Don't Fall For Me : An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Hate to Love Book 1)

by Gigi Black

  Good thing I wasn’t one.

  “Hazel.”

  She jerked slightly, and the leather squeaked underneath her. Tan leather. Her tan body would look amazing sprawled across it, naked. “What?”

  “The ring,” I replied and checked my watch. We’d be there in half an hour. “You need to put it on.”

  “Right. Yeah.” She grabbed her purse where she’d secreted the ring and gave me another glimpse of her breasts.

  I averted my eyes, cussing myself out mentally. I was as red-blooded as the next guy, but there was something about Hazel that drove me wild. My forbidden fruit. I itched to peel back the layers and discover her pleasure points.

  Hazel straightened, holding the velvet box in her fingers. “Didn’t lose it.”

  “That’s good,” I replied. “That was my mother’s ring.”

  Her jaw dropped. “W–what? Are you insane?” She thrust it out. “I can’t wear this. It’s real.”

  “Of course it’s real. My father would spot a fake a mile away. He’d expect my woman to wear the real thing.”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  “You are for the next thirty days,” I replied, relishing the taste of that declaration. “And you are for the weekend. You’ve got to start practicing, Hazel. Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “Sit with me,” I said. “We’ve got to get comfortable. Go over our a few things you don’t know yet.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hazel.”

  She sighed and unclipped her seatbelt then got up and walked over. “I’m sitting here,” she said, gesturing to the chair next to mine, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I replied. “This is just business. Try not to forget that.”

  “You try not to forget that,” she countered.

  I loved her defiance, and that she thought she could resist her baser urges around me. Desire was written all over her face, in the curves of her body, in the sighs and the surreptitious looks she sent my way.

  Finally, Hazel lowered herself into the seat next to mine. She pushed herself into the far corner, like that would keep her safe from me, whatever the fuck that meant.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  God damn, she was cute. “Now, this.” I leaned over and took the box from her fingers. They trembled under my touch, and I tried not to take notice. Her trembling was a one-way ticket to a raging hard-on and blue balls later on.

  I removed the ring from the box and put out a hand.

  She placed her dainty fingers against my palm, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked down at where our palms met then up at my lips.

  I slipped the engagement ring into place, stroking my skin over hers, drawing goosebumps.

  “What are you doing?” Hazel asked, breathless.

  “Desensitizing you,” I replied. “Did you think we’d get through this weekend without touching each other?”

  “No.” Hazel didn’t tug herself out of my grasp. “But we only need to do this in public. There’s no one here.”

  “Practice makes perfect. Or are you afraid you’ll break the cardinal rule?”

  “What rule?”

  “Don’t fall for me. That rule.”

  “So arrogant.” She ripped her hand away and got up, stumbled, and nearly fell.

  I placed my hands on her hips and steadied her. She went stiff under my touch, and, shit, so did I. This was why Hazel was so damn dangerous. The sexual chemistry between us was off the charts.

  I rose, settling my hands on her curves, and brushed her ear with the tip of my nose, directing hot breath over her neck.

  She shivered. “What are you doing?”

  “Practicing.” I drew fingers down her throat, the thrum of her pulse a reminder of the sway I held over her. And the responsibility I had not to fuck this up. “Gentle touches, like this,” I said, brushing her cheek. “You’re stiff.”

  “I’m not the only one.”

  Touché. I was hard as rock again, my erection nestled against her peachy ass cheeks.

  “Relax, Hazel. Into my arms.”

  The gentle slope of her neck up to her jaw presented me with a problem. I wanted to bring my mouth to it, but that wasn’t technically something I’d do in public.

  “Where will we be seen?” Hazel asked, still not relaxed staring toward the door that separated the tan, leather cabin from the front of the plane where the solitary air hostess waited to be summoned.

  “My father will expect us to be at events, dinners, lunches. We might even have to dance.” I turned her in my arms swiftly, then looped an arm around her waist, brought my forehead against hers.

  Still, Hazel resisted, glaring daggers into my eyes.

  “Arms around my neck.”

  She slid them up my chest, and I gritted my teeth. “You wanted this.”

  You have no idea. I tightened my grip on her, pulling her closer, sliding my hand down the back of her cotton dress. I stopped just above her ass, and the sheer force of will I exerted to keep from moving any lower could’ve halted a moving train.

  “Careful,” she breathed.

  “Relax, Hazel. Lower your shoulders. Take a breath.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  I stroked the small of her back, testing her, and she flinched. “You can’t do that when I touch you. My father will know instantly, and if he figures it out, the deal’s off.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much.”

  “So, don’t flinch.” I dipped my hand onto her ass this time, and give one deliciously round, firm cheek a squeeze.

  She jolted on the spot, her breasts bouncing, nipples rubbing against my chest. “I’m trying,” she said. “And do you really think you’ll be grabbing my ass in front of your father?”

  I nuzzled her neck with my nose, inhaling her scent. “No,” I said. “This is just for me.”

  Hazel grabbed my lapels and scrunched them in her hands. My suit probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, but I didn’t give a fuck. Christ, she intoxicated me. It wasn’t normal for me to lose control like this, to set willpower and goals aside, just for the barest hint of a taste, a touch.

