It was a totally outrageous idea. A fake marriage in this day and age? And yet . . . she thought of her empty apartment. Pisa had been gone only a few days, but already Chelsea was struggling. Every noise at night made her spin into panic. A light had burnt out in the bathroom and she’d held her pee until it was daylight again and she’d called her neighbor to change it. Those weren’t rational actions.
Then again, neither was getting married to a guy she barely knew.
She studied Sebastian. He was gorgeous. Dark olive complexion; thick, wavy black hair; piercing green eyes. Great build. Friendly. Handsome. Wealthy. He seemed smart.
But she was pretty much dead inside after her incident. If he thought he was getting more than a friend, he’d be sorely mistaken. “This would be completely platonic, right?”
“One hundred percent,” he agreed. “I’m going to be blunt. If I wanted to get laid, I could walk out into that room and get just about any woman there once she found out how much money I have. I could have a Sexy Cookie Monster and Sexy Elmo sandwich.”
“So modest,” Chelsea said sarcastically.
“Just being truthful,” Sebastian replied. “You think it’s not the truth?”
“No, I think you’re right, and that’s kind of sad.” She grimaced and adjusted her kneepads. “Okay, then.”
“Okay, what?”
Chelsea blinked at him. “I’m saying, okay, we can get married.”
He sat back. He looked surprised. “Really?”
“You’re the one that suggested it. I’m just agreeing with you. I’m game to have a platonic marriage if you are. It might be a relief to not have to worry about being hit on for the next while.”
Sebastian looked blank for a moment, and then a slow, boyish grin spread across his face. “Really?”
“You keep saying that. Really,” she emphasized. “Really, and truly, I’m down for this crazy marriage. But we need to work out details.”
“Of course.” He spread his hand and gestured at her. “Let’s work the details out.”
“Well, for starters, I need a roommate.” Her apartment was nice, but she’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant crashing on someone else’s couch, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone. Plus, her Etsy soap shop wasn’t bringing in the cash that she needed to keep a NoHo apartment. It barely made enough for subway fare and food. Pisa hadn’t minded, but now that Pisa was gone, well . . . she was going to have to step up production and get creative to make more money.
“I have a penthouse off of Park Avenue. Six bedrooms. You can come stay with me.” His big shoulders shrugged. “We’d have to cohabit to make a sham marriage work anyhow.”
Oh, wow. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “Okay, you’re right. We’ll go with your place. Separate rooms I assume?” Her voice sounded prim.
“Absolutely. Once we’re inside, nobody has to know what goes on.” He grimaced. “Well, except for the staff.”
“Staff?”
“I have maids and an assistant.” His smile curled up on one side. “You don’t think I’d clean six bedrooms myself, do you?”
He had a point. Most guys she knew of did well picking up their dirty socks. “I’ll need an extra bedroom for my business, too. Preferably close to a bathroom or a kitchen.”
“There’s two kitchens. You can have one of them . . . after you remind me what it is you do again.”
“I make soaps and sell them online.”
His blank look told her that it was clearly something he’d never considered before. “People buy soap online?”
She chuckled. “Oh, heck yes. Mine are artisan soaps, and I have a vegan line that’s very popular.”
“Vegan soap? Why is soap vegan?” His lip curled.
“Because people oppose using animals?”
“Yes, but you’re not eating the soap, are you?”
“It’s still made with glycerin, which is made from animal hooves.” She leaned over and elbow checked him. “Can we not get distracted by soap talk? We’re discussing room arrangements. And since you’re the billionaire, I’m going to need you to pay for me to break my lease.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You gonna pay me back?”
“Hey, you need me. I don’t need you,” she said, voice teasing. Truth was, she kind of did need him. The thought of another person puttering around the house—even if it was his house—filled her with such relief that she knew she was going to take him up on this ridiculous offer, no matter how weird it got.
“Fair enough. I’ll break your lease for you.” He nudged her back with his elbow, a buddy move. “And you need a kitchen for soap. That’s easily done. And I can make the staff sign NDAs about our sleeping arrangements.”
“Or we can just tell them you snore.”
“Or we can do that.”
Chelsea drummed her fingers, thinking. There was a lot to consider with a marriage. “Do I need to take your name?”
“I don’t know. You think it’ll be suspicious if you don’t?” He rubbed his chin, thinking.
“Maybe we can hyphenate. How long is this sham marriage thing going to last? If we’re only doing this for a few months, there’s no point in changing my name.”
“It has to be longer than a few months, or that’ll cause more scandal than it’ll fix.” Sebastian considered. “Would you be okay with two years?”
Two years and she’d be tied to him? It seemed like a long time to date someone . . . but then again, this was platonic. She wasn’t interested in him romantically, just as a friend. And she’d lived with Pisa for three years, and that had gone by in a blink. “We can do two.”
He looked relieved. “You’re pretty easygoing about this.”
Chelsea shrugged. “I’m not after your money, so what’s there to argue over? I assume you want a prenup? I’m really not interested in cashing in.”
