by Stacey Lynn
Except my father isn’t that guy.
And soon I’m going to have to reveal all of it to Teagan, a girl I’m guessing has grown up in an actual idyllic life, not something fake and dark like mine, with so many buried secrets it’s amazing any of us are still breathing under the weight of them.
All while I keep whatever attraction to me she has at bay, because whatever she thinks she’s knows, none of it is true. Soon I’m going to be bursting her pretty little bubble and giving her a hard dose of reality.
Chapter 7
Teagan
I awake on what feels like a fluffy white cloud, floating in the sky, with the gray blue walls all I see as I open my eyes. This bed is by far the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on. When I climbed in last night, I was fearful I wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Thanks to the help of scotch and a mattress fit for a queen, I wake rested, despite the headache brought on by overindulgence.
Outside, waves pound the rocks beneath the bluffs, echoing the dull thumping in my head, and I take a moment to figure out what to do. Today is literally the first day of the rest of my life, or at least the next two years. If the photos I saw on Instagram and Portland Celebs last night are anything to go by, every day I’m with Corbin is going to be drastically different from my life before.
Plus, I have a handful of calls to make, first to William and Mary, because like me, Mary is a major gossip hound, and if she hasn’t seen the photos yet, she will. At some point, I’ll have to speak with Drake. Not that I have much to say, but I know him enough to know he might have given me my space yesterday to move all my stuff out after I caught him balls deep in some skank, but he’ll want more closure. I’m in no mood to see him anytime soon, but if Corbin and I want to start selling our relationship, I need to put the past behind me, despite how difficult it will be to see Drake.
Which means I need to get out of this bed I want to linger in forever, pull myself up, and have a serious conversation with Corbin about what happens next.
A quickie wedding? Elopement? Will we take the six months to plan something Lane-family worthy?
The very thoughts make my stomach roll and I heave myself off the high bed frame and stumble to the bathroom.
I’ve agreed to marry Corbin Lane. A pure Cinderella story if I’ve ever heard one. The orphan becomes a wealthy woman. Married. It’s all a lie, but that doesn’t mean a part of me isn’t thrilled.
The other part is mostly terrified. I’m nothing like the people he surrounds himself with every day, and I have some major doubts I’ll be able to pull off being the kind of girl worthy of someone like Corbin.
He’s been nothing but a complete and perfect gentleman, and yeah, my crush on him is now growing. He’s not only sexy as hell, he’s nice.
Unexpected, to say the least.
But I have to keep my heart out of this and my eyes on the prize. So what if my seven-year relationship careened to a screeching halt. So what that all the times I moved with Drake to follow him on his goal of becoming a cardiac surgeon meant I haven’t been able to put down my roots, finish college like I wanted, or open up my equine therapy farm for special-needs kids like I’ve always wanted. I can have all of it now.
Drake’s betrayal isn’t nearly as earth-shattering as I thought it would be. I’m still not entirely certain if it’s the shock of the last twenty-four hours, or if it’s just reality. We haven’t had sex in months, and at some point, all of our lazy days spent in bed and me helping him study became us living completely separate lives. I thought we were still in it together, but is it any wonder he went looking for someone else when for the last year, whenever he’s come home, I’ve been sleeping, and whenever I leave for work, he’s the one sleeping? We haven’t been on the same schedule, barely seen each other enough to say hello or good morning, much less have any kind of romantic, intimate life.
And while it bothered me, it didn’t mean I went looking for someone else, which really just makes Drake a gigantic jerk.
While I take a quick shower and get dressed, throwing on a pair of capri yoga pants and a cropped sweatshirt, I come to the stunning conclusion that I’m not upset about Drake cheating as much as I’m upset he didn’t take the time to tell me we were over first.
And we have been. We’ve been in Portland for four years, but for almost the last year, we’ve essentially been strangers sharing a bed and no longer a couple. The last time we were intimate was well over six months ago. Is it possible I’ve been holding on to something because I’ve loved the promises we made years ago, not necessarily because I’ve been in love?
I just have to resign myself to the fact that I’m about ready to start another relationship for the next two years under the same conditions.
I definitely have to stop thinking about how good Corbin smells, how good his hands feel when he touches me, or how giggly I feel whenever he looks at me.
By the time I head downstairs, pulled in the direction of the scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen, I have committed myself to this. A business relationship with a large financial payoff. The freedom to find a job where I can begin working toward my goal, and I get to do it all while having a hot piece of man candy on my arm.
I reach the kitchen and all of my confidence abruptly flees.
In front of me, with his back facing me—a very strong and well-muscled and completely bare back—is Corbin. Dressed only in a pair of bright blue athletic shorts, in all his glory, free for the looking. And oh do I look. He’s at the stove, bacon grease popping as he flips a few strips and then cracks a few eggs into a dish. I am frozen to my spot just outside the kitchen doorway, my tongue most likely hanging out of my mouth like a needy puppy.
Good grief, the man is beautiful. Sinewy muscles work efficiently, and I can’t stop myself from staring, soaking in every inch of his body exposed to me.
