Fake Wife

by Stacey Lynn

  I won’t allow him to be rude to me, ignore me, and then play the perfect part in public, which is the only reason he offered me his arm. There’s always someone in the lobby, waiting either for a guest or for a car they’ve called for, and now that there are people around he has to be polite.

  By the time he opens the door and gestures for me to go before him, I’m not only terrified, my anger is boiling over.

  If we can’t do this together, at least be kind behind closed doors, the next two years will feel like an eternity.

  Once the car pulls away from the curb, he tucks his phone into his jacket pocket.

  “I want you to stay close to me tonight,” he says, not bothering to look at me. “If this is going to work, we’re going to have to pretend to be in love. It might mean I touch you more than normal or kiss you, so if you don’t think you can handle that, you need to let me know now. Otherwise, like I said, stay close to me. At all times. My father will take any opportunity he has to tear you apart, and I don’t want to give him one. Not to mention some of the women might be less than circumspect.”

  My anger bubbles over. He’s used this tone with me before, the morning he handed me the contract. Do this, sign this, ask me questions, do what you’re told. I do not like this side of him at all.

  “It might help me sell this well if you stop being a gigantic asshole to me, you know.”

  He blinks and shows no other reaction to my outburst except for his hands curling into fists in his lap. His shoulders pull tight and he heaves in a deep breath before skewering me with a glare that makes me want to shrink back into my seat.

  I’m somehow brave enough, or stupid enough, to resist.

  “I’m simply explaining my expectations for the night.”

  “And you’re doing it acting like a complete prick and not the nice guy you’ve been all week. If I’ve done something to upset you, we can discuss it, but don’t treat me like trash and expect me to silently submit. If I’m not mistaken, our contract also states we will be respectful and cordial to one another.”

  I have no idea where my boldness comes from. I don’t tend to stick up for myself, at least not in the moment. Years of staying with a man for comfort and not love is the perfect example of it. Yet I’m liking this new version of me.

  He sucks in another breath and turns to me, leaning in so I am forced to move backward or his chest will be on mine. Not necessarily a bad thing, but dangerous. The mere thought of his chest brushing against mine makes my nipples harden.

  Thank the good Lord above for my new satin bra that can hide the effect he’s having on me.

  “You want respect? The way you look in that fucking dress tonight is making me think this agreement is a very bad idea. Trust me, Teagan, I’m thinking anything other than cordial thoughts right now and you’re testing my control.”

  Holy freaking snickerdoodles.

  A rush of breath escapes me and my chest tightens. Nipples salute him and a rolling heat hits me in all the perfectly hidden away places.

  “Corbin.” I breathe out his name, unable to say anything else. He’s left me tongue-tied and turned on without any hope of escape.

  One perfect brow arches. “Nothing to say to that? No rambling like you’re prone to do?”

  Clarity and common sense flee. There’s no thought in my mind other than, Yes. Please. Do it. Take me. Kiss me.

  Bad idea. Very bad, stupid idea.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I don’t really care what you think right now,” he whispers. Has he moved closer? He has. I’m plastered against the door and he’s so close I can see every small line around his eyes. His dilated pupils have almost entirely erased the blue. His breath ghosts across my lips. “You’ve been tempting me since the moment I met you, and I’m trying to keep my distance. This dress, though. Fuck, Teagan.” His hands land on my thighs, gripping me firmly.

  My body shudders. He’s not doing this. He’s teasing. He has to be. He’s given me no indication he finds me attractive in the least.

  My bravery flees. Hopefully it meets my common sense and returns to me.

  Until then, I say the only thing I’m thinking.

  “Do it.”

  Strong, firm fingers dig into my thighs, clamping me in place, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s consuming all the space around me and to hell with it.

  I want him to kiss me.

  “What?”

  I can’t take it back. Lust for the man in front of me and no sex for way too long are overtaking me. I lick my lips, his gaze dropping to my mouth and following the path of my tongue. “You said yourself we have to touch and kiss tonight.” Oh God, this is stupid. I’m being stupid. I no longer care. “We should practice it once. Get it out of our system.”

