Contracted For Love: Famous Love Series

by Tracey Pedersen

  He groaned and knew for sure he’d miscalculated. She needed to be far away before those four men arrived to oggle her in her tiny bikini. “Maybe you should go shopping, instead?”

  “Nope. I’m not spending any money.”

  “I could give you my card.”

  She eyed him, trying to work out why he was so keen to get her out of the house. Maybe he didn’t want people close to them figuring out their fake relationship before they’d had a chance to perfect it a little more. They’d been doing well at pretending up until now, and several more photos had appeared online of the two of them together on the Strip that first night. “Why do you want me out of the house?”

  “I don’t. The band members aren’t exactly gentlemen, though. That white bikini will get their attention… it might distract them from our rehearsal.”

  “Seriously? You think I have that kind of power in a bikini, huh? To distract grown men from their jobs?” she smiled at him and walked across the room to stand directly in front of him. He looked above her head at one of the ocean pictures on his wall—anywhere but at her eyes, which challenged him to tell her the truth. “Maybe I need to get in a little practice at making you jealous, since we’re going to be married, and all.”

  “Try your best, Princess. I’m immune to you, as the last few nights with you in my bed may have shown.” A loud knock sounded on the front door and he stepped away from her. “That’ll be them. Try to stay out of the way.”

  “I have no intention of doing any such thing,” she said. Jack watched in horror as she reached down to remove her sweater. Underneath, she was wearing a sheer, blue shirt that didn’t hide the turquoise bra she wore underneath. The shirt had a plunging neckline, almost to her waist, and he forced himself to drag his eyes away and look at her face again. “I was saving this to torture you later, but it seems I’ll have a new game today.” She smiled innocently up at him and he glared at her as the pounding on the door turned into the four new arrivals greeting Mrs. Jones. She ignored everything they said and led them down the hall to the silent battle raging in the lounge room.

  Jack turned at the last minute and welcomed four of the most gorgeous creatures Charlotte had ever laid eyes on. Rock gods—that’s definitely what they were. They made Jack look like a clean-cut boy scout in their black leather, coloured scarves, studded jackets, and torn tank tops. Three of them had jet-black hair and the fourth had stiff, white-blonde bangs sticking out from under a maroon hat that had been jammed onto his head at a sexy angle. Charlotte had planned to rush forward and gush over each of them, just to piss Jack off, but she stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe that four more magnificent men existed anywhere else in the same space.

  They hooted and slapped Jack on the back before the tallest of them strode right to Charlotte and took her hand from where it hung limply by her side. She looked up into his eyes as he licked—actually licked—the back of her hand. “My, my, my, what have we here, Jack? Did you hire entertainment for the day?” Charlotte looked at Jack in shock, expecting him to answer in a rage. He stood, as speechless as she was, though, at the licking display that had just taken place. The tall man smirked and returned his attention to Charlotte. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “If we’re taking turns, I want you first, baby.” He squeezed her ass before giving it a slap.

  The slap seemed to galvanise both of them into action, and Charlotte pulled away sharply before letting a little laugh escape her. “You wish, buddy,” she said weakly as Jack finally sprang to life and strode forward.

  “Get the fuck away from her, Reid. She is not the entertainment. This is Charlotte, and she’s going to be my wife.”

  Four made-up faces showed absolute amazement as they looked from Jack to Charlotte and back again. Reid spoke first, “Holy fuck, man. You’re getting married?” Jack could only nod. “To this pretty princess?” He gave another nod, before Charlotte finally found her normal voice.

  “What’s with all you fucking men calling me ‘Princess?’ Lick me again—Reid, was it?” He nodded. “Lick me again, Reid, and you’ll need a wheelchair to get you to the recording studio.”

  “Oh, baby, if I ever get to lick you again, it will be you who’ll be walking on unsteady legs. I promise.” He grinned as she looked shocked, before he lost interest and turned to Jack. “Why didn’t you tell us you were taking your dick off the market, man? Cindy is going to be so pissed when she finds out.”

  “Ha! Cindy never stood a chance and she knows it. Three years she’s been trying—that should have been sign enough for her.” Jack shook himself a little and suddenly it was like he was someone else. He was relaxed and his smile came readily as he joked with the band. “Anyway,” he indicated the four men, one by one, “You’ve met Reid Rogers, Char. This is Fingers Fergus, Richie Reynolds, and Keith Kitchner.”

  Charlotte’s lips twitched while the introductions were finished and each man reached forward to shake her hand.

  What kind of stupid fucking names are those?

  They seemed a little more reserved, now that they knew she and Jack planned to get married—except for Reid. He continued to eye her with interest, and she couldn’t help but remember his words that he wanted her first. He’d mentioned entertainment. How gross if buying girls was a regular part of their rehearsal day. She’d have to ask Jack about that later; would he tell her the truth, or avoid the issue completely.

  As she watched them together, Jack seemed like the odd one out. He was dressed in jeans and a tight blue t-shirt with bare feet. He didn’t look like a rock god next to the other four men, who were now filling their lounge room with raw energy, black leather, and giant, studded boots. They took their ball of energy out to the pool and bustled off to the studio with barely another glance in her direction. She watched them go and felt Reid’s eyes on her over Jack’s shoulder as he turned back to close the glass door.

