Fake Fiancée

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  The laugh came again—a girl’s.

  “This isn’t funny!”

  And then I heard movement and a tapping noise, fading. Someone was running.

  I put the light back up to the window, trying to illuminate more of the hallway. It didn’t show me much, but the window in the door across from me caught a reflection of light as the stairwell door down the hall opened and someone slipped inside. Whoever the culprit was, she was leaving by the stairwell that led back upstairs.

  Every scary movie I’d ever watched flashed through my head. I fumbled for my phone, but when I tried to call out I realized I was so deep in concrete that I didn’t have any service. Which meant Pam had never gotten my text.

  With hands that trembled from adrenaline, I jerked my phone into the air as if that might improve the service. Nothing.

  I swallowed down the helpless feeling eating at me, trying to keep it together. My brain scattered in a million directions as I paced a small patch of floor lit by the streetlight coming in from the ground-level window high up the wall.

  The room sat directly underneath the circulation desk. Maybe I could make a big racket by pushing down the shelves, but I didn’t think that would be enough noise even if I could manage it. My eyes went up to the ceiling. If I had something tall, maybe I could poke it at the ceiling to get their attention upstairs.

  The library was closing in five minutes. I wanted to hurl. Most of the patrons were on their way out, and Pam was probably right in the middle of calling maintenance to start the lock-up process. She always got so flustered around closing time, and she never checked the basement.

  I’d clocked out early once or twice last week to study. What if she assumed I’d done it again? I sent up a prayer that she’d check my clock-in ticket in the mail room.

  I ran back to the door and took up pounding again, this time using a heavy tome from one of the shelves.

  It got me nowhere.

  I panted and rested against the metal. For good measure, I kicked at it and yelled obscenities. Not only was I scared shitless, but I had an A&P quiz the next day and I needed to study for it. Randomly I wondered if this qualified as an excused absence. Probably not with Whitt.

  Headlights skimmed past the window above me, and I ran to the back wall and pointed the flashlight up to check out the ancient-looking window. It was plenty big enough for me to fit through, but how was I going to get up there?

  I pushed the cart over to the wall and climbed to the bottom rung, only a few feet off the floor. It wobbled on its wheels, and I teetered before falling off and hitting my elbow on the floor. Shit.

  I sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on calming down. I was okay. This wasn’t the lake. I wasn’t in a car. I had air—albeit a little moldy.

  I pulled myself off the floor to try again. I had an idea. When I used to take walks in the mountains and would find myself without phone service, sometimes climbing a tree or just getting a few feet off the ground would do the trick. So, I nixed the more dangerous idea of actually climbing out the window and focused on just getting phone service.

  I wrestled with the metal cart again. Moving slow and steady, I stepped up to the first shelf, gained my balance, and then tried for the second shelf. The metal cart vibrated from my ungainly movements, but didn’t tip over. Baby steps, Sunny. Holding my balance precariously, I pulled out my phone and held it up as high as I could.

  One, two, three seconds passed and nothing.

  Then it pinged!

  A text from Max came through. Hey. I’m here.

  Then came another one. You okay? I’m here and walking around. Everyone is gone. I’m worried. Call me.

  Victory soared, and I typed out a reply.

  Stuck in basement room with a window on west side next to parking lot. Come get me!

  In my excitement, the flashlight that I’d tucked in my jean pocket crashed to the floor. The cart tilted when I reached to catch it, and I fell straight to the floor.

  Everything went black.

  Max

  I RAN AROUND THE SIDE of building to the area where she’d indicated. Rummaging through the landscaping, I found a ground-level window that looked down into the basement. The weak streetlight made it tough to see detail, but I made out white-blond hair and the barest shadow of her figure on the floor.

  Urgency hit me, and I beat on the window while yelling her name. There wasn’t a soul in the parking lot to yell to for help.

  I whipped my shirt off, wrapped it around my hand, and slammed it against the glass I got nothing but bruises. I stopped. What if I knocked the glass on her? Bad idea. Shit. I slipped my shirt back on, my brain racing.

