Man Candy: A Fake Marriage Romance (Fire & Ice Romance Series Book 3)

by Kylie Parker

  I can't wait another minute and dart into the street. I'm crossing one way or another. I don't bother saying goodbye. Nope. I have to get away from him. He makes my brain turn to mush and my body hum. My body craves his. Every time he is near, I get a little wet and my thoughts turn to sex.

  I laugh to myself, “This must be what it's like to be a guy.”

  Earl looks at me as I enter the door, “What?” he says.

  I start laughing again, “Nothing, Earl, I was only saying good morning.”

  He looks at me, not buying my story, but smiles anyway, “Good morning to you, Alexa.”

  I punch the elevator button and prepare to face an onslaught of dirty looks from the women in the office and the lecherous eyes from all of the men. By the end of the day, my reputation as the hard working and very dull Alexa will be destroyed. I will be known as the harlot that fucks rich guys in the club.

  Perfect.

  15

  Dylan

  I stroll into my office, ignoring the whispers. It is nothing new. I go out, have a good time and it ends up on the front page. I don't care.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” Mrs. Daniels greets me.

  I smile. I love this woman. She ignores the gossip and always treats me the same. She knows me or maybe expects me to behave like a bachelor and never looks down at me when I get caught.

  “Blake is in your office,” she tells me. “That boy never listens to me. One of these days I am going to lock that door and he won't be able to make himself at home.”

  I smile, “Thank you for trying, Mrs. Daniels. I will remind him of his manners.”

  She nods before slowly lowering her body into the chair behind her desk.

  I stroll into the office to find Blake sprawled out on one of my brown leather couches. He has a bottle of water pressed to his head and another in his hand.

  “Looks like you had a rough weekend,” I say, not surprised to see him begging for death on a Monday morning.

  “I need one of these couches in my office. How come I don't have one?” he whines.

  “Because you don't own the company. If you want one, go buy it yourself.”

  He stays on the couch, his eyes closed, “You will not believe the phone calls I have been fielding already this morning. It gave me a headache.”

  I laugh, “No, the heavy drinking, lots of sex and no sleep has left you with a headache.”

  He moans, “Maybe, but the phone calls are what I don't like and that's what I am blaming.”

  I sigh, already knowing what's coming, “Why the phone calls? Who and what are they bitching about?”

  Blake slowly sits up, “A rep for the Larsens canceled our meeting. They apparently saw the picture. You offended them or some bullshit.”

  I roll my eyes, “I don't care. I can fuck my way through the city and it is none of their concern. Tell them it can be a nice, polite purchase or it can be a hostile takeover. I will take them down. No one gets to dictate my life.”

  “It isn't just the Larsens. Investors are bitching as well. They are convinced you have turned into some drug crazed sex maniac that is destroying the company,” Blake says with a heavy sigh.

  “It's my company,” I shoot back.

  He shrugs, “But they have stock and they put in money and all that B.S.. Don't make me explain it all. My head hurts,” he whines again.

  I shake my head, this has been brewing for a while. It is coming to a head and I have a feeling it is going to blow up in my face if I don't address it head on.

  “Schedule a meeting with the top shareholders. I will take care of this.”

  Blake looks at me with one eye, the other squeezed closed as if the light hurts, “Really? What are you going to do, Dylan?”

  “I'm going to set the record straight and then I am going to remind them I am a 30-year-old man who isn't required to report to them about my personal life.”

  Blake pops open his other eye, “Dylan, I don't think that is a good idea. Your personal life is their business in a way. If they think you are spiraling out of control, they are going to get squirrely. They are going to pull their money out. I know it sucks, but man, you have to try and convince them you aren't a loose cannon. Telling them to shove it isn't going to help anything.”

  “I am not going to tell them to shove it, but these old codgers need to realize the gossip rags blow up even the most innocent moments. They seriously can't believe everything they read about me. Are they that stupid?” I ask with incredulity.

