One Hot Fake: An Accidental Fake Marriage Romance

by Sarah J. Brooks

  I drive straight home, clinging to the hope that just maybe, Declan is home. It hurts the slightest bit that he did not bother to look for me. Finding my number would not have been that difficult. His brother Ace would have gotten it easily enough.

  I remind myself that ours is a fake marriage. We don’t owe each other anything. That knowledge doesn’t soothe my injured pride. The only thing that can is if I find Declan at home.

  The silence in the house is deafening.

  “Declan?” My voice echoes back at me.

  I head to the kitchen. The note I left is not on the fridge. I spy it in the trash can. I look around to see if he left me a note. Nope. Nothing. I trudge upstairs to the guest room.

  The bed is made, and the windows open to let in the fresh air. Despite myself, I’m impressed with his housekeeping skills. Looking at the bed, there’s no trace of the passionate night that Declan and I shared.

  My pussy clenched and my thighs tingle as memories of the night flooded me. Declan is the most skilled lover I have ever had. He brought out a side of me that I didn’t know I possessed. A side that was unashamed and eager to let go and give myself to his experienced hands.

  I swallow my disappointment. Not that I want a repeat of last night. That was just sex. What we do need to do, however, is to have a discussion and cement the deal. Make sure that Declan understands that I meant what I said.

  We’ll only be together until I get pregnant, and then we can part ways. The only thing that has changed is how I’ll get pregnant. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way as we did last night. It’s a little late to go back to option one—artificial insemination.

  My face heats up as I remember my moans and screams of pleasure. This, from someone who had insisted on a non-physical relationship. My gaze lingers on the bed for a few seconds before I leave the room.

  I change into comfortable clothes and go back downstairs to make coffee. As the coffee machine does its thing, it hits me that I don’t have Declan’s number. Neither do I know where in Santa Monica he lives.

  It can’t be that big, I tell myself. Then a light bulb goes off in my head. Declan mentioned the name of his pizza joint. Did you say Pizza? I carry my coffee to the living room and settle down on the couch with my laptop.

  I type the name of the pizza place, and bingo, it comes up.

  ***

  “Yes, please,” I say as Declan does this thing he does on my nipple with his tongue. I arch my back and feed him the other nipple. I let out a small cry as he rubs one taut peak and sucks on the other.

  Declan has taught me that there’s a direct line from my nipples to my pussy and now, a terrible ache grows between my legs.

  “More,” I tell him and push his shoulders down.

  He slides down and growls when he sees how wet I am.

  “I love how wet you are for me,” he says. His words are like a tap that’s been twisted, and more liquids gush from my pussy.

  He splays his big hands on my pussy and spreads it open. His hot breath fans it before his tongue flicks my clit. I scream at the contact and raise my hips to urge more of his tongue on me.

  He growls like an animal as he eats my pussy.

  “Please,” I whimper over and over again when the pleasure becomes excruciating. I’m so close to the edge of orgasm. Tears prickle the edges of my eyes. My breath comes out fast as I feel the beginnings of the orgasm.

  A noise shatters my bubble, and when I snap my eyes open, it’s to find myself alone in bed with my hand rubbing furiously at my clit. Disappointment crushes me as I reach over to the bedside table to turn off the alarm.

  I shut my eyes, wanting to live out my fantasies a bit longer, but habits are stronger than fantasies. There’s no curtain in my bedroom window to filter out the harshness of the early morning sun, and it burns my eyes. Remnants of my fantasies remain, and my body tingles as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Where is my husband?” I say out aloud. I’m beginning to get used to the idea of being married, even if I have no clue where Declan is.

  I make plans as I get up and get ready for the day. I’m an early riser, and by seven, I’m leaving the house to go to work. My mornings are usually busy responding to client inquiries through email and phone calls.

  A thought sneaks into my mind, and I wonder what Declan is doing at this very moment. I know that he’s not an early riser as he hadn’t even stirred when I got up from bed yesterday.