  The seal on the window was old and faded, a window that had probably been here since the university first opened in 1963. I took out my pocketknife, pried it between the metal sections on the old lock, and tugged until it popped off. Success. I slid the window up and maneuvered myself until I was sitting on the sill. I aimed to miss what appeared to be a cart and jumped to the left. Pain ricocheted up my right leg when I made impact with the floor. Thank God it was carpeted.

  A flashlight lay on the ground. I grabbed it and focused on her.

  “Max.” Her eyes fluttered open, landing on the window. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  I shook my head, my eyes already checking her for bruises. My hands followed, running over her arms and legs. “Don’t worry about me. What happened to you?”

  “I fell off the cart trying to get service. My arm hurts—near the elbow.”

  Maneuvering her up to sit between my legs and face me, I took her sweater off to get a better look. It had a wide neck and slipped easily over her head, revealing her black lace bra.

  Mentally groaning and trying to ignore the swell of her breasts, I used the flashlight to inspect the purple bruise on her arm. “You took a bump, but it’s not broken.” I pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “What else?”

  “My head,” she said with a wince. “I hit the edge of the cart on my way down.”

  There was a small bump on the right side of her temple, but it didn’t seem too serious. “Let me see your eyes.” Her face turned back toward me, the paleness of her skin striking me deep in the gut. “Your pupils are good. How many fingers do I have up?”

  “Two. People always hold up two.”

  I gave her a squeeze, relief washing over me at her teasing tone. She was okay. “Good news is I don’t think you have a concussion. Bad news is I completely freaked out when I saw you and didn’t call the campus police.” I’d been reacting on instinct, and my instinct had been yelling, Get to her!

  I glanced around the room, my eyes getting used to the darkness, taking in the details. I landed on the metal shelves. “I can get us out of here with those.” I glanced back at her. “Are you in pain anywhere else?”

  “Just my leg, but I think it’s okay.”

  “Let me look,” I said. “Take your pants off so we don’t miss anything.”

  She paused for a moment, then nodded. She slipped her booties off and unbuttoned her jeans. I helped her slide them down her legs, sending up a thank you they weren’t her usual skinny jeans.

  A huge bruise, about the size of my hand, was purpling on her outer right thigh.

  Even in the obviousness of her injury, my mouth dried at how hard my dick was for her.

  Be a freaking gentleman.

  Right.

  “It looks like your leg took most of the hit. You’re lucky.” I pressed my forehead to hers and kissed her lightly. “You scared the shit out of me.” I caressed her cheek. “How did you end up stuck down here?”

  “Someone locked me in. I—I was putting away books, and someone shut the door and wedged a chair under it. I think they ran away, because I saw a shadow in the stairwell.”

  I inhaled sharply. “Who?”

  “I don’t know . . . but they . . . she . . . laughed at me. I mean, the sound was feminine but I guess I can’t be sure.” Her face paled as she looked b
ack at the door. “They just left me here. I—I hate places I can’t get out of.” Her hands squeezed mine.

  Cradling her in my lap, I ran my hand through her hair and palmed her scalp. She leaned tightly into my chest, her nose pressing against me and inhaling my scent. I comforted her, while trying to contain my anger.

  Whoever did this—was going to fucking pay.

  Sunny

  HE’D RESCUED ME. AGAIN.

  I’d realized exactly who he was the moment he’d opened that door weeks ago. He was older, his hair was longer and muscles bulkier, but I’d never forget him. The angel with the lush lips, broad shoulders, and perfectly chiseled face; a man brave enough to swim out into a dark lake to save me.

  Then, I’d realized who he was—Max Kent, the king of all quarterbacks—exactly the kind of guy I didn’t need.

  Plus, he hadn’t remembered me. Oh, he’d mentioned a connection, but that was nothing in comparison to me. He hadn’t had that profound moment where the universe realigned itself when we met.

