Fake Wife

by Stacey Lynn

  And now she’s hearing it again.

  I make a mental note to never utter those three words again and follow her as she rushes through my workshop.

  God. I’ve shown her me. The deepest parts of me. I’ve shown her who I am down to my soul and she didn’t laugh, she didn’t think it was silly. I could see it in her eyes…she wants my dream. She wants it to be hers.

  “Please.” I catch up to her, wrapping my hand around her waist and yanking her to my chest. “I didn’t pull away because I don’t want you, Teagan.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She’s sniffing again. Crying. I’ve made her cry twice now, at least that I know of. Damn it.

  “It’s fine,” she says. “It’s a mistake anyway, right? You know, keep it business. Keep our distance. We keep messing it up, but we’ll get better at it.”

  I want to get better at doing a thousand things with her, but not the way she’s saying.

  “Please let me go, Corbin. I’m tired and it’s been a long day. I need to sleep.”

  Shit.

  I let go of her and she stumbles forward, flipping on the flashlight and opening the door.

  “Let me walk you back.”

  “No.” She doesn’t turn to look at me. “I can make it to the house and I know the security code. Please, I need to be alone.”

  I’ve screwed up. And we need to talk about it, but first I need to figure out what I’m going to say. How I’m going to make myself vulnerable to her all over again.

  I clasp my hands behind my head and turn in a full circle, surveying everything inside, seeing nothing.

  Because the realization slams into me, almost knocking me off my feet.

  The fucking contract. The distance. Every time we get close she pulls back, puts it between us. Perhaps I’m wrong after all.

  Maybe she wants my dream, but she doesn’t want it with me.

  —

  I sweep up wood shavings, the mindless activity just calming enough to help steady my racing heart and suck the heat out of my hard dick. By the time I’m done, I’ve wasted an hour on unnecessary cleaning and tidying.

  Returning to the main house, everything Teagan said on the way out repeats in my mind.

  It’s spectacular.

  You’re incredibly talented.

  It’s so beautiful. The perfect life.

  No one has shoveled so much praise my way except Eleanor, and yet the crazy woman would also throw in a playful insult for good measure. Always with a cracked smile, teasing glint in her eye that let me know she was only doing it because she knows I’ve never heard much praise and it still makes me uncomfortable.

  God, I loved that woman. The entire week I’ve spent in Portland, the only place I’ve wanted to be is right back here.

  In her house—my house—I’m home, and fuck me for thinking Teagan wants the same crap as I do.

  Perhaps giving her a better tour tomorrow will help change her opinion.

  The house is silent as I enter and lock the front door behind me. We’re out in the middle of nowhere with a secured gate at the front of the drive, but I still always close it up at night.

  Teagan has left lights on, small lamps scattered throughout the house showing me she didn’t go straight to her room when she came inside. I flick them off and head upstairs, quiet so as not to wake her or startle her if she’s awake.

  I hesitate outside her door, my palm on it, and drop my head, closing my eyes.

  Hell. I want this woman. She’s sweet and kind. She’s all the good wrapped up in a beautiful package that Eleanor would want in a woman for me.

  A quiet, breathy sound hits my ears and I jerk my head up, looking down the hall, but I realize it’s coming from inside Teagan’s bedroom.

  Like the creeper I’m quickly becoming, I listen, wait for another sound. Perhaps it’s a muffled sound while she sleeps, but then another one comes, quicker than the last, and my dick takes notice.

  Holy shit. She’s not…

  “Oh God.”

  Her voice. Tight. Panting.

  She is. She’s masturbating, and I turn to stone as I fucking listen, my hand now on the doorknob.

  Is she thinking of me? How hot it was when I kissed her and almost lost my mind with wanting her so freaking badly?

  Her chants continue, mewled sounds that force me to adjust myself, and all the work I did to settle my dick down is forgotten as it goes into full speed, steamrolling right ahead. Jesus. Just listening to her get herself off is making me hotter and harder than any woman I’ve been with in at least a year.

