet. “But we should get going. I have to work at least half a day tomorrow.”

  “About that,” he said. “What time is dinner? Should I pick you up so we can drive together?”

  She nodded. “Yes. That sounds good. Dinner is at seven-thirty, but we should try to be there by about six-thirty. Want to pick me up at my place? It’s only a half hour drive, even with Friday traffic.”

  “I can do that.” He pushed to his feet, reached for her hand. “I’ll be there at six and we can drive over.”

  “You sure?” Kate asked. “Last chance to run screaming for the hills.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You don’t have any temperamental cats on the schedule?”

  He grinned and she melted from the inside out, letting him tug her to her feet, reveling in the feel of his warm, rough palm against hers. This might all be pretend, but there was one thing that wasn’t fake—the way her body responded. She enjoyed the contact, felt comfortable with him touching her. Okay, so more than comfortable. She freaking loved it, wanted to strip off his clothes and see if his abs were as good as his pictures, wanted to feel the strands of his hair brushing across her stomach as he kissed his way down.

  A shiver, even with his coat.

  “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

  Not about to confess why she’d shivered this time, Kate leaned close when he wrapped his arm around her waist, walked beside him as they made their way back to her car. “So, no cats?” she asked, after he’d inquired about where she was parked, and had turned them in the direction of it with the confidence of someone who’d lived in the city for a long time.

  “Maybe one or two,” he said, tracing. “But I definitely have a temperamental chicken.”

  Her feet skidded to a halt and she tugged him to a stop. When pale brown eyes drifted down to hers, she placed her hand on his chest in a movement that felt natural and yet also far too intimate. But when she made as though to pull back, he placed his palm over her fingers, pressed lightly to keep her hand there.

  Her pulse fluttered, but she forced herself to say, “Explain.”

  The ghost of a smile. “About the chicken?”

  She huffed. “Obviously.”

  “I’ll tell you as we walk,” he said, urging her forward.

  Narrowing her eyes in mock-warning, she started moving again. “You’d better. What’s the temperamental chicken’s name?”

  “Barry.”

  Her feet threatened to stop again, but his arm just tightened, hand coaxing her forward. “Tut. Tut. No stopping. My woman is cold.”

  Another shiver, this one caused not by her brain and its fantasies, but by the notes of heat beneath that phrase my woman. In another world. In her dreams. In a fake lie that . . .

  “Well, my man doesn’t give orders,” she countered.

  He burst out laughing. “Maybe more accurate would be to say that my woman doesn’t listen to orders.”

  She chuckled. “That would be the truth.”

  “So, you want to hear about Barry the Chicken?”

  “That may be my favorite question that anyone has ever asked me.”

  He snorted. “Is that a yes?”

  Her fingers tightened on his chest, pressing against his skin, feeling the steady thrum-thrum of his heart beneath. “That’s a yes.” She grinned up at him, rising on tiptoe, wanting to see his face clearly when he told her the story. Except, she miscalculated and lost her balance, falling against him, her breasts pressed to his chest.

  She gasped, nipples hardening, fingers clenching. “Jaime—”

  In a move so quick that she could barely process it, she suddenly found her back pressed against the cool stucco of the building they were walking next to. He’d slid an arm behind her back, cushioning her against the hardness of the wall, and his body was pressed to hers, so hot, so hard, surrounding her, overwhelming her, making her head spin, her nipples ache, her thighs quiver.

  “I want to kiss you.”

  It wasn’t phrased as a question, but rather a statement. As thus, it took her a moment to process his words, especially with him all warm and hard against her.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  His mouth was on hers.

  No hesitation. No long, slow descent.

  One second she was pushing the assent out of her lips, the next, his tongue was in her mouth, stroking along hers, his free hand on her cheek, angling her head so he could taste her properly.

  It was a whirlwind, that kiss.

  Not gentle or
teasing. Not like a typical first date peck.

  This was domination. This surrounded her, took her over, filled her with fire that threatened to incinerate her from the inside out.

  Then it was done.

  He shifted back minutely, slid the hand on her face down her arm, her side, resting it on her hip. But he kept his body against hers, and the feel of him was enough to take her breath away. “Want to hear about Barry the Chicken?”

  Her fingers were in his hair, mussing the neatly organized locks when they clenched at the husky question. “No.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “No?”

  Kate rose onto her tiptoes. “No,” she murmured. “I’d rather kiss you.”

  And then she put words to action.

  Luckily, Jaime didn’t seem to mind.

  Five

  Jaime

  It had been a spectacular first date.

  And he’d been engaged for the entirety of it.

  Snorting, he made a few notes in the computer and thought of the snap he’d sent to Kate a few hours earlier, beyond glad he’d managed to finagle her number from her.

  Well, in all honesty, it was less finagling and more common sense.

  Fiancés had their future wives’ numbers.

  Simple as that.

  Except . . . nothing was simple when it came to this woman and the depth of feeling he had for her after one dinner and a short walk. Maybe it was all the social media stalking, or maybe it was just her, just the realization and fleshing out of that feeling he’d had upon seeing that first picture.

  The notion deep inside that this woman was more than just a face in a photograph.

  Now he had a chance to prove that to himself . . . or maybe to her . . . or the universe, her parents, her siblings, and friends.

  Long ass list, that was.

  But the thought of lying to everyone important to her, and the unease it caused, had slipped way to the back of his brain. Because when he was in her presence, the only important thing was getting closer, unearthing all the little—and big, he supposed—things that made Kate, Kate.

  Like the GIF and chain of emojis she’d replied with after he’d sent her a picture of him and Barry.