by Lila Kane
He ducks down and spreads the thick blanket on the floor before taking off the rest of his clothes. His cock curves up, hard and ready. Waiting for me. I push him back on the blanket and climb on top, so hot for him I can’t wait anymore.
“I’m really looking forward to this,” I say.
He grins, and then groans when I sheath his cock all the way to the hilt. “This?”
“All this. Our life together.”
I ride him hard and fast, and he lets his hands travel, touching my breasts and my nipples, and then rubbing his thumb on my clit until my body explodes against his.
“Carson, God…” I can’t find the words. This is everything.
Him. Me. And our dreams.
“It’s perfect,” he says, as if reading my mind.
I nod, my cheek pressed against his. “I get my very own handyman.”
“And I get a handywoman.”
My lips curve. “Let me show you just how handy I can be.”
And then I reach for him and give him his own moment of bliss.
If you enjoyed this story, turn the page for a sneak peek at another steamy story from Lila, Fiancée for Sale.
Summary
I wasn’t supposed to be dumped weeks before my wedding day. Not only have I lost my dream come true, but I’m also massively in debt because of all my wedding purchases. So what’s a girl to do?
Easy. Sell the wedding. I put my dress, the venue, even the damned centerpieces up for sale. How was I to know the man who’d come to possibly purchase them was also looking for a bride?
But I need the money, and maybe…maybe I need a little adventure in my life, too. Instead of playing it safe, maybe this billionaire is the key to turning my life around.
I thought I was getting a fiancé and enough money to get me back on my feet, but I didn’t realize I might also be falling in love.
Fiancée for Sale is a standalone, full-length novel. No cliffhanger or cheating, and a Happily Ever After is Guaranteed.
CHAPTER ONE
Brianna
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I say, glaring at my friend. Deb only smiles gently. “It’s getting your mind off of Chet, right?”
She’s right. It is getting my mind off of Chet. Maybe not entirely mending my heart, but it’s a start. After all, Chet’s an asshole, so anything I can do to move on and to get my money back, will help.
At least I hope so.
“All right.” I hold my fingers over the keyboard. “What am I supposed to write?”
Deb checks her list. “Everything on here. Everything you can sell—even the venue.”
“The venue? Seriously?”
She nods. “Seriously. If you can find someone who’s been waiting for this place forever, maybe you can make a deal. Maybe they’ll want to push their wedding up. It’s a long shot, I know, but they’re not going to refund your deposit on the place.”
No, they aren’t. The wedding is supposed to be in three weeks, and we were nearing the end of plan-making. Meaning, we had already booked the venue a long time ago, hired the caterer, paid for the flowers and on and on. Oh, and the dress…
That had been the best part. My dream dress.
And now, I don’t even want to wear it. It reminds me too much of Chet. Chet the liar. Chet the cheater. Chet the asshole who had made me fall in love with him even though my friends had warned me he was just a player.
How was I supposed to see that when I was drowning in love?
Had he even given any indication of these things? I’m afraid to ask Deb. She’ll probably say yes. She’ll probably say there were signs, signs, and more signs. And then I’ll feel like a complete fool—worse than I already do.
Deb is just too kind to say, I told you so.
“What about the engagement ring?” I ask.
Deb runs a hand through her hair. “What do you think?”
“Pawn it.”
Deb laughs. “That’s the spirit. Get Chet out of your life completely. I know it’s hard and he’s a total dick for doing this to you, but the faster you get all memory of him out of your life, the less he can hurt you.”
She’s right again. My heart will take time to mend, but it’ll be easier when I don’t have reminders of him everywhere. And when I figure out how in the world I’m going to get back on my feet financially.
That alone makes sadness turn into anger. Fuck Chet. He was supposed to pay for half the wedding when he got his first bonus at work. He was supposed to help pay for rent, too. To make up for all the money I’d lost the last several months trying to secure our future.
My fingers start moving, and I list all the items written on Deb’s notebook. I set up the rest of the ad and blow out a breath before pressing SUBMIT.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now, we print out flyers and put them up everywhere we can think of,” she says, gesturing to the computer. “Trust me. Someone’s bound to see them. And if that gets you even $100 back then that’s helpful, right?”
“Right,” I grumble, though I’m sick of her being right.
Rent is due in two weeks and I’m barely getting any hours at work. It’s my fault. I told them I needed to cut down on hours to help plan the wedding, and they compensated by hiring new employees who are now getting all the hours I used to have.
Deb wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I promise after the flyers we’ll take a break. I’ll buy you a drink.”
I sniffle a little, though mostly I’m just playing it up to get her sympathy. Mostly. “Two drinks.”
She laughs and nods. “Two drinks. Big ones. And we’ll eyeball all the hotties in the bar just to make ourselves feel better.”
“I feel better already.”
I’m only partly lying. I do feel better. I’d let myself wallow for a few days, but now I’m over it. I need to be productive, and this is the best way to do it.
So I get back to work and try to think of this as business and nothing more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We cover all our favorite spots, and spots we know get a lot of traffic. At the last place, a little dive bar we frequent because it’s just around the corner from my apartment, I point to the back of the building. “Last one.”