  “I don't know. I'll schedule the meeting, but we need to talk about what you are going to say. I'm on this ship, too. If you plan on sinking it, give me a minute to get my life boat ready,” he says, deadly serious.

  I look at him. I can see he is truly concerned. Maybe I should be as well.

  “The sooner you get that meeting scheduled, the better,” I say, flipping open my laptop.

  Blake nods, “I'll let you know.”

  I quickly pull up the Google news homepage, wanting to check the tech news, but freeze. A close-up picture of Alexa is at the top of the page. The story has been picked up by the national news syndicate. Every blogger from here to the farthest corners of the world are trying to find out her identity. It's only a matter of time.

  I click one of the images to read the article it accompanies. Of course, the piece is filled with anonymous sources that are close to me and the mystery woman. I smile. I always find it amusing to read about my antics. The inside sources are bullshit as well. I know no one has or will betray me. I pay them all too well. I know the stories aren't true, but apparently, the rest of the world, including my investors, believe it all.

  So far, Alexa's identity is still a mystery. I hope it stays that way. She will never forgive me if the press finds out who she is.

  The day stretches on. I am lucky and have Mrs. Daniels, who is an absolute mama bear. She refuses to send any calls to my office unless the person has legitimate business. I have a feeling she had heard the gossip that had spread like wildfire through the office. She heard it and admonished anyone who dared breathe a bad word about me.

  “Mr. Hawke,” her voice cuts into the room I have been essentially hiding in all day.

  “Yes, Mrs. Daniels?”

  “Blake is on line one. He says you aren't answering your cell phone. According to him, it is an emergency. Do you want me to put him through?”

  I sigh, not really, but he probably wants to tell me about the meeting, “Go ahead.”

  I pick up the phone, “What?”

  “It's out,” he says.

  “What's out?” I ask.

  He clears his throat, “Her name.”

  “Oh shit,” I mumble. “When?”

  “About 30 minutes ago. I have already called the security team. They will be picking her up at her office.”

  I can't say anything. I know I have put her in a horrible position. Her life is going to be shredded over the next week. Every skeleton she has in her closet is going to be dragged into the light. Every person she has ever spoken to, gone to school with or worked with is going to jump at the chance to get their 15 minutes of fame, riding on her back.

  “Fuck!” I curse.

  “Have Daniel get the car, not the SUV. I don't want anyone putting two and two together.”

  “Already done. He's in the garage waiting for you. Security has the garage on lock down,” he says.

  I shake my head in frustration. I want to beat the shit out of that woman for posting the photo. Slow news days were not good for a celebrity or anyone who did something dumb enough to get the attention of the media. They could take the smallest tidbit of information and blow it up into a story equal to the second coming of Christ.

  “Does she know?” I ask softly, afraid to hear the answer.

  Blake was quiet for a moment, “Not the dirty details, but I gave her the cliff notes version.”

  “Fuck!” I shout into the empty room. “I'm on my way.”

  I grab my phone ou
t of the desk drawer I had stashed it in, turn it on and wait. I don't bother listening to the voicemail. This phone is my private line. Few people have it, but the last time I went through this, it wasn't long before the media got the number.

  I grab my briefcase and head for the door, using my thumb to find her name in my directory before quickly pushing call.

  “Hello,” she answers in a defeated voice.

  “I'm sorry,” I blurt, unable to think of anything smooth or charming to say.

  She sighs, “Your guy is here. Says he is here to take me to a house? What the hell is that about?”

  I feel as if I have been punched in the gut. The woman has no idea of the hell I have unwittingly unleashed on her.

  “Alexa, please, do as he says. Go with him. I'll meet you there and explain everything,” I tell her.

  “Uh, I'm working. I have an actual job, Dylan.”

  “Alexa, trust me, you want to get out of there now, before this thing makes it impossible for you to leave,” I say, trying my best not to scream at her to get her ass in the car.

  “Hold on,” she says.

  I wait. I can hear a man's voice, her arguing and then a door slam.