  I shouldn’t be excited that I’ll see him that afternoon. I should be mad. But I miss him, and that in itself is insane. I don’t understand how I can miss someone who is, in essence, a stranger. Someone whose existence I wasn’t even aware of days ago.

  I reach my office, and as per my custom, I fish my keys out and pop into the bridal boutique. I can tell that my manager is already there from the open drapes. I inhale the scent of new fabric as I cross the store to the office at the back. The door is open, and Maggie is stooped over the computer, probably making orders from our suppliers.

  Whenever I worry that I might be a workaholic, I think of Maggie, and that worry disappears. She loves her job and is the first to come to work. The fact that she’s an empty nester and a widow makes it easier, I suppose.

  For me being single means that I can come to work as early as I want and leave as late as I want. I wonder how marriage, even a fake one, will change my life. The thought makes me frown. I love my life just the way it is.

  “Morning you,” I tell her. “If it weren’t for your clothes, I’d think you spent the night here.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “I wish. I love this place.”

  She talks about work and the new collections from various designers. We specialize in wedding attire and accessories, and as much as I love the boutique, my heart is upstairs. Planning weddings and other social functions.

  I love the silence upstairs before anyone comes in. I make myself a coffee and carry it to my office. I attack the emails that have gathered overnight first. There’s a venue to confirm a booking, a final walkthrough date to confirm for a wedding this coming Saturday, and emails from brides and grooms and families.

  The morning flies by, which is a good thing as I don’t get time to fret about Declan. At one, I leave the office for the day and head to Santa Monica. I let down the sunroof and enjoy the warmth of the sun on the drive down.

  As I get nearer, the air becomes salty, and I smell the ocean. My heart thuds madly as I drive into Santa Monica and follow directions to the parking space. I feel as if I’m going on a first date, which is silly for various reasons. One, I have no feelings for Declan, and two, ours is a marriage of convenience. There’s no space for emotions. Allowing myself to have feelings for Declan is the quickest way to have my heart broken. The only thing that he’s interested in is access to his trust fund.

  Not that I blame him. I’m in it for my selfish reasons too. To get a baby.

  You can’t replace her, a voice in my head says, and I quickly shut it down.

  The vibe in Santa Monica is vastly different from LA. There’s an idyllic mood, which reminds me of a vacation spot. What a nice place to live in, I muse as I stroll toward Main Street. I consult my phone once for directions and see that I’m on the right track.

  I see Did you say Pizza? from a few stores down. The colors are vibrant, and there’s more activity than in other stores as people go in and out. I subconsciously quicken my step.

  The interior is wonderfully cool, and I pause for a few seconds to admire the décor. I stand in a line, and when my turn comes, I settle for a small-sized house-style pizza.

  Chapter 10

  Declan

  “I’ll get that,” I say and hand Luke, the cashier, a twenty-dollar bill.

  Marian whirls around, and for a moment, I’m drowned by her large expressive eyes. I rouse myself and plant a kiss on her lips.

  “Declan,” Luke says, jolting me back to the present.

  I pocket the change, take Marian�
��s hand, and lead her to a table away from the noise. Usually, I love the sounds of children shrieking in the play area and the hum of conversation, but today, I want to concentrate on Marian. I hoped that she would come, and now that she’s here, I have to remind myself that she’s the same woman who left me in her house all alone. Okay, I sound like a wimp, but she did.

  “It’s good to see you,” I tell her.

  Her gaze bounces around the restaurant. “This is a lot bigger than I imagined.”

  The fact that she’s impressed pleases me. “Thank you,” I say.

  She swings her glance back to me. She looks so beautiful with her hair parted at the center and held back in a ponytail. Stunning. That’s the only word that aptly describes Marian.

  “Were you planning on getting in touch any time soon,” she says coolly. “Or you already got what you wanted from this marriage?”

