Fake It: A Sizzling Hot Pretend Romance

by Melissa Devenport

  Annoyingly enough, Richard raised a hand in mock innocence. He smiled at her like a true gentleman. Whatever it was he felt, he hid it well. He had a true poker face, the lying snake.

  “Great. I actually did want to say that I’m happy for you. Really.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “I did. I just came by to offer my congratulations and make sure you’re okay. You might be my ex-wife now, but I still care about you.”

  She wasn’t affected in the least by the genuine note of affection and even regret in his tone. Hell no. He might be sorry, but he wouldn’t be sorry enough. Ever. She knew that even if she had given in before and given him a second chance and come back, he would have been right back to his old habits in a few months, if he thought he could get away with it.

  “Great. That’s great, Richard. You’ve said your piece, now can you leave? And not come back? Ever?” She didn’t care that she was being harsh. He needed to stop coming around. He needed to stop keeping tabs on her. That was what the whole stupid fake fiancé thing was about.

  His glacier blue eyes swept over her and she couldn’t help but feel chilled. Those same used to make her shiver with desire. Now she just felt disgust.

  “Okay. Okay, Amy. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “Nope, not at all.”

  “So you’ll be sending me an invitation to your show at least? I won’t come, but it would be a nice gesture. You know, to sure you’ve really moved past it all. We can still be friends, or at least, not enemies, can’t we? We move in the same circles. We have a lot of the same acquaintances and clients.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” she snapped. “No. No you’re not getting an invitation. I don’t have to make gestures of goodwill.”

  “If you’d truly moved on, I would have thought you wouldn’t care at all one way or another. What’s a piece of paper in the mail to you if I promise not to come?”

  “Don’t play games with me Richard,” Amy said, exasperated. “You aren’t getting an invitation. You aren’t invited. I don’t want you in my life. I don’t want you to keep tabs on me. I really have moved on. Believe me when I say there is nothing left. Nothing. I don’t have to like you or show you any good will to prove to you that I don’t feel anything anymore. If anything, I’m just so ready to never see you again. I do feel bitter about how it ended still. Can you blame me? There is never going to be a second chance. Ever.”

  “And this random fiancé that no one knows anything about? Are you sure you’re not rushing into anything? I mean, it’s pretty much out of nowhere.”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation. If I want to keep my life private, then I have the right to do so. From you and everyone else. I didn’t want people getting involved. I didn’t want anyone to know before, because I knew you’d show up here just like this and try and ruin everything.”

  “That’s not my intention at all.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.”

  He shrugged again, annoyingly, like he was actually the good guy in the whole thing and she was just being paranoid. That was one of Richard’s favorite tactics. He was really good at in court, making people doubt everything, making them wonder if something they knew for a fact to be true, actually wasn’t. Amy knew how he operated and he wasn’t going to win. Not this time.

  “Okay, well I see I’m not going to convince you otherwise. I’ll go, if that’s what you want.”

  “It really fucking is.”

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I really did want to say that I’m happy that you’re moving on and that you’re happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you, Amy, truly.”

  “If that was the case you could have kept your dick in your pants instead of sticking it in anything that moved while we were married.”

  He shook his head, the gesture of innocence. It drove her nuts, that he could act so calm and collected. Worse, he worked her into a foul rage with almost no effort at all. She wanted to throw something at him. Better yet, throw it at his car. If she had a can of paint with her, she might have taken aim and let fly. She’d warned him, after all, that it wasn’t a good neighborhood. Maybe she was included.

  “I’ve told you before, I’m sorry. Whether you choose to believe it us up to you. I do wish you well. Congratulations on your engagement and your show.”

  Dick. She could just fucking tell that he didn’t mean it. If he was sorry, it was because he was sorry he couldn’t get his own way. He always got his way. That was the problem. Richard had been born into money. He’d always been spoiled. He’d never had anyone tell him no.

  “Okay, that’s great. Have a good one, Richard. A good life I mean. Please stay out of mine. I know that you ask about me. I know that you stalk me online.”

  “I don’t know where you get these ideas.”

  “No?” She crossed her arms again. “Why show up here offering me congratulations on my engagement if you aren’t keeping tabs.”

  “It was mentioned at a dinner I went to a few nights ago. If you tell people, word is going to get around. I didn’t look you up. I certainly don’t keep tabs online.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but I know that others do. For you. Please, do us both a favor and just leave. Get in your car and get back to whatever shady cases you’re working on and whatever woman, or should I say, women, you’re currently screwing. Do they even know about each other?” The shadow that crossed his face told her she’d hit the mark right on. She had to laugh. It was a little shocked and close to hysterical sounding. She winced at herself. “God, you’re such a cliche.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer before she slammed the door on his face. After, she locked it, she leaned heavily against the thick wood. Her heart slammed hard in her chest. She didn’t know what the heck she was feeling. She was angry, but it was worse than that. She just wanted Richard to get in the past and stay there. She wanted to forget all about him. Fake or not, she’d moved on with someone else.