  “You still there?” she asks.

  “Yes, I'm here.”

  “Uh, I was just told to go home and not come back until I fix this,” she says.

  I can hear the shock in her voice.

  “I'm sorry,” I repeat. “Go, I'll see you in a few,” I say, before disconnecting.

  I need to make some calls. There is no way I will let Alexa pay the price for my mistake. I knew better, but she is like a drug to me. The most delicious narcotic that I am fucking addicted to. She hexed me or something. I can't say her name or think about her without a visceral reaction. Even now my cock jumps at the thought of seeing her, smelling her and hopefully, tasting her.

  16

  Alexa

  I am shaking with anger. I cannot believe I got pulled in to this nonsense.

  “Are you sure I can't get you something to drink? Maybe some tea?” a middle-aged woman asks for the third time since I have arrived at this house.

  “No, really, I'm fine. I would really like to speak with Dylan. Is he going to be here soon?”

  The woman shrugs her thin shoulders, “I have no idea. I got the call to get here and I did. I will leave you alone. If you do need anything, please, help yourself. The kitchen and pantry are stocked. The bathroom is down the hall on the right.”

  I nod, but don't say anything. My mind has been spinning like a top since Jessica text me the link to the story about who I was. In a matter of seconds, pictures from my Facebook account were all over the internet. I quickly deactivated my profile, but the damage had been done. My face was out there.

  I take a moment to look around. The house isn't a mansion like I expected Dylan to live in. It is of course large and way out of my price range, but it is kind of homey. It has a rustic feel. I am in love with the high ceilings outlined with exposed beams. The kitchen and living room flow together with dark hardwood floors stretching from one wall to the other.

  Shiny stainless steel appliances glisten under the LED lights littering the ceiling in the kitchen. The light colored granite counter tops are a beautiful contrast against the dark oak cupboards that appeared to be nearly the same shade as the floor. It was definitely a luxurious home, but not over the top.

  I can't pace anymore and plop into the leather couch. Moments later I feel as if I am being cradled. The couch is amazing with its buttery smooth leather and overstuffed cushions. This is what money can buy I remind myself.

  I lean back, enjoying the way the other half lives, forgetting all about the storm brewing beyond the walls of the house. There were three gates to pass through to get here, which makes me feel protected. There will be no paparazzi peeking in the windows. No women with cell phones snapping my picture.

  The front door slams and I nearly jump out of my seat. Well, I want to jump out, but the couch seems to have swallowed me whole and I don't even care. I don't want to move. I wait, figuring if it is somebody who wants me, they'll find me.

  There is a murmur of voices, but I can't hear what's being said. I hear a door shut and then silence. Then I hear footsteps come closer, but I don't move.

  “Hey,” Dylan says, walking into view.

  I look at him, “Hey.”

  He stares at me for a few seconds before flopping down next to me. My cushion moves a little before quickly adjusting and swallowing me into its softness again.

  “Shit day, huh?” he says.

  I chuckle, “You could say that.”

  “You're not fired,” he starts. “I had a conversation with your boss, Mr. James. He agrees it would be a good idea for you to take a couple days off while this all dies down, but you will go back to your previous position.”

  I roll my eyes. Oh to be so naive.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I will never go back to my previous position. Those days are gone. The second my face was splashed all over the tabloids as the flavor of the month for the most eligible bachelor, my reputation was destroyed. I am just like every other girl in that office now. The women I work with are going to hate me. They are going to think I purposely set my sights on you. The men, well, they are going to be waiting to get their turn.”

  “No. It isn't like that. You are being far too dramatic.”

  I sit forward so I can better glare at him, the side eye isn't enough in this case, “You are clueless. Seriously, you will get a pat on the back and an atta boy and life goes back to normal for you.”

  He shrugs, as if it isn't a big deal, pissing me off so bad I swat at his chest. Yes, swat, because it wasn't a slap and it wasn't a punch, I swatted him.