“I’ll grab a table,” Deb says.
I spot a few guys at the bar, watching me, and sway my hips a little just because I can. I’m not attached anymore, and though I don’t particularly want to pick up a guy in a bar—let alone one a week after being dumped by my fiancé—I’m single and I’m allowed to flaunt it.
In the hallway to the bathrooms, there’s a bulletin board covered with flyers for bands and apartments for rent. I spot an empty bottom corner to put up my sad flyer up with a thumb tack, hoping to lure perspective brides to buy my wedding experience. My dream.
A man comes out of the bathroom and bumps into me, knocking the paper loose and watching it flutter to the ground.
“Shit—my bad.” He bends to grab the flyer. “You okay?”
“Uh…” I blink up at him. He doesn’t look like he belongs here. Nice three-piece suit, shoes shiner and probably more expensive than my entire wedding. I can’t believe he just came out of that bathroom. Maybe he’s lost. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He starts to pass over the flyer, then pauses and looks at it. “You’re selling a wedding experience?”
Yeah, so my wording isn’t the best. I was trying to make it sound enticing.
I pluck the flyer from his hand and tack it to the board. “Yes.”
His lips curve in a grin. “That’s one I haven’t seen before.”
Damn, he’s cute. And cocky. He’s totally laughing at me right now. Well, screw him. Chet’s probably laughing at me too, and I don’t need that in my life. Ever.
“You should probably get out more,” I say, then turn on my heel and sashay back to the booth.
The guys at the bar are openly staring now but I ignore them and slide into the booth with Deb. “Men,” I
huff.
“Yeah, I see them ogling.”
“Not them—the asshole back by the bathrooms.”
Deb glances in that direction, trying to peer into the hallway. Then her eyes widen. “Holy hell. You mean, Mr. Business Suit—the guy practically oozing money from his pores?”
I wave off her assessment. “I need a drink.”
“He’s hot.”
“The assholes always are,” I say.
“Ain’t that the truth?”
Putting Chet and Mr. Money Bags out of my mind, I order a drink and take the night off from worrying.
CHAPTER TWO
Michael
I can’t say I’m not intrigued. A sexy, confident woman tacks an entire wedding to a board in a dive bar and then tries to put me in my place? I want to know more.
Too bad a bride doesn’t come with the wedding—then she’d probably have some takers. The idea hits me hard. A bride. A wedding already planned. It sounds like a quick answer to my problem.
I grab the flyer and stuff it in my pocket before walking to the table in the corner. Derek’s already there, looking as out of place as I do in his suit and tie. I can’t help but look for the woman as I walk, and find her at booth on the opposite side of the bar. She doesn’t see me, or maybe she doesn’t care to.
Derek gestures to the bar when I reach the table. “I ordered your drink. And really…I have no idea why you wanted to meet here. It’s…dirty.”
I chuckle. “Exactly. No one will find us here.”
“Who’s looking for you?”
“Everyone,” I say. “Especially the press.”
Derek grins. “That was your fuck-up. Now you have to deal with the consequences. Just tell them the truth and get on with your life.”
The truth? Shit. No one wants the truth. They want a fairy tale. They want to think I have the perfect woman, ready for the perfect wedding, and soon to follow, the perfect babies. And Derek is right, I fucked up. I alluded to a woman—one that doesn’t exist.
But my partners start in on me every day. They’re like my parents. When are you going to get married? Settle down? Have kids? You need someone to bring to our functions, someone to share this life with.
They’re all certain they know exactly what I need. And once I’d given the impression that I already had a woman, someone ran with it. Now the papers and magazines are running story after story. Who’s the mystery woman? Who has Michael Parsons been hiding? And the latest—and the worst: Who’s Michael Parsons’ fiancée?
I’m not sure how I’d gone from having a potential love interest to having a fiancée, but somehow I had.
Our drinks arrive and I down half of mine in one gulp.
“Easy,” Derek says. “Getting drunk isn’t going to solve the problem.”
“Neither is telling the truth.”
“Say you broke up. No one will ever know there wasn’t a woman.” Derek lifts his drink in salute. “Then you can go back to being a bachelor.”
“Even if that’s what I wanted, it wouldn’t fix the problem.”
Derek shakes his head. “There is no problem. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Derek is forever seeing things in black and white. He’s my lawyer—a good friend, but still—I pay him to see things in black and white. But I also pay him to find loopholes and work things to my advantage. Right now, I have an idea about him working something to my advantage, but I’m not sure we’ve had enough to drink yet.
No…even with five more cocktails Derek is still not going to think this is a good idea.
Derek gestures to the waitress for another drink.
I ask her to bring the intriguing woman and her friend a round of whatever they’re having, and Derek lifts his eyebrows. “Who is it?”
“Tall, honey blonde, and angry,” I say. I point to the booth on the other side of the bar, but doubt he can see much.
“So much for laying low.”
“I don’t think she has any idea who I am.” Not in this neighborhood. Not how she was dressed. She didn’t seem like a businesswoman.