Goodbye business arrangement. Goodbye confidence in being able not to act like a moron around him. He doesn’t even know I’m here and I’m practically panting over him. He hasn’t touched me, or hell, looked at me, and I’m melting into a mushy pile of goo.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to pretend to be in love with him and not actually fall for the guy—or at the very least, his body.
He turns and his eyes widen in surprise at seeing me standing there. I quickly move to the coffeepot and fill an empty mug I assume he’s left on the counter for me.
“Good morning,” he says, and I stare at my mug instead of him. My cheeks are hot; my body is all tingly. It has to be from a huge lack of sex over the last year that has me so tangled and twisted over being in the same room as him.
“Morning,” I mutter.
I avoid Corbin completely and walk around the kitchen counter, sliding onto a wicker barstool. Once I’m seated, a small stack of papers gains my attention, the words LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT in bold letters across the top too obvious to ignore.
Eleanor’s will. If this isn’t a harsh reminder of why I’m here, I don’t know what would be.
“How are you?” I ask Corbin, staring at the will in front of me. “Doing okay today?”
“Good. Want some breakfast? I made plenty.”
Turn down bacon and eggs cooked by a hot, half-naked guy? Not likely.
“Sure. Thanks.”
He plates up our bacon, eggs, and toast, which quickly tells me he’s no stranger to a kitchen, especially this one.
Standing on the opposite side of the counter, he digs into his food.
I follow him, trying to ignore the strange silence that constantly surrounds us. Last night, we didn’t do a whole lot of talking. We’ll have to figure out a way to get past this, at least learn basics about each other.
As if he can read my mind, he pulls out a file folder from underneath the will and slides it in front of me.
“This is for you,” he says, flipping open the folder. “Hope you don’t think I’m an asshole, but it’s a contract I wrote up this morning. It’s not technically
legally binding, more of a list of guidelines for us to agree on. If you have any questions, ask.”
He shovels a mouthful of eggs into his mouth and chews. “I’ve got some things I need to do in town today. I’ll give you time to look that over, and when I get back we can talk, work out whatever kinks you find. Sound good?”
“You’re going into town?”
“Yeah, need more food for the weekend, and I need to pick up some other shit.”
It occurs to me that ever since I walked into the kitchen, he hasn’t looked at me. Perhaps he’s avoiding me as much as I know it’s smart to keep my distance from him. But I didn’t think this weekend was about distance. We’ve got years for that.
“Can I go into town with you?”
His forkful of eggs freezes halfway to his mouth and he looks at me. Finally, I have those eyes on me and everything inside sizzles and sparks. I’m really going to have to get control of my reaction to this man before he figures out I fantasize about climbing him like a tree.
“You want to?”
“What else am I going to do here?”
After a long, awkward pause he nods once. “Yeah. You can come. It’s nothing special, though, not a whole lot to do out here.”
“And yet you love it here enough to convince a stranger to marry you so you don’t lose it.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle pops on the side of his neck. I haven’t meant to offend him, or hurt him, but if he wants me to stay here with him, get to know him, it’s not going to help anything if we’re not doing what he originally suggested—hang out, get to know each other.
“It’s Eleanor’s and my family’s home. It shouldn’t be bulldozed and turned into a mall for tourists.”
His fork slams down onto his plate, and then he throws the plate into the sink so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. I jump at the sound, surprised by the sudden change in his emotions.
“You want to come with me, be ready in thirty minutes. I’ll meet you out front.”
He leaves the kitchen and I wait until the thumping of his footsteps on the stairs quiets before I dump the rest of my breakfast into the garbage.
My appetite has evaporated along with his playfulness.
I also don’t bother telling him that I am ready to go. A quick glance at my outfit suggests I’m not dressed appropriately for a public outing with him, but instead of changing, I do the dishes and clean the kitchen.
If Corbin Lane thinks marrying a normal woman is his best option, then I’m not going to get all dressed up for a grocery shopping trip. He can either take me as I am or find someone else to use.
Chapter 8
Corbin
This is never going to work. I should pack up Teagan’s belongings, throw them back into my car, and take her back to Portland before I do something absolutely insane.
Like wrap my hands around her slim waist, toss her onto the kitchen counter, and fuck the daylights out of her. Which was the first thought I had when I saw her watching me in the kitchen, eyes glazed over, and it wasn’t from sleep. She’d clearly been watching me for a while. I’m no longer sure if us spending more time together than absolutely necessary is the best idea. Perhaps for the next two years, I could live out at the house, keep her in my condo in Portland, and we could just see each other when we have to.
It’d give her the freedom of an actual life and give me the chance to work on the business I want, not remaining a sheep for my father at Lane Holdings.
As smart as it sounds, I brush the idea out of my mind while I hop into the shower. At any point over the next two years, per the will, my marriage could be challenged. If it’s deemed a ruse by anyone’s standards, the conditions of the will revert back to the clause as if I never got married in the first place.
So I no longer have to just get married and follow the steps Eleanor has outlined. At the very least, I need to make people believe I’ve truly fallen in love. Which means I can’t exactly live in a separate residence from my wife.