“Oh, there will need to be an ironclad prenup or my lawyers will freak the fuck out.” He grinned. “But I’ll give you a settlement. Whatever you think is fair.”
“One million dollars,” she said, quoting Dr. Evil. She raised a pinky to her mouth.
Either he didn’t get her joke, or he didn’t realize she was joking. “A million’s fine. You do know this will be in the tabloids for a month or two, right?”
She shrugged. “I’m not thrilled about it but I figured as much. I promise to be polite and only shoot them the bird every now and then.”
He snorted. “Shoot them the bird as often as you want. Just be ready to be followed.”
That sent a prickle down her spine. “But you’ll be with me, right?”
“Of course. I’ll be holding your hand like a properly newlywed husband.” He reached out and clasped her hand in his.
She looked at their joined hands. So very odd, to be contemplating a quickie, sexless marriage between friends like this. But it just made so much sense, and it’d help both of them. “You think people will buy that we married for love?”
“I think they’ll buy it on my end,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “You’re kind of hot.”
Chelsea grinned at him. “You’re not exactly liver cheese yourself.”
“Liver cheese?” He looked aghast. “It’s clear you’re not doing the grocery shopping in this relationship.”
She stared at his mouth for a moment, another thought occurring to her. “We’re going to have to make this look real, aren’t we?”
“Only if we don’t want to be in the tabloids for a lot longer than we already will be.”
“Then we should practice kissing to make sure that we can do it, and that it doesn’t mean anything.”
His brows drew together. “I’m sorry, but that sounds ridiculous. Practice kissing? What next, a practice fuck?”
“God, no.”
Sebastian laughed. “The way you said that wounds my masculine ego.”
“It’s not you,” she said, patting his arm with her free hand. “I’m just not interested in fucking anyone at the m
oment.”
He gave her a speculative look, then shrugged. “You want to practice kiss? All right with me.” He leaned in and gestured at his mouth. “All yours.”
An uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach. She had to do this, though. If he tried to kiss her and she freaked out on him, that wouldn’t work. She needed to make sure she could do this before moving ahead with the fake marriage.
So Chelsea leaned in and pressed her mouth to his. His lips parted under hers, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth, all the while fighting panic. She was going through the motions, her tongue stroking against his, licking at him. Then, when it seemed adequately long enough for a decent kiss, she pulled away.
There. That wasn’t so bad. “Perfect. Didn’t feel a thing.”
Sebastian rubbed his mouth. “Yep.”
* * *
Holy. Fuck.
This . . . could be a problem. Sebastian kept rubbing his mouth as his driver took him home that night. After the kiss, they’d agreed to get together again tomorrow to hash out a few more details and help her pack up her apartment. Then, they had returned to the party, where Chelsea had clung to his side, her hands wrapped around his arm.
It was pretty clear she’d felt absolutely nothing in their kiss. The delighted look she’d given him and the way she’d hopped up like she’d gotten a reprieve from prison? That told him everything he needed to know.
Unfortunately for him . . . he hadn’t felt “nothing.” He’d felt quite a bit, actually. The moment her full lips had brushed over his, he’d felt electrified. And then she’d glazed her tongue over his mouth.
And his cock had become instantly alert.
Sure, he was a guy. He was going to get erect when a gorgeous woman kissed him. When she pressed her body up against his and slowly, sensually tongued his mouth, he’d felt a massive jolt go through his system despite telling himself they were just friends.
But now he couldn’t stop thinking about . . . what if they weren’t just friends? What if they had a marriage with some benefits on the side? What if they crawled into bed together and had hot, nasty sex . . . with no strings attached? Just for fun? He imagined Chelsea’s plump lips curving around his cock and clenched the door handle.
It was clear she wanted this as friends only, though. He shook the thought out of his head.
Marriage of convenience. No more. No less. It was what he needed, and even he admitted that sex just fucked things up. If he wanted an example, he just had to look at Lisa.
As the driver dropped him off in front of his building, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. He flicked his fingers over the screen even as he walked inside, nodding at the doorman.
Safety Date Chelsea: I forgot to mention something earlier. I’m going to need Tuesday nights, Thursday nights, and Saturdays to myself.
Sebastian: I’m sure that’s doable. Any particular reason why?
SDC: Yes.
Sebastian: Wanna share?
SDC: Nope.
Sebastian: Fair enough, see you tomorrow.
He put his phone away as he got to his penthouse, but Chelsea’s terse message was bothering him. She clearly had a schedule for something. And he thought about her black eye. If there had been a boyfriend, abusive or not, she wouldn’t have jumped on the marriage.
And she’d had zero reaction to his kiss. He was a pretty good kisser, wasn’t he?
So what the hell was going on?
Chapter Eight
Sebastian showed up at Chelsea’s apartment the next day at five in the morning. They’d decided on a super early hour to avoid any chance of paparazzi or harassment from his end. To his surprise, every light in her apartment was on. Chelsea was awake and in pajamas, but she looked sleepy and tousled. Her black eye from the night before was fading, the puffiness gone. A dark smear ringing her eye was the only memento of its existence.
“Hey,” she said, and yawned. She waved at him. “Come on in.”