  “You want me to kiss you?”

  Yes. Please, please, please, kiss away this crazy maelstrom of emotions you’ve started in me. Rationality flickers in my mind. “I want to sell our arrangement.”

  One side of his mouth lifts into a sneer. “Of course you do.”

  And then his mouth lands on mine. The kiss is not soft or teasing or even exploratory. He devours me like he’s been starving to taste me. His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me so firmly in place I can’t move an inch except inhale the scent of him, accept his mouth on mine, his tongue seeking entrance. I highly doubt this is the kind of kiss he’d give me in public, but hell if I’m stopping him. My hands jump to his biceps as I open to him and his tongue dives inside.

  Oh good grief. He tastes like mint and man, his smooth, full lips spurring me on.

  I groan, releasing a primal noise of need deep from my gut and he takes it, fingertips digging into the back of my neck in approval.

  Mistake, mistake, mistake reverberates in my mind, but I don’t care. If kissing Corbin Lane is a mistake, I want to make a thousand more bad decisions.

  Pulling him to me, I am no longer a passive participant. I dig my fingers into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, shifting against him as much as my dress will allow until I’m practically in his lap.

  This is insane, and I’m completely enthralled. Corbin Lane kisses like I know he’ll make love to a woman—hard, demanding, dominating, and yet at the same time, there’s a tenderness in his touch that calls to me.

  Holy crap. I am irrevocably screwed in the worst way possible.

  The car slows and stops. As if it’s the sign he needed to snap back to his senses, Corbin yanks his mouth off mine and stares into my eyes.

  Our lips are parted, and we’re both panting. His gaze roams my face, and all expression in his eyes evaporates in an instant.

  He’s not completely turned cold, but I see it starting and I refuse to allow it.

  Whatever just happened between us, whatever sparks ignited, I’m keeping them. Fanning them into a larger flame if I have to.

  “Well,” I huff, my breathing still erratic and much too fast. I turn to him and wink. “I think we can pull this off.”

  To my surprise, he barks out a laugh, adjusts his tuxedo jacket, and smooths down the lapels.

  His door opens and he takes my hand, escorting me out of the car behind him.

  Outside, his hand slides to my lower back and he pulls me to him. His blue eyes sparkle and his smile is almost blinding. Whatever he was trying to erase is now exposed, in full force.

  “Yeah. We can pull this off. But I was also serious in the car: stay close to me at all times.”

  And if that’s not a delicious foreboding statement, I don’t know what is.

  Chapter 10

  Corbin

  I am distinctly rattled and completely uncomposed. My facade is firmly in place, my smile as friendly as it always is as we enter the hotel where the Children’s Hospital fundraiser is taking place. No one can possibly see how shaken I am, not even Teagan. I regret that as much as I cannot find it in me to regret practically forcing myself on her.

  The hint of her is not nearly as delicious as the taste and feel
of her. We’ve completely crossed a line we can’t cross again. I’m paying her to be my wife in name only, not to be my prostitute. At the moment, I’m too hard to think about anything else besides whisking her out of here and sinking my aching dick deep inside of her.

  Fucking hell. I hadn’t fully seen the dress before I gave it to her. When she pulled it out of the box, her dazzling smile had blinded me right before I realized how absolutely gorgeous she’d be in it, but I was completely overtaken by the thoughts I had when I saw her earlier.

  She’s fucking beautiful. Gorgeous. There is not a word I can think of that describes how absolutely perfect Teagan looks tonight, and I didn’t think she could get any sexier than when I saw her in the kitchen the other morning. She was still dressed in her pajamas—a tight fucking tank top that hid nothing and shorts so short I could almost see her pussy. She tried to hide it all under a ridiculously short robe, but it hadn’t been tied, and I’d been unable to resist snapping a picture of her when she wasn’t looking. And it wasn’t the first one.