Fuck my dad’s greed for putting me in this position in the first place. If he’d been a decent son to Eleanor, or hadn’t spent the majority of my life acting like a complete scheming and deceitful asshole, I wouldn’t have to choose shit right now.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have put the clause into the contract I gave Teagan this morning that states we would either remain celibate or find alternate, private ways to find sexual satisfaction during our marriage. I don’t want her to think I’m marrying her and paying her for sex, and at some point, I know it’s going to be brought up. But after seeing her waltz into the kitchen this morning, trim waist and hips exposed from the cutoff sweatshirt and low-riding, snug yoga pants, thinking I’m going to be able to keep my hands off her entirely is a fucking joke.
We’ll have to touch. We’ll have to kiss. We’ll have to sell that we’re completely and madly in love. The only way to do that is to be seen in love as much as possible.
My dick hardens, clearly liking the idea of being touched by Teagan, and I wrap my hand around it. Stroking myself, I try to banish all thoughts of her from my mind, but it’s pointless.
In less than twenty-four hours I already want her. She’s taller and curvier than women I tend to be attracted to, and I wonder what in the hell I have been doing with socialite bitches and stick-thin models. Everything about Teagan’s body is meant for rough fucking and shower fucking and taking her on the furniture and counters and even the damn pool outside. In a matter of moments, I’ve imagined all the places where I want to have her. I brace one hand on the shower wall, dropping my head into the spray.
Just the idea of having my hands wrapped around her hips, watching her full breasts bounce as she rides me, driving up and down on my cock, has me groaning so loud I’m certain I can be heard over the running water.
I bite my lip and imagine my hands fisted in her hair, pulling her down to my mouth, taking her mouth and devouring her while she grinds against me.
It’d be heaven. It’d be better than any one-night stand I’ve had before because Teagan isn’t a woman who can fake or hide her attraction. Every moment of fucking her would be intense.
I groan again, biting my lip while my hand moves viciously up and down. I force myself to stay quiet as my release pummels down my spine, racing like a thundering train.
I come hard and fast, my knees trembling as my orgasm hits me.
My chest is heaving and my brain feels like it’s boiling.
This was all a fucking horrible idea, but what choice do I have other than to follow through with it? No way in hell am I putting my ring on a woman’s finger who will love the Lane name too much to agree to the relationship ending after two years. From the little Teagan said, she’s doing this for a purpose, and once she reaches her goal, she’ll be happy to get the hell away from me and all the bullshit I’m about to subject her to.
There’s no other choice.
I just have to figure out a way to keep my dick in my pants all while putting on the biggest show of my life.
No matter. I’m a Lane. I’ve been pretending since the day I was born, and this is simply one more torturous performance. But in order to pull it off, I’m going to have to show her who I really am, not who she thinks I am based on following my Instagram feed.
—
She’s downstairs when I come down, sitting on the couch and dressed in the same damn tantalizing, relaxed outfit I saw her in this morning. While I was hoping she’d change, the firm set of her shoulders when I hit the bottom stairs tells me she didn’t for a reason.
Perhaps she’s not going to allow me to boss her around, or hide who she is from me, either.
“Ready to go?” I say, slipping my wallet into the back pocket of my khaki shorts. We’ll make quite a pair in town, I’m certain of it. Teagan dressed like she’s ready for a workout class and me dressed like I’m ready for a few hours on the golf course.
She jumps off the couch, grabbing her purse while looking down at her phone. “Yep. Did
you know that the photo of us in the street from yesterday has over three hundred and fifty comments already?”
Like I give a crap. By the way she’s nibbling on her bottom lip, she’s not entirely thrilled, either. “Seeing that maybe it’s not too much fun having people talk about you?”
She reaches me and I take the phone out of her hand, easily sliding it into my palm. “Hey!”
I ignore her and turn my back to her, holding her phone out of her reach. “Ah, but they think you’re cute.” At least, they say she’s cute before the comments start bitching about her hitting my car, then the nasty comments begin. Typical.
People who don’t know me think they can drag another complete stranger through the mud. Words like whore and slut and gold digger jump out at me as I scroll through the comments. A bunch of women I’d most likely never pay attention to, skewering an innocent woman because they perceive she hurt me.
Ha. They’ll have something to bitch about soon.
I click the power button on the side of Teagan’s phone so the screen goes black and hand it back to her. “You’re going to have to find some armor and thicken up your skin if you’re going to stay with me so that crap doesn’t bother you.”
“I know, it’s just I’ve never imagined people could be so cruel.”
“Welcome to my world, Teagan. Sure you want to stay in it?”
She looks at the blank screen on her phone again and pales. That bottom lip finds its way between her teeth and it takes all the self-control I have not to pop it out. Instead, I open the front door and hold it open for her, locking it behind us.
“Sorry about being a jerk earlier,” I say as we walk to my car. “In the future, I’ll try to keep the shit in my head and not take it out on you.”
“This can’t be easy for you.” The breeze blows her long and wavy light brown hair into her face and she reaches up, brushing it back and tucking it behind her ear. I open the door for her and those pretty brown eyes land on me. “I understand, but I appreciate the apology.”