  This woman. She does it for me.

  And I can only stand outside, waiting for her to finish, wishing she had her small hands on me instead of her own pussy.

  I wait for moments after the sounds stop, my need to get off warring with my need to see her. To apologize.

  In the end, I quietly walk to my room and leave the door open so the lock doesn’t catch so Teagan doesn’t hear me and realize what I’ve just done.

  But damn it all to hell.

  It has to be the hottest thing I’ve heard in my lifetime, and when I’m safely inside my bathroom, I fling on the hot water, step inside the shower, and take care of myself, vowing it’s the last time she’ll do that shit in secret.

  Because she’s fucking marrying me, for crying out loud, and if we’ve barely been able to last a week without almost having sex, there’s no way we’re going to last two full years.

  Chapter 17

  Teagan

  I wake up after a fitful night of sleep. When I rushed back into the house last night, I paced and paced, until I ended up on the back deck, letting the waves crashing against the rocky shore calm my racing and embarrassed heart.

  There aren’t many things I’ve done in my life to regret, but rear-ending Corbin is quickly becoming one of them. Some days I look in the mirror and wonder how I’ve become a woman who would sell herself for the future she’s dreamed of, and I know my parents and my grandma would be so disappointed in me.

  And yet all of that is just on paper.

  I know what I feel inside, and every time I’m around Corbin that sensation grows and strengthens.

  I like him. I adore the man I saw in the workshop last night, the way he talked, the dreams he wove of a future he so desperately wants someday.

  And yet the look of regret searing through his cornflower blue eyes is something I cannot forget.

  He wants that dream. He simply doesn’t envision it with me, not long term, anyway.

  I tossed and turned all night long, my racing mind keeping me awake despite the orgasm I gave myself to help me sleep; and yeah, it was Corbin I was thinking of as I came, biting my lip to keep from crying out his name.

  I’m dressed and out of my room early, sunlight not yet visible through the windows when trying to sleep is pointless.

  After using the restroom and pulling on a pair of black yoga pants and an old gray Tennessee sweatshirt, I throw my hair up into a messy bun, tucking in the ends of my hair beneath my hair band so it doesn’t look too wild. I have circles under my eye showing my lack of sleep and there’s nothing special about what I’m wearing. The sweatshirt is old and became so holy I cut off the cuffs at the wrists and around the collar. It drapes off one shoulder and shows the strap of my hot pink yoga bra, the only pop of color I’m currently wearing, but it’s not like it matters.

  Corbin might be attracted to me, he might even want me in some physical way, but that doesn’t mean he wants me.

  “Fantastic,” I mutter, and blow out a breath. Grabbing my laptop and a notebook with outlines of plans I need to finish that I started working on last night, I quietly hurry down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I make a quick cup of coffee and settle in at the kitchen table.

  I figure if we announce our engagement tomorrow, talk to his mom, we can get everything planned and be married out here in less than a month. I’m sure with their wealth, rushing floral orders or anything else his mom will ins
ist on for our wedding will not be a problem. And I don’t care if I have to buy a dress off the rack.

  Labor Day is four weeks away, and to me it sounds like the perfect weekend to have our wedding.

  Early September, a short week of work for Corbin. We can take a couple of nights as a honeymoon, and I have no doubt Tray and Caitlin will mind standing up for us as our witnesses. Corbin can invite whoever else he wants as long as we keep it small, limited to close friends and family, so we can have it outside overlooking the ocean.

  I don’t have any real friends to invite other than William and Mary Tanner.

  Perhaps he’ll consider walking me down the aisle.

  I add seeing them to my to-do list, perhaps bringing Corbin to meet them for dinner one night, and pull up my laptop.

  Before I fell asleep last night, the one thing that stuck in my mind was all the things Corbin mentioned about me heading back to school. There’s a small college nearby, just thirty minutes to commute, and I pull up their application along with deadlines for late enrollment.