  Sam. She’d never truly moved on after him. All those years…

  It was a terrible realization. She sunk slowly to the ground as her legs gave out. Richard might have physically cheated on her, but she’d never given him all of her heart. She’d tried. She’d tried so damn hard, but it was impossible, when it really always belonged to Sam.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had been unfaithful.

  Chapter 14

  The Show

  Sam

  Come here, go there, do this, do that. Show up here. Dress this way, act this way.

  He was tired of being commanded about and he’d only gone to one stupid part. Where he’d had his crotch grabbed by a woman old enough to be his mother. The whole fake fiancé thing was already so fucking old.

  When Amy sent him a text about her damn gallery show and asked him to be there, he knew he couldn’t tell her no. He owed it to her after what he’d done at her place a few weeks ago. Even if he was nervous about seeing her, he could play it off like nothing happened. He had to.

  It’s more than that. Since that night, the ache for Amy had intensified until it was nearly unbearable. He couldn’t even function properly. He messed up at work, which could be fucking dangerous. He was off his game. He wasn’t sleeping properly. Food… well, he didn’t actually eat anymore. He felt like she was a ghost, living inside of him, inside his head, inside his body, inside his damn heart. She weighed him down like an anchor pulling him to the bottom of the ocean.

  It was more than just wanting her. It was all those years he’d spent loving her back when they were teenagers. It was all the years he’d spent since then, wishing he hadn’t let her go. Or that he’d had the courage to find her. She might have left, but he could have gone after her.

  Sam heaved a sigh as he adjusted his tie. An actual tie. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore one. Probably for high school grad a decade before. He had on a rented suit, since he didn’t actually want to go out and get one. Amy asked him to wear something nice. She said she’d be dressed up.
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br />   Of course, it was all over text, the conversation, since of course she wouldn’t pick up the phone and call. Why would she, after he’d basically asked her to submit to him? Although, she’d called him back. She was just confused. She didn’t mean it. It might have felt good, but it didn’t mean anything for her. That’s all she wanted. The moment of pleasure. The fact that she’d obviously enjoyed it made it marginally better, what he’d done. Not at all acceptable though. He was still disgusted with himself.

  He could still hear her lusty cries echoing through his brain. He craved the taste of her again, spicy and rich down his throat. Most of the past two weeks had been spent walking around with a hard on that refused to go away. He wouldn’t give himself the satisfaction of jerking off either. Because if he did that, he knew he’d be imagining Amy. He’d see himself inside of her, fucking that perfect pussy…

  “Fuck!” Sam wrenched the tie off his neck so hard that the skin below actually burned even though the collar of his shirt was in the way. He threw the damn thing on the floor and stared at himself in the mirror.

  His head throbbed. He’d had a background headache for the past few days, probably all the lack of sleep and lack of food and far too many drinks catching up with him. That headache blossomed into a full on throbbing at his temples. The pain pulsed right behind his eyes. It was just another annoyance that he chalked up to being Amy’s fault.

  He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his annoyingly perfect black pants and checked the time. He had twenty minutes to get his ass to Amy’s place and impress all her obnoxious friends.

  All because that fucker of an ex-husband couldn’t leave her alone. Sam almost wished that the guy would have the courage to show up when he was around. He’d make sure that the douche bag never had another thing to do with Amy. Not because he was jealous. Nope. He wasn’t fucking jealous. Not one bit. He just wanted to be done with the games they were playing. The sooner he was away from Amy, the better.

  Sam drove himself to her place. He parked a few blocks away since the street was already lined with cars. All of Amy’s friends, judging by the rides. Nothing there was under a hundred grand, and he knew cars. He worked on them for a living. Not that kind though. No, he was in a much lower price bracket when it came to fixing shit. As in domestics and imports under thirty grand.

  He walked slowly up to the front door, which was propped open by a metal wedge underneath. As he stepped through, he was assailed by the images of Amy last time he’d been there. He saw her, her dress pushed up around her hips, her pussy grinding against his face, writhing between him and that damn kitchen counter in absolute ecstasy. Goddamn it. The pounding in his head kicked up another few notches to become almost blinding in its intensity.

  The buzz of conversation and the gentle background music, something jazzy, didn’t help. The place was packed.

  He wondered around, feeling completely out of place. He felt like every single person there knew he was a farce, whether they knew him or not. It was everything he expected. Guys in expensive suits, women in evening gowns, way too many jewels on display, manicured nails, fake laughter, fake tits, fake everything.

  This is not my fucking world. He passed by a few middle aged men crowded together admiring one of Amy’s paintings. It was large, huge actually. It was an abstract, of flowers. There was paint everywhere. It actually looked aggressive, even though the colors were just pastels, like Amy had poured all of her anger into it.

  As he squeezed through the throngs of people milling around, he overheard conversations about stocks, about racing, about business. It was bland. Bland, bland, bland. It was completely suffocating. How Amy could live in that world was beyond him.

  Where the hell is she anyway?