  “Stay out of trouble, huh?” he said.

  “Like fuck,” she replied, knowing he couldn’t hear her.

  ***

  “Man, how you gonna concentrate with that sweet ass around the house?” Reid let out a low whistle as his attention was riveted by Charlotte getting settled by the pool in her white bikini. He turned to Jack with a smile, “You sure you don’t want to share?”

  “No, Reid, I don’t share. You should know that by now.”

  “Dude, just looking at her makes my balls ache. If you change your mind, I’ve got first dibs.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Can you please stop making comments about my fiancée, now?”

  Reid tore his eyes away from the window again and pulled his guitar strap around to the front of his chest. “Okay, man, I’ll stop, but you’re going to need to install curtains before our next session.”

  ***

  Charlotte lay on her stomach by the pool as the sun beat down on her tanned skin. She knew she looked hot in her white bikini, and she’d positioned herself with her back to the studio and made a point to wave her legs every so often, pointing her toes when she remembered. She’d take a swim shortly, and that’d be sure to get a reaction from inside the studio. She wondered how annoyed Jack would be with her later.

  She hadn’t come out here only to rile Jack up, though that was an added bonus. Her script had finally arrived for the movie and she needed to learn her lines. She had a few weeks, so she wasn’t feeling any pressure at this stage. As she flicked through the pages, Charlotte snorted.

  Fucking Richard James!

  No sex scene had been added to the script—he hadn’t even had one added to try to maintain the pretence that what had happened in his office had been anything other than him trying to get a piece of ass. Jack had insisted he would accompany her to the first day of shooting, even though she’d told him it wasn’t necessary. He assured her he was going to help her career along and introduce her to several influential producers he knew, but she suspected he had other plans.

  They were getting married to further both of their
careers, but now that it was happening, it felt dishonest, somehow, and she wondered if they were making a mistake. Surely she stood to gain a lot more from this union than he did?

  As she read through the pages of the script, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself saying the words. It was an easy way she’d found to remember what she was supposed to say. She acted the scenes out in her imagination long before she had to act them out for the camera.

  As she was running through the scenes for the second time, she heard the faint sound of the band playing behind her. The studio must have had some seriously thick walls to muffle the music so well. She craned her ears to try to hear it, but the soundproofing did its job too well. She was dying to know what they were creating in there; maybe Jack would let her listen, if she was nice to him.

  Unable to hear the music and already tired of the few paragraphs of lines she needed to learn, she let her thoughts wander to Jack. Mostly, she tried not to think about him, but after sharing his home and his bed for four nights, she was fascinated by the fact that he’d barely softened toward her at all. He still scowled when she insisted on visiting the kitchen, although he’d spoken to Mrs. Jones and the two women were now allowed to converse freely. Charlotte hadn’t pushed her luck, yet, but she had a secret plan to get Mrs. Jones to teach her how to make the amazing berry pie they’d had for dessert on her second night there.

  Jack hadn’t agreed to accompany her to the Strip for another visit, yet. He’d booked their tickets for Paris, though, and she felt a shiver of excitement knowing they’d be flying out two days from now. Paris! Her family had hardly been able to believe it when she’d finally told them her news about the engagement and the holiday in Paris. She could tell her dad had been worried, by the tone of his voice, but he’d hidden it well and hadn’t grilled her too much. She was glad since being in a fake relationship was more work than she had expected.

  Pretending she hadn’t heard the sliding door behind her open slowly, Charlotte lifted herself up onto her knees and stretched her arms in front of her. She arched her back and wiggled her bikini-clad bottom in the air. She then sat on her knees, stood, and dove into the pool in one fluid movement. When she surfaced at the shallow end, she turned to face the studio and slicked her hair back. Just like before, the faces of the band stared open-mouthed as she stood waist-deep in the water, her white bikini having turned completely see-through, now that she was soaking wet.

  “What?” she asked as she saw Jack’s face turn a deep shade of red.

  ***

  “Why are you so angry with me, Jack? It’s been days since the pool incident.”

  Jack glared at her over the newspaper he was reading. His eyes flicked down her body to take in his future wife, wearing his favourite t-shirt paired with tiny, denim shorts. He’d tucked that shirt away on a shelf to keep it out of her hands, but she’d found it, anyway, and her breasts now proudly proclaimed her as a member of the USC alumni. She’d never even been to college, dammit!

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. We’re flying to Paris tonight. How can we go if you’re not speaking to me?”

  “Why do you even care? You’re getting the vacation you were promised.” His eyes returned to the paper, dismissing her.

  She watched him as he ignored her. She’d never liked arguments to drag on and on, preferring to have a slap-down, drag-out row and clear the air. He’d been ignoring her ever since the band left, though. Charlotte had eaten dinner alone for two nights, and there was no way she was going to Paris just so he could shun her in the most romantic city on Earth. Maybe it was time to play the good wife card, even though the thought of it made her want to gouge her own eyes out.