  I still have two weeks to apply, and I’m hoping I can pick up a couple of classes for the semester.

  If I work hard, I can finish my business degree by the time our marriage ends, and I’m sure I can find a part-time job working at some horse stables I’ve found online as well.

  Cannon Bluffs is a small coastal town, but I’ve seen several stables that offer horseback riding lessons.

  I’m so lost in thought about getting back on a horse, trotting down sandy paths leading to the ocean, guiding families and children, perhaps hosting birthday parties or other special events, that I jump when a chair is pulled out at the table.

  “Hi,” I gasp, putting my hand to my chest. “You startled me.”

  Corbin has taken a chair next to me, a cup of coffee in his hands. He’s not looking at me, and that only furthers my belief about how much he regrets last night. A moment of passion, nothing more.

  I need to stop remembering how good his hands feel when they’re on me. How large the bulge in his jeans felt pressed against me.

  He shifts a paper and scans the guest list for our wedding. His brows furrow and he runs his thumb over Caitlin’s name. “You’ve been busy today. What is all this?”

  “You’re looking at the wedding guest list. I figure if we have it here, your mom can help us have the wedding Labor Day weekend. As long as it’s not raining, it could be a great weekend to have it outside. It’ll still be plenty warm.”

  “Who are William and Mary?”

  “My boss at the library and his wife.” He turns to me, question in his eyes, and I shrug, look back at my computer screen. “They’re really the only friends I have here.”

  “He fired you.”

  “He didn’t really have another choice.”

  Silence falls, and I read the same paragraph for Oregon West College registration at least three times, not comprehending any of it. Everything blurs together until all I see is a mess. Which is perfect, because I’m a giant blurry mess right now.

  I ignore Corbin, the way he glances at me, shifting through papers before turning his head.

  “Looks like you got this all figured out.” He drinks from his coffee, and I steal a glance at him, only to find his eyes are directly on me. Narrowed and intense, there’s absolutely no passion or warmth from last night remaining.

  He pushes away from the table, tucks some pages back together into a neat pile on the table, and leaves the room.

  Once he’s disappeared from view, my shoulders sag and I press the palm of my hand to my forehead.

  God. I knew this day was going to be difficult. I just wasn’t expecting it to start so stressful and cool. The same ice that fell over me last night when Corbin broke our kiss returns, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself to get warm.

  It’s useless.

  Somehow I feel like I’ve majorly screwed up, but what else did he expect?

  I push back from the table and head to the kitchen and refill my mug. I’m taking the first hot sip from it when Corbin returns to the kitchen.

  He stops a few feet in front of me.

  “I liked last night, you know,” he says, and his words shock me to my marrow. My coffee mug freezes at my lips and it’s all I can do not to drop it. “I liked everything about you being in my workshop with me, the way you liked what you saw. I liked how you tasted, Teagan.”

  Holy shit. Is he saying this? He is.

  He steps forward and I move back until I hit the corner of the kitchen counter and can’t move out of his reach.

  He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of me, inches of space between us.

  Oh my God. I set down my mug for fear of dropping it on his feet.

  “Corbin—”

  “You took off and I don’t know what you’re thinking, but that shit on the table tells me you’re not thinking or wanting the same thing as me.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I’m breathless, my voice soft. It’s drowned out by the thundering in my heart, pounding in my ears. My knees are so weak I might collapse. I reach out and grab the counter to steady myself.

  I have no idea what he’s saying, what he wants.

  “I know.” He blinks several times, shakes his head, and meets my gaze with blue eyes that are as frigid as ice. “The shit of it is, you’re so far lost inside your head at keeping all of this platonic that there’s no way you can understand what I’m trying to tell you, what I want, so I’m not going to waste my breath right now.”

  He steps back and reaches into his back jeans pocket, runs his other hand through his hair, and sighs. “This ring was my grandma’s,” he says as he holds out a navy blue box. “Not her engagement ring, but it’s old and worth a fucking fortune. She loved this ring.”

