Pretend It's Love

by Stefanie London

  Now she preferred her men like her cocktails—good-looking, strong, and for weekend and emergency use only.

  “We pretend that it’s been going on for a while and now we’ve decided to go public.”

  “We’ll need to do a little cramming for that.” She forced the past from her mind and switched on business mode. “I need to know enough about you that people will believe we’ve been dating. I don’t want to get caught out in front of your family.”

  “Good idea.”

  “We also need to establish some ground rules for this non-relationship.”

  He let out a throaty laugh. “Like what?”

  “No emotions. This is a business deal.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

  “Libby, you’re gorgeous but there’s no chance in hell of that happening. Sorry to burst your bubble,” he said without sounding sorry at all. “I don’t do love.”

  As much as she was relieved at his agreement, her mind wanted to focus on the “you’re gorgeous” part.

  “No sex.”

  “Fine.”

  “With anyone,” she clarified. “We’re not going to be sleeping together, but I don’t want you getting caught with another girl and making me look like a fool.”

  “I’m not a cheater,” he said, his face unreadable though a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Anything else?”

  “I think that’s it. Anything you want to add?”

  “So long as it looks real enough that my family buys it, I’m happy. I hope you’re a good actress, Tiger.”

  “I can be very convincing when I want to be.” She tipped her nose up in the air and narrowed her eyes at him. “And if you call me Tiger again I’m going to make you regret it.”

  Paul tilted his head and looked at her in a way that could only be described as predatory. “How do you plan on doing that?”

  “I’ll make you want to break one of those rules. I’ll leave it up to you to guess which one.”

  “I don’t like your chances.” He stepped closer, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing her. “But I’m happy to play.”

  “Just make it easy for yourself and call me Libby, okay?” She smiled sweetly and stood her ground.

  “Easy, Tiger. I’ll play nice.” His dark chocolate eyes assessed her, smoothing her up and down as though committing her proportions to memory.

  His gaze smoldered, so intense her body reacted instantly. The clench of her sex sent a sharp jolt of arousal through her, pebbling her nipples and sending warm, throbbing heat through her veins.

  Damn him.

  “Why don’t you come by my place over the weekend and we can do a ‘getting to know you’ catch up.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card and a pen, desperate to keep her body focused on something other than how Paul affected her.

  “Done.” He smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

  At one point she would have fallen head over heels for a smile like that, but now she knew better. The gorgeous ones always made you pay with more than you could afford. They were like credit card debt: trouble from the beginning and hard to get over. Business, however, was business, and she intended to make full use of this situation. First would be the perfect place to launch Libby Gal Cocktails—their write up in Gastronomy Magazine had been glowing, and that meant interest from food bloggers and the media.

  She had to make this work.

  “Here’s my address, my phone and email are on the front of the card. Does Sunday afternoon work?” Her intuitive senses tingled. She knew a good opportunity when she saw it. All she needed now was to convince Des Chapman to take her on…and make sure she kept her hands off his brother.

  Chapter Four

  Libby checked herself out in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. She’d put far too much effort into making herself look as though she hadn’t expended any effort at all.

  But her curls were artfully mussed, and she’d fiddled with the hem of her black and white striped shirt until it looked as though she’d thrown it on without a care. Her faded jeans were frayed in places, though she doubted Paul would realize they’d been designed that way. All she had to do now was dab a little red lipstick on and slip her feet into a pair of ballet flats.

  Why are you so worked up? This is a fake relationship remember…it doesn’t matter what he thinks of you.

  The doorbell sounded as Libby hunted for her second shoe. She found it sticking out from under the couch in her living room and hopped on one foot while she slipped it on.

  Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself before opening the door.

  “I was starting to think you weren’t home,” Paul said, amusement dancing in his tone. “Were you still getting ready?”

  “Getting ready?” She rolled her eyes as though it was the stupidest comment in the world. “I was working.”

  “Right.” His eyes raked over her. “May I come in?”

  Heat crawled up her cheeks until she was sure they were the same color as her shoes. She stepped aside and held the door open. “Of course.”

  He walked into the living room, affording her the chance to linger on the way his dark jeans perfectly outlined his legs and butt. He wore a dark gray T-shirt this time, instead of black. A faint whiff of aftershave clung to the air around him, something woodsy and masculine.

  So he’d put in a little effort, too…or maybe he just woke up looking and smelling like sex personified.

  She smiled, forcing the inappropriate thoughts aside. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  “I wouldn’t call it humble.” He turned around, eyes sweeping over her antique sideboard and the custom coffee table she’d bought in Italy a few years ago. “It’s great.”

  “Thank you.” The compliment warmed her insides.

  Do I need to remind you not to care about his opinion?

  “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, suddenly needing to keep her hands busy.

  He had a vibe that screamed at her to touch him, which would be highly inappropriate. Especially considering they were about to plot out how to fool his whole family into thinking they were in love.