  My anger flares up. “You’re one to talk. You left me a note like I was an escort.”

  Her cheeks color, confirming that it had been a deliberate move. Maybe to put me in my place. The fake husband place.

  “I had to go to work,” she says, but that’s just what it sounds like—an excuse.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say to her. “Because we need to set some ground rules if this is to work.”

  “Why do you care?” she asks. “I imagine your money is already on its way to your bank account.”

  She’s not wrong. “Because I always keep my end of the deal.”

  A vulnerable, almost sad expression comes into her emerald green eyes, and my chest squeezes. Protective feelings come over me.

  “That’s good to know,” she says, her voice shaky.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her, deeply disturbed by the sudden change in her.

  She plasters a smile on her face. A smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong.” She’s lying. “So, what ground rules do you want to talk about?”

  One of the servers brings Marian’s pizza and water. Marian smiles and thanks to her. “I can’t wait to dig into this. I missed lunch.”

  “Is that something you do a lot?” I ask her.

  Despite being curvy, she’s a bit on the slim side, but from my research, Lilly Love Wedding Planner is one of the biggest outfits in LA, and I reckon she’s very busy. Still, she needs to eat some more.

  “I do, and I keep promising myself not to do that,” she says as she opens the box and makes appreciative noises. “I love the smell of freshly baked pizza.”

  I watch as she opens her gorgeous mouth and takes the first bite. She closes her eyes, and as she chews, I wonder how it would feel to have her lips wrapped around my cock.

  “That’s the most delicious pizza I’ve ever tasted, and I’m not just saying that because … well because you’re my husband.”

  I chuckle. “I know. We make the best pizzas.”

  “Humble not,” she says.

  “It’s a fact, not a boast,” I tell her and reach across and swipe my thumb across her lower lip.

  “What?”

  “A bit of sauce,” I tell her, fighting the urge to touch her soft lips again.

  “You were saying something about ground rules,” Marian says, and it takes a moment to remember what it was that I wanted to say.

  It doesn’t seem important now, but I wrack my brain for it anyway. “Yes, I was. Respect. We have to respect each other, and that means communicating.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Maybe we can start by exchanging numbers?”

  We both laugh, and the earlier tension is broken.

  “It’s very busy here,” Marian says, and for the next few minutes, we talk business. “Have you figured out the new location?”

  “Ace told me about this bakery that’s shutting down on Second Street. He said he’d research it and get back to me. I’ve also put the word out to real estate agents. I’m sure something will come up.”

  “That’s awesome and so exciting,” she says.

  “So, do you want to see my place? We can even pass by Park and Rachael’s office. I’d like you to meet them.” I feel like a teenager rather than a grown-ass man.

  “Who are Parker and Rachael?” Marian asks, an amused look on her face.

  “My best friends. They’re more like family. We all grew up together here in Santa Monica.”

  “Do your parents live here?” she says.

  I answer and promptly change the topic. I don’t want to have to explain why it’s not a good idea to meet them just yet. I tell Marian about Park and Rachael and their little girl Kacy, another sweetheart who is just about Luna’s age.

  “Looks like you’re the only one who hasn’t procreated yet,” Marian quips.

  Not for long. I arrest the words before they leave my mouth. I don’t want to think about that particular condition. It’s something we’ll have to revisit.

  “Ready?” I ask her.

  “You sure it’s okay for you to leave? I don’t want to mess up your workday.”

  If only she knew. The moment I clapped my eyes on her, my day was messed up. I have an ulterior motive for wanting to show her where I live. I need to have her somewhere alone. Somewhere I can kiss her and maybe try and work on making that baby.

  “It’s fine,” I assure her. I wave at the guys at the counter so they know that I’ve left.

  I glance down at Marian’s shoes and nod in approval. She was wise enough to wear walking shoes. I also like that her skirt is short enough to have my fill of admiring her long shapely legs.