  He opens the box, and it takes me a moment to draw my stunned look from his harsh gaze, which only softens when he talks about his grandma, and down to the ring. My breath stalls.

  “My God.” I reach out to touch it, but pull my fingers back, pressing them to my lips.

  The band is silver, thin and elegant, with a trellis scrolling all around it. Diamonds surround the large oval sapphire, giving it a halo effect. This ring is dainty and elegant, beautiful and simple in its design. It’s not vintage inspired, it’s vintage. Old. He’s not joking.

  I’m trembling, and not for the right reasons. I can only begin to piece together the cryptic words he said before he shoved the world’s most beautiful ring in front of me.

  This isn’t how I want to be proposed to.

  I don’t want my future husband angry with me for any reason, or us not being on the same page. I’d thought we had been. It’s not the first time I’d be wrong when it came to a man, though, and right now, I have no idea how to fix any of it.

  “Corbin.”

  He removes the ring from the box and takes my hand in his. “We can get it sized later if it doesn’t fit, but I thought you’d like this more than a diamond. Seems more fitting for you.”

  “It’s so beautiful. I’m afraid to wear it.”

  He slides the ring on, holding my hand tenderly. Warmth from his fingertips shoots electric zaps up my arm so strongly I’m burning.

  It’s loose, but not so loose it will fall off. “I don’t need it sized.”

  For the first time, I touch the ring, spin it around my finger. I don’t want it sized, don’t want to risk it being damaged.

  This is temporary. Not real.

  But God, I wish it could be.

  “Corbin,” I say again, but his fingers press against my mouth, quieting me.

  My eyes meet his and he smiles, but it’s not happy, not joyful like this should be for an engagement.

  It’s not real.

  “When you come to grips with what’s happening between us, Teagan, what it is you really want, come to me. I’ll be waiting.” He leans forward, brushes his lips against the top of my head, stealing my breath, and steps back. When he does, his expres
sion is blank, almost professional. “I’ve got phone calls to make and a dinner to set up with my mom so we can move ahead with the wedding. You need anything else from me?”

  I shake my head lamely. The weight of the ring feels like a cement brick, and none of this is good.

  Disappointment flickers in his gaze and he pulls out his phone. “I’ll be in the workshop.”

  He leaves then, and it’s only well after he’s gone that I realize I’m still standing in the corner of the kitchen, staring at my ring.

  And I only wish I would have asked him to repeat himself, because what in the heck is happening between us?

  I’m not brave enough to reach for him, to throw myself on the line. To demand he be more clear with what he wants from me.

  I’ve been burned enough; his mood swings too frequent to have any true bearing when it comes to what Corbin wants.

  Chapter 18

  Teagan

  We pull up to Corbin’s parents’ mansion in Portland’s elite Southwest Hills neighborhood and park on the street. It’s one of the most historic homes in Portland. It’s not the one he grew up in, but his parents bought it when he was in college and restored it to its original character. The grounds are perfectly landscaped, surrounded by a spiked black metal fence.

  The home is all white stucco. Above the front doors is a rounded balcony that I’m sure provides a view of the entire city of Portland. I imagine Franklin Lane stepping out onto the balcony in the morning, surveying the city with a mug of coffee in one hand, dressed in a rich black suit and smug grin, surveying his kingdom and all he wants to conquer.

  “Wow. Your dad certainly does enjoy being king of the castle, doesn’t he?”

  Corbin chuckles, but it’s tight. “Perceptive.”

  I’m not sure yet why he hates his dad so much, but he hasn’t exactly been relaxed. I’m certain it’s not fully because of dinner with his mom, but because we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning.

  I spent most of Sunday wandering the property at Cannon Bluffs, which only becomes more beautiful and precious the more I see of it. It’s no wonder Corbin is paying me a quarter million. I wouldn’t want it turned into a shopping center for tourists, either.