  Before I know what he is going to do, he grabs my swatting hand and pulls me into his chest. The too-soft couch gives me no leverage and I fall face forward into his face.

  “I'm not clueless,” he growls a second before pushing his lips against my own. He drops my hand and places his on the back of my head, holding me in place. It is a gentle pressure, but lets me know I am not going anywhere.

  I try to struggle, to pull away, but it only results in his other arm snaking behind me and pulling my body into his. I really want to fight, but I want his kiss more. That dirty girl side of me wins again and I give in to his demands. In fact, I go willingly, pressing my breasts into his chest. I can't get close enough.

  He senses my problem. He lets go of my back and runs a hand up my thigh, pushing my skirt up. Instead of going for where I most want him, he gives a low growl and uses his other hand to pull me over the top of him. My legs spread wide and I straddle him.

  “Holy fuck, Alexa. I want you so bad,” he groans, leaning his head back into the couch.

  I don't let him escape that easy and chase his lips with my own, grinding my mouth into his. Our tongues dance, doing some kind of tango that has me writhing against him. I can feel him straining against me. I need closer. I use my hand to hike my skirt up farther. Now I can really grind against him.

  He drops a hand to my thigh before reaching around and grabbing my ass, that is completely exposed. Another low groan rips from his throat, nearly sending me over the edge. I can taste his passion and it is intoxicating. Every time he groans, it pushes me closer to climax. I want to feel him this time. I have to feel the whole length of him inside me.

  My hands reach for his belt, deftly unfastening it and popping the button on his pants. I slide my hand under the waistband, following that little trail of hair as if it is guiding me to a buried treasure. I hit the elastic waistband of his underwear, groan in frustration before moving my hand back up an inch and starting my slide again. This time, I hit pay dirt.

  He bucks as I run one finger over the head and then another before gently wrapping my fingers around it and rubbing my thumb over the cleft. I get what I want. A lovely drop of moisture.

  “I'm not going to be able to stop, Alexa,” he
growls.

  “I have no intention of stopping,” I whisper into his mouth.

  He pushes me back and with no warning, pulls my blouse from the waistband of my skirt and rips it apart. Buttons fly everywhere. I gasp at the sudden exposure.

  “Don't move,” he breathes. “Don't fucking move.”

  I don't. I watch as he stares at my breasts, neatly tucked into my dark purple bra. He reaches one hand up, touches the top of my breast and then runs his finger across to the other. The touch sends shivers coursing through my body.

  “I said don't move,” he says in a husky voice.

  “I,” I start to deny his accusation, but stop when he looks at me, commanding my silence.

  The heat of his stare is too much. I need him. I need him inside me. I slowly move my hips forward. His eyes move down my stomach to the place where I am pressed against him.

  “Fuck,” he grunts before his hands reach for my breasts, cupping them and slowly, gently massaging. My back arches under the erotic massage. I want my bra off. I reach back to undo the clasp.

  “No, leave it.”

  “But,”

  He shakes his head, quieting my complaint. Instead, he sits forward, presses his face into my cleavage before he starts to run his tongue over the top of one breast then the other. I wrap my arms around his head, pulling him in closer.

  I slowly start rubbing against him, trying to reach my release. I have to have it with or without his help. I ache with need. He lifts his face and kisses me, slowly leaning back into the couch. I follow, moving my hands back to his zipper. I carefully unzip his pants, push down the underwear and clutch his dick in my hand. The heavy feel of him in my hand nearly has me cumming.

  I can't wait, I slide up his body, use a hand to move the tiny triangle of fabric shielding me from what I want most and move into position. I stop kissing him, pull back far enough to see his eyes and slowly start to move down. The second I feel his dick at my core, I can't breathe. Every fiber of my being focuses on that one place where we are touching.

  His eyes hold mine as I impale myself on him. I don't even get the chance to ride him before my body starts bucking with the orgasm it has been longing for. A cry slips through my lips. My head falls back as my back arches up. My body moves by instinct, stretching my orgasm out.