  After letting out a sigh, she walked slowly around the table and put her hands tentatively on his shoulders. She let them rest there for a few seconds, making sure to give him a chance to push her away. Jack didn’t rush to stand up, though, just sat statue-still as he read with his head down.

  So far, so good.

  Charlotte slid her hands from his shoulders toward the nape of his neck, and as she pressed her fingers into his muscles just below his hairline, she marvelled at her first real touch of Jack Fawkner. No matter what the public thought, you could not mistake him for being anything but all man. He worked out every day, and she felt the hardness under his shirt as her fingertips explored across his shoulders. It was thrilling to be so close to him, and she dug her fingers in harder and moved them in circles as she ran up and down on either side of his spine. He didn’t move, though—he wasn’t giving in to her that easily.

  Charlotte’s hands slipped inside his t-shirt and she massaged his broad shoulders with her thumbs, skin on skin. He twitched slightly and she grinned to herself. It seemed Jack wasn’t oblivious to her touch, after all.

  She continued to move her hands across his skin in slow motion as she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Can we be friends?”

  “No.”

  Shit! He isn’t going to make this easy.

  “Please?” she spoke into his ear again, exhaling so her breath would tickle his ear. He stayed silent, but he put the newspaper down and raised his head. She chanced a look at his face to see that his eyes were closed as her hands still moved across his skin.

  Interesting. That has to be a sign that relations are thawing.

  She stood upright again and concentrated on giving him her best shoulder massage—easier than it sounded. The feel of his warm skin under her hands and the fact that he’d closed his eyes and was letting her continue had its own effect on her. Charlotte couldn’t help but think about seeing him without that shirt on; a feat she hadn’t managed to achieve these last two weeks.

  He hadn’t been in the pool and he’d seemed to be careful about only showering when she was elsewhere in the house. He’d been in bed each night when she turned in, but she’d caught the odd glimpse of his bare shoulder, which had been enough for her to know that the rest of him would be magnificent. Until now, she’d had to imagine it. She dared not breathe, in case he suddenly changed his mind as her hands pressed and kneaded the muscles in his back and shoulders. She slid them up to cup either side of his neck and then into his hair.

  He suddenly stiffened in his seat and stood abruptly; she’d found his limit. He turned to face her with his arms crossed. “That’s enough.”

  Charlotte smiled up at him, uncertain of whether to press further or let him go. “I would have liked more.”

  His eyes widened just the slightest amount as he took her in, her parted lips patiently waiting for his response. “There won’t be any more. We aren’t in love, no matter what the contract says. Your performance in front of Reid confirmed that for everyone present.”

  “Are you angry because you think they won’t think we’re together?” her brow crinkled as she spoke. She’d thought he was pissed about the see-through bikini, but there seemed to be more to it.

  “Fuck, no.” She tried not to smile at his profanity, but she was having a definite influence on him after less than a week of living in the house. “They’ll believe whatever I tell them. I’m angry because he couldn’t take his eyes off you and you encouraged him. You deliberately dove into the pool when he came out of the studio, and then you stood there, looking innocent and showing him your boobs. I’m never going to hear the end of it from him.”

  Ah… the bikini was to blame.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t purposefully aiming my attention at Reid.”

  “Right. He watched you the whole time we were rehearsing and kept asking me to share you.”

  Her eyes widened at the idea of such a blunt discussion between the two men—and in front of the rest of the band, too. Was that really how men behaved? She walked the few steps to where he was standing and placed her hand lightly on his bicep. “It sounds like you should be angry with Reid. I never inferred that I was available for sharing.”

  “Oh, I’m angry with Reid, but the fact is, if you hadn’t flaunt
ed yourself at him, it wouldn’t have happened.” He was tight-lipped and his jaw twitched as he ground out the words.

  “I don’t want to escalate this, Jack, but frankly, I could have been wearing a neck-to-ankle sack and Reid would have behaved any damn way he pleased, from what I can tell. I’m sorry if I upset you, but can we please put this behind us and enjoy our holiday?” She paused to consider what she was about to say. “I don’t want to go to Paris with you if you can’t forgive me. I’ll just stay home.”

  He stared at her as she stood so close to him. She could smell his cologne—the smell from his wardrobe, their bed, and the shirt she was wearing. She’d never forget his smell, even if this marriage idea didn’t go much further. She sighed when he didn’t answer and turned away to go to their bedroom to unpack her bag. What a shame; she’d been so excited to explore Paris with him.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped before disappearing into the hallway. “Yes?” Charlotte looked at him with sad expectation. It felt like he was about to tell her this had all been a mistake and that she should just take herself back to LA.

  “We can go to Paris on one condition.”

  “There’s always a condition with you. All right, Jack, what is it this time? I promise to wear pants, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He smiled at her smart-ass comment and shook his head. “No, you’ve been quite compliant in the pants department lately. I need you to get rid of the bikini.”

  “Throw it out?”

  “Yep. I don’t think I want to see it again. Do you have another?”

  “Sure. You won’t like it any better, though—it’s skimpier than the white one,” she paused as she watched his face change, “and red.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and let out an exasperated sigh. “Dear God, woman. You’re going to be the death of me. Don’t you have a sensible one-piece?”

  “Nope. No room in the suitcase, remember?”