  I filled my palms with her ass, squeezing, slipping my fingers underneath the hem of her skirt and toward her perfect inner thigh gap. She wore a fucking thong, and the fabric guarding her pussy from my hungry explorations was already soaked through.

  My dick throbbed, demanding attention. “I could take you now,” I said, against her neck. “I could slip inside you again, make the trip worth your while.” I rubbed the wet cotton, circling the spot over her clit.

  Hazel grew even more tense, her knuckles white against my chest, now, her breathing heightened, pulse hammering against my lips. I opened them on her neck and sucked her flesh into my mouth.

  She moaned, gently, gyrating against my fingers, but just a little. Not enough to indicate she was ready for reckless abandon. Shit, to join the mile-high club.

  The door that separated us from the pilot and crew opened, and the air hostess stepped into the cabin.

  Hazel pulled away from me so hard the backs of her calves hit the chair and she slumped into it, red in the face.

  I casually readjusted my suit to cover my erection and took my place next to her.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Mr. Woods,” Mandy, the flight assistant said. “But we’re going to be landing soon, and the Captain asked that everybody put on their seatbelts.”

  “Thank you.” Hazel refused to meet Mandy’s eye, so I took hold of my fake fiancée’s hand and squeezed her fingers, ensuring the ring was on full display. “Can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  Hazel made an indistinct noise in her throat.

  “So good to see you happy, Mr. Woods.” Mandy left us to prepare for the landing.

  The minute she was gone, Hazel pulled out of my grip and folded her arms.

  I couldn’t help but smile. This was going to be one hell of an i
nteresting weekend.

  16

  Hazel

  Deep breaths, in and out, it’s going to be OK. You can do this. It’s just one weekend.

  I repeated the sentiments in my mind, all the way from the airport to the car, in the car ride over, and to the Eagle’s Rest Resort and Spa, which was about two miles outside of the nearest town. And then we were getting out of the car, and Damien’s hand was in the small of my back while a bellboy wearing a smart cream-and-gold uniform loaded our luggage onto a cart.

  “He’ll be around here somewhere,” Damien said. “Prepare yourself.”

  “Your father?”

  “No. Santa Claus.”

  “Dick,” I muttered, trying to remind myself not to lean into his touch. Christ, I didn’t like this man. I was supposed to hate him, what with our history, but the attraction to him was off the charts. Just a few touches and I was already moist.

  The resort building was two stories and made from thick wood—kind of like a massive log cabin with balconies. The interior was all greens, golds, and tans, with a polished reception area where we had to check in.

  Damien walked like he owned the place, probably because Daddy Dearest did own the resort. What must it have been like to grow up in a family where your future was completely ensured? No worries about where the next meal would come from or how you would afford hospital bills or even regular bills. Like rent.

  I raised my chin, forcing myself not to think about it. I wasn’t the jealous type. Dad had always told me that hard work was the key to success, and I still believed that. I had to. And I wouldn’t let Damien, or his father, make me feel any less than them just because of their financial status.

  “You’re tense,” Damien said, into my ear. “Relax. You’re engaged to me now. You own everything and everyone.”

  “Unlike you, Damien, I don’t aspire to own people and things.”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes, itching to step away from him and storm off, but that wasn’t part of the deal. We had to play the perfect couple. “Bottom line, you haven’t changed. You’re still the spoiled, selfish—”

  “Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you don’t like me,” he murmured into my ear, sending hot breath and shivers down my neck.

  We stepped up to the reception desk, and the woman behind it lit up like a friggin’ Christmas tree the minute she laid eyes on Damien. She was blonde and wearing a blouse at least a size too small, her breasts straining the cotton.

  “Mr. Woods!” she cooed, nearly falling over herself. She stood up and straightened her uniform shirt. “You’re here. Your father said he was expecting you.”

  “Right. Room for two,” he said. “The best suite you’ve got.”

  “Of course,” the receptionist said, her blue eyes turning cold as she took me in. “For two. The last time you were here… it was for one.”

  “The last time I was here, I wasn’t engaged,” Damien said and planted a gentle kiss on my temple.

  My heart fluttered. Get it together! He’s a dick.

  “Engaged.” The disappointment was palpable. “Well, congratulations Mr. Woods, and uh, Miss…?”

  “McCutcheon,” I said, offering her a smile. She looked at me like I’d just handed her a steaming turd on a plate. “Soon to be Woods too, though. Feel free to call me Mrs. Woods.” That was just because she’d pissed me off.

  “That’s what I like to hear.” The approval hadn’t come from Damien.

  An older man, shock of silver hair, tall, handsome but with eyes as cold as dry ice, approached. He wore a suit that’d probably been handmade, and each step was purposeful. Powerful. He was who Damien would be in forty years. Though I wasn’t sure Damien would ever be this aloof, if that was the word for it?

  “Mortimer,” Damien said.

  That’s what he calls his dad?

  “Damien.”

  The Woods men didn’t shake hands but gave each other the barest of nods.

  “You made it on time for once,” Mortimer said and then turned to me. He swept a gaze over me, his eyes narrowing. “I know you.”