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, taking in Chelsea’s apartment. He noticed two things: It was extremely bare and it was extremely well-lit. Track lighting in the ceiling was accompanied by lamps in the corners, and everywhere he turned, there were more lights. Other than the lamps, though, there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. An old beat-up papasan chair and an end table were all that was in the living room. The dining room had a few boxes. The walls were bare. “Did you spend last night packing?”
“Hm?” She rubbed her eyes, and for a moment she looked so adorably sleepy that he had to fight the urge to toss her over his shoulder and drag her back to her bed—wherever it was. Friend-zone, he reminded himself. She’s allowed to look sleepy, you horny fool. She moved forward and her breasts jiggled under her pajama top, clearly not confined by a bra. He had to turn around before his dick got carried away.
“Oh, the apartment. Nah, my last roommate moved out a week or two ago. I haven’t really fixed the place up since she took her stuff out of here.” She strolled into the kitchen. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re moving in together, right? You want a coffee or something?”
“Nope. I’m good. I’ll have coffee on the plane. Thank you, though.” He put his hands in his pockets and glanced around the small apartment. “Do you need help packing anything?”
“I’ve got it,” she said, and padded out of the kitchen a moment later with a spoon and a jar of instant coffee. She ate a spoonful of granules while he was staring, and grimaced.
“Doesn’t that taste horrible?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, making a face. “But it sure wakes me up.” She pointed down the hall, where he saw three doors. “I put all my soap-making stuff in the empty room, but I can pick it up later. Same with the furniture, I guess.” She squinted at him and crunched her dry instant coffee a bit more. “Where are we going to get married?”
“Vegas?”
“That’s kinda cliché.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
She blanched and swallowed hard, and then made a face. “Oh, god, that tasted awful. I’m really awake now, though.” She put the instant coffee down and headed for her bedroom. “Lemme think. Do people still get married at Niagara Falls?”
“No clue. Canadian or American side?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and shut the door. “I’m going to change, but keep talking,” she yelled from the other side. “Let’s do something fun.”
“Vegas isn’t fun?” Sebastian called back. He pulled out his phone and began to type into the search engine. Fun places to elope. “Napa Valley Vineyards?”
“I don’t drink,” she called through the door. “Think of something else.”
“Lake Tahoe? Arkansas?” He read off, flipping through links. “New Orleans?”
“Oooooh,” she yelled through the door. “I like New Orleans!” A moment later she emerged in skinny jeans and a long, gray, off-the-shoulder top that showed bright pink bra straps. She grinned at him happily. “You cool with New Orleans?”
“Just as long as we aren’t married by a voodoo witch doctor, I’m good with anything.”
“Great,” she said cheerily and held up a tote. “I packed a bag. Let’s go get married, shall we?”
He put away his phone, impressed with how quickly she was ready. Her hair had been pulled into a loose ponytail at her nape and she’d splashed water on her face, but wore no makeup other than lip gloss, which she slicked on as he watched. That one quick movement was arousing as hell, and he wondered if he was too hasty in suggesting they be platonic only. “No second thoughts?” he asked her.
She squinted and studied him. “Well, I’m having second thoughts about that outfit of yours, but other than that, no.”
“That wasn’t what I—” He looked down at his navy linen sports shirt and cargo pants. “What’s wrong with my clothing?”
Chelsea tugged at one of the buttons on his shirt. “They don’t scream, ‘Whee, I’m eloping with my hot new girlfriend.’”
His mouth q
uirked. “No? What do they scream?”
“They scream, ‘Whee, I just read that the DOW was up thirteen points.’”
He laughed and unbuttoned the first button at his throat. “Better? Am I wild and crazy now?”
She snorted, then reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, tousling it. His body immediately reacted to her touch, his cock aching with need. Chelsea didn’t notice the way he stiffened, though. She reached for his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, then stepped back and judged him. “Better. Now you just look like a businessman on a bender.”
“Perfect for a rebellious getaway marriage.”
“Exactly!”
She lifted her arms. “Let’s go, then!”
“Did you want to pack anything else?”
She shrugged. “I can get the rest of it when we get back.”
“I can send a man over to get it for you, if you’d rather. Or hire a crew.”
She gave him a dimpled smile. “That works, too.”
“We need to stop by my lawyer’s office for the prenuptial agreement before we go to the airport.”
“Cool.”
She was entirely too casual about this. “You can still back out, you know. We’re about to enter into a two-year agreement for a fake marriage.”
“Nope, I’m fine with it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not entertaining any other prospects, and it’ll help us both out, right?”
“Right,” he said. Fuck. Two years of being married to this woman and not being able to touch her. He watched her walk to the front door of her apartment, noticing the way her hips swayed under her long shirt.
Maybe he was the one who needed to think things through again. Sebastian quickly shook the thought out of his head. He needed this fake marriage, if nothing else, to get Lisa off of his back and to avoid his mother’s ever-present camera crew. Things would boil over for about a week and then fall into silence. Blessed, blessed silence.
The Billionaire Takes a Bride Page 6