  “A coffee would be great.” He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the breakfast counter. “Black, no sugar.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She reached up onto her tiptoes to fish out an espresso cup from the top shelf.

  From the corner of her eye she noticed Paul watching her, his lips pressed together lightly. Hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, drawing far too much attention to the way the denim molded to every inch of him…and she was sure there would be plenty of inches.

  “I don’t drink that syrupy gingerbread latte crap, if that’s what you mean.” He grinned. “I think I’d be stripped of my heritage if I did.”

  “You’re Italian, right? I think you mentioned that,” she said as though she hadn’t analyzed every single word from their previous conversation. Setting the espresso cup down next to a pink and gold floral mug, she smiled. They looked a little ridiculous side by side.

  “Half. My ma is Italian but my dad’s Australian. What about you? I’m guessing you’re English or Irish with all that red hair.”

  The coffee machine came to life and steam hissed out of the milk-frothing nozzle. “English, although I believe there is a bit of Scottish mixed in as well. My grandparents immigrated a few years after the second world war.”

  “Good to know.” He nodded. “So we should cover the basics. Favorite foods, movies, color…sex positions.”

  She shot him a reproachful look and held the espresso cup under the machine’s spout. Dark liquid filled the air with a delicious aroma, the coffee mingling with the tempting scent of his aftershave. Heat coursed through her, her head spinning.

  “I was kidding about the sex positions, although if you want to enlighten me I’m all ears.” A cheeky grin spread over his face, making his dark eyes sparkle.
>
  Yeah, he would have women lining up with that naughtiness. All the better to remind her why she shouldn’t get emotionally involved.

  “You’ve got no chance of that. But I can tell you my favorite color is green, my favorite movie is Die Hard, and I eat pretty much anything.”

  “Die Hard.” He looked impressed. “The first one?”

  “Of course, it’s a classic.” She handed him the coffee cup and turned back to the machine to froth milk for her cappuccino. “But I do love the third one, too. Jeremy Irons is a great villain.”

  “Did you see the fifth one?”

  “Yes, but I pretend that I didn’t. In my mind they stopped at three.” She grinned and poured the hot milk into her coffee. “What about you?”

  “My favorite color is black.”

  “Black isn’t a color.”

  “If I can buy a T-shirt in it, it’s a color.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Favorite movie is Pulp Fiction and I love Italian food. Obviously.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “A bit. Not that I need to, I get plied with home-cooked food. My freezer is full of pasta sauce and soup.”

  “That must be nice.” She took a long gulp of her coffee to hide her jealousy.

  He nodded, averting his gaze for a moment. “Speaking of my family, you’ll get to meet them tonight.”

  “Tonight?” she squeaked.

  “Yeah, we’re doing a family dinner. I’m bringing you along to meet them. It’ll be a good time to introduce you to everyone.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I was being sarcastic! We don’t know anything about each other yet.” She grappled for an excuse. “How do you know I’m not busy?”

  He cocked his head. “Are you?”

  “Well…no.” She sighed. “You should have given me more notice.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. We were planning to talk through everything today so at least it will all be fresh in your mind tonight. Besides, I thought this was what you wanted.”

  She blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes with a huff. Getting her brand into Des’s bar was what she wanted, fronting up to his family…well, that was her end of the bargain. But it made her insides twist and turn. She wasn’t very good when it came to playing happy family. Still, a promise was a promise.

  “Okay, fine. What else do I need to know about you?”

  “I don’t bring girls home to meet my parents.”

  “Ever?”

  “Once.” He swallowed and looked as though he was about to explain, but a shield seemed to shoot up around him. “You’ll be the first one in quite a while. As I said, I don’t do relationships.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Really?” He raised a brow. “Why?”

  “My parents had a crappy marriage and Dad’s now on to wife number four or five. I tried once to have a relationship.” She paused. “It didn’t end well.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “No it’s not. Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who think all girls are waiting to trap a man into marriage.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m perfectly happy without the wedding, the white picket fence, and the commitment.”

  He chuckled. “Music to my ears.”

  She sipped her coffee and motioned for Paul to follow her into the living area. “I can support myself and, so long as other needs are taken care of, I’m perfectly happy being independent.”

  “And what other needs might they be?” He dropped down onto the couch, crossing an ankle over one knee.

  He seemed to take up all the room, and Libby forced herself not to admire how damned delectable he looked sprawled out like that. She chose an armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. Better to keep a little distance.

  “None that you need to worry about,” she said, crossing her legs demurely.

  “Have you got a rabbit for that?”

  “A rabbit?” She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant and then snapped it shut when the true meaning of his words settled over her. “What I do in the privacy of my own home is none of your business.”

  “I need to know my girlfriend isn’t left wanting.” He grinned at her like a wolf sizing up its prey.