  We walk to the marina, and I point out Serenity, Ace’s boat, to her.

  “Do you sail too?” she asks me.

  “Yes, it was a thing we did as a family for years. What about you?”

  “Sail? Nope, I’d love too though,” she says and then goes on the defensive. “I don’t mean that you should take me.”

  “Marian, I’d love to take you sailing one day. Put that down on our to-do list,” I say.

  She giggles. “I love to-do lists.”

  “I know. There were several in your kitchen,” I say.

  “They keep me sane,” she says and then stops to stare at a group of people boarding a yacht. “It does look fun.”

  “It is.” I take her hand and lead her into Park and Rachael’s office.

  Rachael and Park are at the reception, and they look up and grin when they see me. They both go around the reception. I kiss Rachael on the cheek, and Park and I hug. I drape my hand around Marian, pulling her into the circle.

  “I want you to meet someone,” I tell them. Up until then, I hadn’t decided how I’d introduce Marian. “Park, Rachael, this is my wife, Marian Stevens, now, Carter,” I add for good measure.

  Rachael’s jaw drops almost to the floor. “Wife?” she says, shifting her gaze from me to Marian.

  Park is a cool customer, and he doesn’t show his surprise. “I’m guessing that happened in Vegas? Congratulations.” He takes my hand and pumps it, and then kisses Marian on the cheek.

  Rachael recovers, and she hugs Marian. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thanks,” Marian says.

  I take Marian’s hand. “We’re on a tour of Santa Monica.”

  “We must organize a lunch or dinner,” Rachael says.

  “I’d like that,” Marian says, and she sounds like she genuinely would. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe her.

  “Now to my house,” I tell her when we step back to the pier.

  My apartment complex is right at the beach, with stunning views of the ocean and several islands in the distance. We use the beach way, and Marian kicks off her shoes and laughs as the sand tickles her.

  “This is the life,” she says and pulls her hair loose.

  She looks like an angel with the wind blowing her hair and the wind wrapping her skirt around her legs. “Why would anyone want to live in LA after this?”

  I laugh, loving her enthusiasm. “Lexi says the same thing. They have a house here too and spe
nd most weekends down here. Luna loves it.” I fish my keys out from my pocket and open the small gate that separates the public beach from the apartments.

  “Wow,” Marian says as we walk by the large Olympic size pool. “And I thought I lived well.”

  “You do,” I tell her.

  We take the elevator to my penthouse apartment, and as we ride up, the atmosphere grows heavy as we become aware of each other. The elevator comes to a stop, and we step out.

  “I always feel like a fish in a bowl when I stand here,” I say in a bid to bring back the easy atmosphere we had earlier.

  Marian’s laugh is stilted. “Yeah, but it’s gorgeous.”

  We enter the apartment, and she walks around, taking in my minimalist style of furniture and decor.

  “I’ll give you a tour.” My voice comes out all funny. It is as if my body is waiting for us to be alone.

  My apartment is open plan with four bedrooms. The tour is over pretty quickly, and we end up in my bedroom.

  “About the uh, baby,” I say. “I think we should continue with the old-fashioned way of conceiving.” I can’t believe I said that. I want to smack myself in the mouth.

  To make matters worse, my cock doesn’t seem to have gotten the message that this is an awkward moment, and a visible tenting is showing in my pants.

  Marian folds her hands under her breasts and smiles teasingly. “Is that right? Does that suggestion have something to do with the tent in front of your pants?”

  I grin sheepishly. “It might.”

  Marian drops her hands and walks slowly toward me. She stops when she’s a hair’s breadth in front of me. “I think that’s a good idea.” She goes on tiptoe and kisses me lightly on the mouth.

  Then she steps away and pops open the buttons on her blouse, one at a time. She shrugs off the blouse, and I close the gap between us and pull her into my arms. I groan as her softness crashes into my hardness. I palm her ass and slip my hands under her skirt to caress her thighs.