  A waiter, actually dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath walked by carrying a tray of long stemmed glasses. Are you fucking kidding me? Could this get anymore cliche? The old Amy would have laughed at this. She never would have actually put together something so stiff and absolutely pretentious.

  He was actually debating turning around and walking out when he finally spotted her. There, in the middle of the room, the center of attention, was Amy. Her hair was neatly curled and put up. Little tendrils trailed down her neck and at the sides of her face. She had on pearl earrings and a strand of pearls that matched. They were simple and antique looking. Her dress was simple. A black gown that flattered her figure, and was the epitome of class. It fell to just below her knee and outlined her lush breasts, narrow waist and the glorious swell of her ass. Her long legs were accentuated by the high black pumps she’d chosen to endure for the night.

  She spotted him immediately, right through the crowd. The smile that bloomed on her face looked so real he was actually impressed. She was a stellar actress.

  She made her way across the room and stopped right in front of him. She reached out and gently took his hand. She didn’t clasp his fingers, but brushed hers across. A volley of shivers went racing up his arm and through the rest of him. He’d managed to walk into the place without a hard-on, a real feat considering the struggles of the past few weeks, but at that whisper light touch, he was instantly hard again.

  He began to sweat. It wasn’t cool in the room and the suit made him hot. He had too many layers of clothes on. He just hoped a few of those layers would hide the fact that he couldn’t control his fucking dick.

  “Sam.” Amy looked up at him, eyes sparkling.

  Lord, she was beautiful. Straight up. Always had been and always would be. She was the most beautiful woman in the room, all the more so because she had little makeup on and had absolutely no work done. She was real. At least her body was. Everything else actually was fake. He had to remember that.

  “Hey,” he ground out.

  “You came.”

  “Of course I came,” he hissed. “What else was I supposed to do?”

  “I thought you weren’t going to be here. You’re half an hour late so I thought you were going to stand me up.”

  “I wish I had. I have a migraine setting in and this whole thing is…”

  “Is what?” Amy frowned. The uncertainty that flickered across her face actually seemed genuine and it did something to his insides that wasn’t pleasant.

  “Nothing.” He shook his head and wished he hadn’t, as pain bloomed behind his eyes. “Your art is- incredible. Really.”

  “You actually think so? Or are you just trying to be nice?”

  He could have said no. There was no one listening to them. In a room full of people, it was just them, having a private moment. He could have hurt her, intentionally wounded her, reminded her that it was all just a game.

  “No, I’m not just being nice. I really like it. You’re very talented. You always were, even in high school.”

  Amy couldn’t hide the flush of pleasure that stole over her face. She smiled softly, a smile, he imagined, was just for him. He took her hand and twined their fingers together. He gave it a firm squeeze. The knot that had been in his stomach for two straight weeks started to work loose. Just having Amy there, right there with him, her dainty fingers tucked through his, her smile just for him… god, it felt good. It shouldn’t, but it did.

  “Amy! This must be the new fiancé! You’ll have to introduce me.”

  Both he and Amy whirled at the deep voice behind them. It was deep, with just the hint of snakiness in the tone. There was something underhanded and not right about that voice. Something that instantly set Sam’s teeth on edge.

  A tall, broad shouldered man, probably early forties, entered the room. He was dressed like the rest of the people there, black suit, expensive cut, leather shoes, hair slicked back. He had that sick kind of grin, that entitled look that only the truly rich often have.

  Beside him, Amy stiffened. He literally felt her bristle and he knew who the guy was even before she said it.

  “Richard,” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 15

  The High Roa
d

  Sam

  Even the best laid plans often went awry. Amy’s plan, the fake plan, was anything but the best. Things were about to go well off course yet again.

  Take the high road. Take the god damn high road. Sam really wanted to. He tried to coach himself as Amy’s hand closed around his forearm, no doubt in warning. She didn’t want him to cause a scene. He didn’t really want to cause one either. That would imply that he cared. And he didn’t. He figured he could send a pretty clear message just by looking menacing enough.

  Unfortunately, Amy’s douchebag ex wasn’t taking the hint. He had the nerve to smile and shrug his shoulders like it was some fortunate accident that he’d just happened to land there at Amy’s show.

  “I dropped by. I got an invite…”

  “No you didn’t,” Amy hissed under her breath. “You seriously didn’t.”

  “Well, not from you. But from mutual friends. I’m assuming that it’s alright that I’m here? I just wanted to stay for a few minutes and see your art.”

  “No you didn’t,” Amy repeated again. She was way more sinister sounding the second time around. Her hand on Sam’s arm turned into a claw and it actually hurt where her nails were digging in, even through two layers of clothes.

  Richard, the ex, shrugged. He was a handsome devil, Sam had to give him that. The worst kind of guy. He was immediately distrustful just looking at him. He never trusted a guy in a suit. They were all lying snakes. The fact that this guy was a lawyer, and he knew that, only made it worse. He had that sleek look, like he was a little too oily, a little too slippery. Like he was used to getting what he wanted and he wasn’t going to be told otherwise. He reeked of money and he clearly liked people to smell the stench.