  That knowledge had ripped into me, and from that moment on, I’d done my damnedest to ignore fate—but then perhaps this was the way things were supposed to play out for us. Perhaps this was a lesson for me, and I should see it through until the end whether it ended happily or not. Either way, I was meant to meet him again. I was meant to get another chance. Right?

  I sat up in his lap, curled my hand around his neck and touched the dark strands of hair next to his face, pushing them out of the way. God, he was beautiful, and he’d come down a twenty-foot drop to get to me.

  Fate always knew exactly what I needed.

  Clarity happens to all of us when we need it most. Sometimes it takes a knock to the head when you fall off a cart to get it through to you. Screw the fact that he might never remember the epic moment we’d had. He was mine. My heart knew it. My body knew it.

  My hand cupped his cheek and my eyes searched his, yearning for him to wake up and remember me. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Max.” Need colored my voice. My nose ran up his neck, and I licked and kissed the pulse throbbing at his throat.

  “What are you doing?” he ground out, his lids lowered to half-mast.

  I lifted up his shirt and slipped it over his neck. “What I’ve wanted to do since the day I saw you.” I kissed each eye, the tickle of his long lashes reminding me how amazed I’d been at the way water had clung to them the night we’d first met.

  His breathing was ragged. “Sunny . . .”

  “I want to taste every part of you.” I moved to kiss his bicep, my tongue outlining his tattoo. “Every. Single. Inch.” My hand palmed the rock hard bulge in his jeans, making him toss his head back and groan.

  I tugged down the right cup of my bra, showing him the bar piercing there. Made of sterling silver, it was flanked by delicate hearts. “I’ve seen you looking at this, and I think about you when my shirt rubs against my nipple. Touch me.”

  A dark growl came from his throat, an animal sound, as he fused our lips together. His fingers plucked at my piercing while his other hand slipped to the back and unsnapped my bra, letting it trail excruciatingly slow down my stomach. His knuckles brushed my peaks, and I shuddered as desire speared me.

  God. I wanted him desperately. I had for so long.

  “You’re so perfect.” He bent his head, his lips latching on to my piercing and tugging. Heat exploded inside me, and I yelled out, clutching his head to my breast. His mouth flicked at my nipples and sucked. His fingers, roughened from years of football, cupped my breast as he inhaled me, going from one to the other, his scruff scratching against my skin. I groaned. I was going to come before he even had his pants off.

  My hand dipped inside the waistband of his jeans until I found the velvet skin of his length.

  “Oh, fuccccck . . .” he called out, the words dipped in need.

  His hand slipped under my panties. “You’re so damn wet,” he grunted, satisfaction pouring off him as his fingers flitted across my slit. I arched into his touch, yearning for more.

  “Sunny, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled and stood up, tugging me with him. I nearly cried out at the loss of his touch. He kicked his shoes off and shoved down his jeans, revealing his long, thick cock. My heart thundered. He was huge.

  His eyes locked with mine. “You sure?”

  My hand reached out and lightly stroked him, caressing him. He jerked into my hands as my fingers slipped over his head and then coasted back down. I melted even more as I watched the myriad of emotions flitting across his face. Need. Lust. Love?

  In this moment, I’d take whatever I could get.

  He parted my legs and slid a finger over my sex, sliding in to tease me. Whimpering, I wrapped a leg around his waist, giving him more access. He growled and gave me more, burrowing two inside me, sliding in and out, curling his fingers and rubbing against a sensitive place inside me.

  He worked me fast and then slow, murmuring my name, as I writhed against his hand, sensation honed in on that one place.

  Yes.

  “Max, more.” My hips moved with his touch, watching him as he bit his lower lip.

  “You’re on fire.” Bending down, he bunched up my panties in his hand, tore them down my leg and tossed them in a corner of the room.

  With desire in his gaze, he laid out his shirt like a small blanket and said, “Lay back down.”