“She looks hot.”
I nod in agreement. She is. All that wild hair, a flash of temper. I wonder whose wedding she’s trying to sell. Hers? I almost pull the flyer from my pocket, but decide against it. I’m not prone to snap decisions. I have to think about this.
In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy my evening away from the press, away from prying eyes, and with a good view of a sexy woman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, I wake to find the flyer on my end table like a reminder. A reminder that I don’t have a bride—I don’t even have a girlfriend—and I definitely don’t have a pending wedding.
I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. I press the button beside the bed to open the screen over the windows. Outside, the sky is a dramatic blue and buildings rise up around me.
The view is picturesque, and suddenly I’m wondering why I don’t have anyone to share it with.
Sure, I could call Monica or Stephanie. One of them often joins me at functions and dinners. I have fun with them. But lately…I want more. I don’t want one-night stands.
But more than that, I don’t want to explain to my partners, my friends, my family that I’m bringing Monica or Stephanie wherever I’m going, but we’re nothing more than friends. With benefits, of course, but still.
I need to start thinking like a businessman. It’ll look good to have the same woman on my arm at charity balls. The same woman with me when I attend weddings. The same one walking out of my building with me when I head to work.
It’ll look good for business and it’ll take off some of the personal pressure.
I pluck the flyer from the end table and read through it more thoroughly this time. I can’t tell who the woman is from this, only that she’s selling everything. A wedding venue, the cake, flowers—the honeymoon? Damn. What happened? Had she called off the wedding? Or maybe this has nothing to do with her at all and she’s just helping a friend.
But a woman who’d sell her wedding dress is clearly bitter about something. Probably an asshole fiancé who chickened out at the last minute.
I’m curious about the situation, but even more curious about the woman. She’s included a number at the bottom of the flyer. Nothing is stopping me from calling it.
Worst case scenario, I ask her to coffee or have lunch with a sexy woman. Can’t hurt.
I ignore the advice I’m sure Derek would be giving me right now and dial the number, hoping the woman from yesterday answers.
CHAPTER THREE
Brianna
“I’m just calling you so you know where I am,” I tell Deb as I lock up my apartment and head downstairs.
“Not near your apartment, right? I wish you would have waited for me. It’s a guy—are you sure?”
“Yes. He called this morning and asked to get together to talk about the items on the flyer. I said I’d meet him for coffee at my place—which he doesn’t know I work there, of course. But there will be plenty of people there—people I know. I promise I’ll be safe.”
“But a guy?”
“Maybe he wants to surprise his fiancée,” I say. “I don’t care—this was the whole point of putting up the flyers and making the ad, right?”
“Yes. But…you sure you don’t want me to come? I know karate.”
I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk. “No. If he gets all psycho, I’ll toss my hot coffee on him and run.”
“Fast. Call me when you’re done.”
“Yep.” I end the call and enjoy the stroll.
I didn’t tell the guy we’re meeting at the coffee shop I work at. I figured it’d be safer so people would have my back. Maybe not the best idea, though, if he does out to be a stalker. Then he’ll know where I work.
But he didn’t sound like a psycho. He sounded genuinely interested. He asked a few questions in his deep husky voice, making me picture some tall, dark-haired man who just wanted to give th
e fiancée he adored the best wedding ever but didn’t have the money to do it.
My instincts said he was safe, so I agreed to meet.
I arrive early to grab my coffee and explain to one of my co-workers I’ll be outside with a mystery man, and then sit under the shade of an umbrella.
Being a barista is just my side job. My true passion is graphic design—but it takes years to build up a reputation and clients and…well, these last several months I haven’t being building a reputation so much as catering to Chet.
Asshole.
Before I can mentally berate him anymore, I see him. Not Chet and not the guy I’m supposed to meet, but him. The guy from the bar. The guy I’m pretty sure sent me and Deb a drink halfway through the evening.
Hell. He’s even hotter in the daytime—now that I can see dark stubble lining his jaw, and eyes bluer than the ocean. He’s not dressed up this time. Just wearing dark-wash jeans and button-down shirt, folded up on his forearms like some sort of model.
He spots me and grins. “Hey.”
I lean back in my seat, lifting my coffee. Playing it cool. “Hey.”
“They have good coffee here?”
I nod. “The best.”
He sits. “I might grab some in a minute.”
“I’m—you can’t—” I break off, realizing I’m definitely not playing it cool now. “I’m meeting someone.”
He thrusts out a hand. “I’m Michael.”
“But…” I glance around, like there has to be someone else coming. Or like someone is playing an elaborate joke on me.
But I’ve learned that’s the way of the universe lately. Everything feels like an elaborate joke on me, designed to make me wonder why I ever even get up most mornings.
“You’re Brianna, right? I talked with you on the phone this morning.”
Common courtesy has me reaching out to shake his hand, though inside I’m sputtering expletives.
“I’m…I didn’t.” Grr! Why can’t I get a grip on myself? I breathe in deep and try again. “Yes, I’m Brianna. I didn’t realize when I saw you the other day that you were looking for a wedding. Or wedding stuff. Whatever.”