  I now have a dozen candid shots of her, and it makes me a freak. If she knew I walked around pretending to be working on my phone, clicking photos of her every time she took my breath away, she’d probably freak the hell out.

  I don’t give a shit. When this is over, I want a million photographic memories of my time with her. I’ve only been able to be myself around three people in my life, three people I’d trust with everything, but Teagan has definitely been worming her way to the top of that list, becoming the fourth. She’s beginning to mean something to me, something I can’t quite describe, but I absolutely cannot screw it up by treating her like a whore.

  Which means shoving my tongue down her throat and fucking her mouth with mine was an epically horrific decision on my part.

  And damn it. The cherry taste of her hidden beneath her lipstick. She applies it several times throughout the day. I now want to stash hundreds of the tubes everywhere so they’re always within her reach.

  Damn it. I am turning into a freak.

  How in the hell can I go back to treating her like the stranger she is if I can’t keep my hands off her? Tonight will require touching her frequently in order to begin selling our love-at-first-sight plan.

  For the millionth time, I second-guess my decision to suggest such an outlandish proposal. I’ve been a mess all week, and yet somehow Teagan has seemed completely calm and prepared, even for a night like this.

  We’ve discussed who will be here. I’ve sat next to her, the scent of her soft summer perfume so close to me it muddled my mind, while we went through the Lane Holdings website along with other pages so I could show her who the board members are so she has a basic background on them when she meets them tonight. Teagan is being thrown into a den of vipers, and I want to keep her safe as much as I can.

  But it’s not the board members or anyone involved in Lane Holdings other than my father who worry me the most. I’m concerned about Trey and Caitlin, another great friend since college. The three of us have been tight since the night we met. Caitlin’s never shared my bed and is one of the few women I actually enjoy spending time with. As of this afternoon, she has yet to tell me if she’s coming. They will be the hardest to convince I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love with a woman in a matter of days. Both will be full of questions and lingering gazes, trying to figure out my secret, but even though Teagan has suggested we can tell Trey, I’m not yet willing to take the risk being outed could cause.

  I’m getting Eleanor’s house no matter what it takes. And if we can kiss like we just did in the car, if that chemistry between us had me fighting back the urge to tear her dress off and rip off my tux and take her on the fucking back seat of a limo grows, we’ll be able to make even my closest friends believe anything.

  I suppose there are worse things than being almost engaged to a woman whose body you want, a woman who’s currently living with you and is about to marry you, and you can’t fuck her. Although at the moment, I can think of very few things.

  Shit. How in the hell do I get myself out of this?

  Hiring an escort to slake my lust might be the best option. I’ve never done something so revolting in my life. I’ve also never needed to look for one, and the thought sickens me, but if that’s the only way I can screw a woman and help me keep my hands off Teagan in a way I’m suspecting she wouldn’t entirely despise in the short term, then I might have to consider it.

  I’ve jacked off enough this week that carpal tunnel in the near future is a high probability.

  Fuck.

  “So, are we back to the prickish Corbin I saw earlier tonight or the nice one I spent time with this week?”

  Next to me, Teagan stops. We’re already in the lobby of the hotel and I’ve said nothing since we exited the car.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, turning to her. Now that I’ve touched her, I can’t stop. My fingers brush against her cheek and her eyes widen, flicker around as if to check to see if I’m putting on a show. I don’t give the first shit who’s mulling around. She’s so fucking soft. Pure. Good. A helluva kisser, and I’m betting an even more passionate lover. Shit. “I’ll try to control my prickish behavior tonight, I promise.” I wink, teasing her, and I’m rewarded with a relieved smile and her shoulders falling.

  Hell, I was an asshole earlier and I need to perform like the Lane I am, regaining control of my libido and my brain. This won’t work at all if she begins hating me.

  “Then I think escorting me inside and immediately finding me a glass of wine or champagne would help me out a lot right now.”

  “Shaken up a bit, are you?”

  Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink and she rolls her eyes. “So you’re a good kisser. I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve been told.”

  “Nope.” I press my hand to her lower back, gently guiding her forward. “But a man needs to be reminded occasionally. Our fragile egos demand it.”

  “Nice.” She bumps me playfully with her hip, forcing me to pull her closer. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

  “Do. That’d be great.”

  We enter the ballroom and more than a dozen pairs of eyes immediately land on us, yet I barely notice. And neither does Teagan seem to, which is ironic given her earlier fascination and excitement about being photographed. Yet I’m still smiling down at her, she up at me, and something about her smile, the crinkle at her eyes, slams into my chest, burning a hole directly through me, searing me from the inside out.

  This woman. I can’t think of a single thing wrong with her. Every moment she turns that smile at me, I want to do everything I possibly can to keep it on her beautiful face.

  “Ready to be thrown to the wolves?” I ask, leaning down and whispering in her ear. “Because it’s show time.”

  “Let the games begin,” she replies, her hand softly pressing against my forearm. “But give me alcohol. Immediately.”

  —

  She’s impressive every single moment of the night. If I could have written a list of qualities I want in a fake wife to pull off this charade, Teagan would have checked off every box. I couldn’t have crafted a better, more refined and yet gentle and kind woman to be on my arm. I’ve led her to the closest bar, and while we sip our first glass of wine, I surreptitiously point out everyone I’ve told her about throughout the week. She rises to the challenge, remembering every tiny fact down to who’s having an affair that’s known and not discussed, and even the one mistress in attendance.

  Her ability to pull forth such mundane information isn’t necessarily as impressive as the joy on her face is when she finds the mistress and then hides her giggle behind her wineglass as if she shouldn’t be mentioning it.

  At least she finds this night amusing, because we haven’t hit the hardest part yet.

  As if the mere thought has conjured him out of thin air, my father with my mom on his arm appears through a small crowd of people and begins walking our way. I’m surprised he’s waited as long as he ha
s.

  “My parents are headed this way. Need more wine to get through it?”

  “And be tipsy, giggly drunk the first time I meet them? No, thank you.”

  Better than slurring drunk or high on pain meds like my mom usually is.

  She twists, places the glass of wine on a nearby bar height glass table, and readjusts her side to mine, turning so she’s facing me, almost pressing her chest against my side. “Anything I need to know?”

  “My dad will hate you and treat you like trash, my mother will stay quiet and act like his behavior isn’t absurd or insulting, and then she’ll give you a kiss on your cheek before they walk away.”

  “Sweet. Fake women and judgmental assholes, two of my favorite things.” She smiles up at me as she speaks, her hand landing on my chest as she does it. Despite the worry I have regarding my father, I’m still laughing and smiling down at her when he greets us. Her ability to make this all feel like one big fun game eases my stress and concern of failure.

  “Corbin.” I shake my father’s hand as he greets me. Then, leaning forward and keeping my arm wrapped around Teagan, I give my mom a kiss on her cheek.

  “Mom, it’s good to see you.”

  “You, too, honey,” she replies, pressing the palm of her hand to my cheek. “How are you?”

  “Fantastic.” I pull back and put pressure on Teagan’s lower back. “Mom, Father…this is Teagan Monroe. Teagan, Franklin and Elizabeth Lane.”

  Without missing a beat, Teagan slides from my grasp and holds out her hand, her blindingly beautiful smile giving off the impression she’s truly excited to meet them. “Hello. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

  My father scowls at her hand like it’s beneath him, and, for not the first time in my life, I’m thankful my dad and I don’t look alike. We might be of similar height, but with his dark hair and even darker eyes, he not only has always been intimidating, he appears that way as well. I’ve long since given up considering the possibility that he has even a small hint of goodness in him. My mom, on the other hand, was all goodness and sweetness, until he sucked the life out of her. She’s always been slender and elegant, blond and blue-eyed, and I’m thankful that despite my father and I sharing our height, my attributes all came from my mom.