  My insides quaked, and I couldn’t get there fast enough, lying back on the floor and watching as he knelt at my feet. He kissed me reverently, his mouth drifting over my chest and stomach. He lifted my leg and adored my inner thigh, the curve of my calf, the arch of my foot. My hands were busy too. I ran them through his hair and down his chest, my fingers learning the sculpted muscles of his body. Exploring. Touching him in all the places I’d only dreamed of. He spread my legs and eased between them, his gaze electric. He bent over me, parted me and found the heart of me with his tongue. I screamed out his name. It was an assault of the senses, watching him dip his head and devour me, his fingers drawing circles on my nub. His teeth toyed with my clit and I lost my mind, my climax echoing off the walls. My body clenched around his fingers, pulsating, while he watched with a heavy look in his eyes.

  “I’ve ached for this moment,” he said softly. “Forever.”

  Something vulnerable flitted across his face, but quickly disappeared. He studied me intently, his hand cupping my face, and for a second, I thought he might say something else—but he didn’t.

  He kissed me hard then, the erotic taste of my skin mingling in our mouths.

  “I want you inside me,” I said when we pulled back to take a breath.

  He reached for his nearby jeans, pulled out a silver foil from his wallet, and slid on the condom. With his athletic grace, he eased between my legs, careful of my injured side. Positioning himself, he inched inside slowly, letting me adjust to the fullness, checking to see if I needed more time.

  All I needed was him. Every nerve in my channel lit up, grasping for more.

  I reached up and pulled his head down to mine. “More,” I whispered.

  He went further inside, easing in and then sliding out excruciatingly slow.

  “Max . . .” I begged. “Give it to me.”

  He came right back, his hand tugging my face to kiss me deeply as he stroked into me, building up to a fast-paced rhythm. I writhed and clutched his shoulders, sensation building at the base of my spine. My nails dug into his hipbones as I arched into the sleek slide of his cock. He went harder, faster, bending his head to my chest.

  “Sunshine . . . this . . . you . . . so much . . .” his voice was gravelly and full of need. Desperate.

  Yes. Yes. I rotated my hips against him, swiveling.

  He adjusted for a new angle with his hips, going deeper, and I took it all, trying to give back as good as he gave. “You’re mine,” he breathed against my neck.

  My heart jumped at those words. Palming his scalp with my hands, I pulled his face to mine and stared at
him, willing him to know me. “I’m yours.”

  His finger slipped between our connected bodies and found my center again and strummed, spreading the wetness. Gasping, I lost myself completely, my fingers digging into his back, tearing at him as I shattered into a million pieces. I didn’t know where he ended and I began. The sheer enormity of us made me gasp as I gripped his shoulders and rode out my orgasm.

  I’d never had this with Bart.

  He roared his release, his neck muscles in stark relief as his cock tightened and expanded inside me. Panting, he rested on top of me for a few heartbeats and then flipped us over until I was lying on him. Neither of us spoke for a few seconds, just our heavy breaths filling up the silence in the room.

  I cleared my throat, my heart still pounding. “Was that . . . was that normal?”

  He knew what I meant.

  That hadn’t been hook-up sex.

  That had been out-of-this-fucking-world-mind-blowing-when-can-we-do-it-again sex.

  “Max?” I asked after he’d been silent for too long.

  His long lashes dropped against his cheek, as if he didn’t want me to see what he was thinking. He swallowed. “Not normal.”

  Yeah. That. That was just the answer I needed. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Max

  WHEN I CAME TO ABOUT an hour later, she was still draped across me, her right leg between mine. The floor was cool but not cold. I barely noticed. It could have been an iceberg in here and I wouldn’t have moved from this spot.

  Her eyes peeked open, and my greedy gaze ate her up, taking in the way her body fit neatly into mine. Since the moment we’d met, she’d checked all my boxes for what I’d never realized I wanted in a girl—and it was more than just looks. Sure, she was beautiful, but it had been her willingness to stand up to me that first day that had gotten my attention. I’d seen the vulnerability in her that day too—the careful way she kept her distance from me, holding back. God, I didn’t want her to do that anymore.

  I rose up and kissed her. “I want you slow,” I said against her lips, my hips already arching into her.