  “Hello, Mr. Woods.” I extended a hand.

  Mortimer studied it like I’d offered him a spitting viper. “You’re that girl. The poor one.”

  I snatched my arm back to my side. “That is my given name. The Poor One, Bringer of Plague.”

  Mortimer didn’t so much as twitch a lip.

  Damien’s grip on me tightened. “This is Hazel,” he said. “And you’ll speak to her respectfully, Mortimer. She’s my fiancée.”

  “You know I’ve never understood your sense of humor, Damien.”

  “It’s not a joke,” Damien replied and slipped his hand onto my hip. His fingers bit into my skin.

  Mortimer was silent for what felt like an eternity. The receptionist stood by, holding the keycard for our room now, her eyes alive at the prospect of witnessing a fight between the two Woods men—giants in their own right.

  “Is there a problem?” Damien asked.

  A sigh from the patriarch. “I suppose not. I’ll expect you both at lunch. Wear something that costs more than a dollar.” The last part was a throwaway comment directed at me. By the time I’d opened my mouth to retort, Mortimer was already in the elevator at the end of the hall.

  No wonder my father had disliked him. Dad had only ever had great things to say about Damien and his brothers, but Mortimer… he’d always clammed up at the mention of the guy’s name.

  “Isn’t he delightful?” I asked. “I can see why you’re so desperate to be a part of his business.”

  “I’m not,” Damien replied, softly, only so the receptionist wouldn’t hear. His tone was full of grit and darkness. He let go of me and accepted the key card for his room then walked off a few paces. He paused underneath a brass chandelier. “Coming?”

  “I haven’t gotten a room yet. I’d like one with a view, please,” I said.

  Damien quirked an eyebrow. The receptionist let out a giggle.

  Oh shit. Of course. We’re staying together. Just like an engaged couple would.

  I blushed red hot.

  “She’s old-fashioned like that.” Damien grinned at the receptionist, covering for my slip-up. “But, honey, you don’t need to worry about that now. Nobody expects us to keep our hands off each other so close to the wedding.”

  And I’d thought I’d been blushing before.

  I followed Damien to the elevator.

  The doors slid shut, and I relaxed against the metal bar at the back of the cage. Though, could I be relaxed? I was still trapped in an enclosed space with a man who made my insides writhe. Jesus, would I ever get a grip?

  “You need to get your head in the game,” Damien said, gruffly.

  My gaze snapped toward him. His side profile was sharp, his dark eyes staring directly ahead. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  This was what seeing his father did to him. Or maybe it was my faux pas with the rooms. I couldn’t bring myself to care too much about messing up there—while I wanted to get this right, I wasn’t going to walk on eggshells around any man.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked.

  “No problem,” he replied. “I want this weekend to go smoothly, and it won’t if you piss off my father.”

  “I think you’re doing an admirable job without my help. You want me to be your fiancée? Then you’ll get me as your fiancée and no one else.”

  “I don’t want anyone else.”

  My insides flipped. “Then why ask me not to upset your dad?”

  He ground his teeth.

  “Damien?”

  “Forget I said anything.” The tension released a little, and he finally looked over at me. “Be yourself. I like your sassy side. I usually like pissing off my father.”

  “He really gets under your skin, doesn’t he?”

  The elevator doors opened, and Damien strode out ahead of me without answering. This time, he
didn’t wait for me to catch up. Whatever had happened between him and Mortimer had changed him. One glimpse of his dad, and he was different. Angrier, hollow, struggling against something unsaid.

  Good god. What had I gotten myself into?

  17

  Damien

  I’d let him get to me again.

  Fuck it. At least I hadn’t thrown something at the wall this time, though I’d been tempted to fling the computer monitor on the reception desk at him. I had to keep my shit cool. I wasn’t the type of guy who got lost in emotional torment or let my temper get the better of me, but around Mortimer…

  All those negative memories streamed back.

  Christ, I’d even snapped at Hazel. That had made for an awkward half hour spent unpacking our bags. She’d avoided me by heading into the bathroom to freshen up, and emerged dressed for lunch, wearing one of the outfits I’d had bought for her. Pencil skirt, silk blouse, Louboutin heels.

  “Ready to go?” I asked, straightening the sleeves of my suit jacket.

  “Yeah, I have to be, don’t I?” Hazel countered, spritzing on some perfume, her long caramel-gold hair falling past her shoulders in waves.

  “Hazel.” I choked on an apology.

  “Yeah?”

  “Just be yourself.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, dude.” She gave me a mocking double thumbs-up. “Just what I needed from you of all people.”

  I wanted to know what that meant, but giving a fuck was low on my list of priorities. It would only bring us closer and neither of us needed that.

  “Let’s go, gorgeous,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes at me but took my proffered hand. Her skin, so damn soft and warm, brought on the wild thoughts, but I resisted them.

  We took the elevator down to the first floor, and I brought her through the polished wood and paneled lobby to the resort’s Michelin-star restaurant. My father had insisted on only the best of the best chefs working at his establishment, and while I hated the motherfucker, I couldn’t help but agree.