  “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

  “So why did your relationship end badly? Some bastard hurt you?” He drummed his fingers on his knee, his eyes narrowed.

  “Yes.”

  Some bastard had used and discarded her like a takeaway coffee cup…casting her out of the one place where she’d wanted acceptance. Craved it. Needed it with the desperation of a starving woman reaching for food because she’d never been able to get it at home. But she’d failed and had been humiliated for it.

  That was her punishment for thinking she could change a womanizer into a reliable, committed partner.

  The memory still bit into her, sharp and painful. But it had been a lesson she needed to learn, so Libby did the same as any good student would do. She copped the failure on the chin and adjusted her behavior accordingly.

  No relationships, no commitment, no emotions. Just a little fun when she needed it, so long as she was sure she could keep the other person at arm’s length. Flings were better than relationships, anyway—it was the honeymoon period without any of the crap that followed.

  “What did he do?” he asked, the curiosity undisguised in his voice.

  “It’s not relevant.”

  Paul nodded. Sunlight shone into the room between the slats of her blinds, casting a flickering light as the breeze from an open window pushed them around. He hadn’t shaved—the dark stubble made the angle of his jaw look even sharper and more appealing.

  Libby distracted herself by inspecting her freshly manicured nails for imperfections. “What’s your family like?”

  “They can be a little intense.” He raked a hand through his hair, but the dark waves sprung stubbornly back into place. “But they’re good people. Traditional. My ma will be very excited when you turn up for dinner.”

  “You haven’t told her I’m coming?” She blinked.

  “I thought we’d go with the element of surprise.”

  She could just imagine how her father would react if she randomly turned up at his house with a man. Then again, the chances of Paul’s family being anything like her own were slim. Like runway model slim.

  “How do you think they’ll take it?” She guarded her tone, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the hint of insecurity that grew inside her like a weed. But she needed to prepare mentally if he was going to feed her to the sharks.

  “Are you kidding?” He bobbed his head. “They’ll think the sun shines out of your ass.”

  Laughter bubbled in her throat at his choice of metaphor. “Why?”

  “Because you’re girlie and sweet, but you look like you don’t take any shit from anyone, either.” His eyes lingered on her. “Besides, who wouldn’t think you were the perfect girl for their son?”

  “I don’t know.” She sipped her coffee, her hands cradling the colorful mug. “This is a first for me, too. I don’t meet a guy’s parents if I can help it.”

  “So I’m popping your cherry, then?”

  “I’m serious about making my business work, and I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said, ignoring the innuendo.

  “I can see that.” Paul’s expression was guarded, his dark eyes revealing nothing as he interlaced his fingers behind his head.

  The pose made his biceps bulge beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt. As it pulled across his chest, Libby’s eyes drifted to the muscles there. He was so…defined.

  “So how did we meet?” she asked, dragging her eyes up to his face.

  Paul smirked. “Can’t we go with the truth? I picked you up at a bar.”

  She shook her head. “No. We met through a friend of a friend, some loose connection no one will ask about.”

  “Boring.”

  “Believabl
e. We don’t need to be interesting, in fact, the less interesting the better.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We want to seem as normal and unexciting as possible.”

  “You’re making our relationship sound like wholegrain cereal.”

  She smirked. “Trust me, the less information you give people the easier lying is.”

  “You can try that, but my mother puts gossip reporters to shame. Trust me.”

  Pulling up into his parents’ driveway with Libby in the passenger seat was weird to say the least. For a guy who’d been called so laidback he could barely stand, he suddenly felt as jittery as a teenager on a first date. Maybe it was because he remembered the exact moment he’d brought Sadie home. While she wasn’t as vibrant and confident as Libby, she’d had that same polish about her. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect smile.

  She’s not Sadie, and this is not a real relationship. Relax.

  In the close confines of the car Libby’s delicious scent intoxicated him. She smelled like roses and those pink musk candies he’d devoured as a kid. Sweet, heavenly, and utterly addictive.

  “Is there anything else you want to ask me before we go in?” She fiddled with the mirror on the passenger side visor, touching a pink gloss to her lips.

  “I think we’re good.” He turned, reaching through to the back seat to grab his jacket.

  Libby’s throat was inches from his face as his hand groped along the back seat. Her breath stuttered in the silence of the car. Was it his imagination, or did her eyes look a little wider?

  “Great.” Her voice came out tight, her smile overbright.

  He touched his hand to her arm and immediately regretted it. “We’ll be fine. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  The soft cotton of her top was so thin he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Her breath hitched before she opened the passenger side door with a little more force than was necessary.

  “I’m not worried. Not even a little bit.”

  Outside, he shrugged into his jacket. Had he totally lost his mind? Bringing a fake girlfriend home to meet the family was a low move. His mother would fall in love with Libby, he knew that for sure. Talk about giving her false hope.