by Odette Stone
My Fake Fiancé
Odette Stone
My Fake Fiancé, The Guilty Series, Book 3
Copyright © June 2018 by Odette Stone
www.odettestone.com
ISBN: 9780995020023
First edition, June 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser | RBA Designs
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Epilogue
Message from Odette
About the Author
Parker, you’re my best writing friend in this crazy writing world. Thank you for being here every single day. Without your words of encouragement, or your razor-sharp editing eye, this book would’ve never happened. Thank you. Odette
Prologue
Porter
My eyes burned, struggling to stay open, and my body worked to hide its aches and sores, but I was thankful to be stateside again. After a deployment in a country not fit for humans, a sixteen-hour flight to Virginia to pick up my suit, and another flight to New York, I felt punch-drunk tired as I walked through JFK.
“You made it.” Jackson assessed me while I fell into step beside him. “We’re parked this way.” He eyed my bag. “Did you bring your suit?”
“Emily texted me twice.”
A ghost of a smile traced his lips. “Figured she would.”
At his truck, I tossed my bag into the back and hopped in beside him. “When did you get into New York?”
“We drove up yesterday.” He turned and checked me over. “You look like shit.”
That’s what happens when life kicks you in the nuts.
“The bowels of hell will do that to a person.”
He laughed as he started the engine. “Beer and steak?”
“Wouldn’t say no.”
“We gotta make a pit stop first.” He merged out of the parking lot. “I have all of Theo’s diapers, and Emily is living on a prayer right now.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the baby blue bunny diaper bag sitting on the back seat. In the field, Jackson was one of the most ruthless and skilled operators I’d ever worked with, but around Emily and Theo, he became a different person. A better person. Better than I’d ever have the chance to be.
I needed to share my news, although I dreaded it. After three back-to-back deployments, my recently approved leave of absence would come as no surprise to anyone, but I felt like I was letting down the team. After this weekend, I’d have just four more weeks in the field, and then I was free.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken more than a week off.
“I took a L.O.A.”
“How long?”
This was where it got tricky. Most approved L.O.A.s lasted six weeks. I’d requested an open L.O.A., which meant I could take up to six months off without needing to be retested.
“It’s open.”
He hit me with his green eyes. “You good?”
“Just need to take care of some personal shit.”
Translation: my life was a mess.
No. My life was a fucking mess.
I’d pushed off dealing with any of my shit by simply signing up for deployment after deployment, but my body had started to protest. I needed to rest. The other night, my mind had wandered, and I’d almost gotten my head blown off.
Fuck me.
I cleared my throat, feeling a need to explain. “I found Felicia. She’s in New York.”
“You talk to her?”
“Just a text.”
He pulled his truck up against the curb and reached behind us to grab the diaper bag. “Give me a minute.”
As he jogged across the street with Theo’s diaper bag over his huge shoulder, I fought my first smile in a month. Hell, the only thing that made me smile these days was time spent with Theo. It was an honest-to-God honor to be his godfather. Emily and Jackson knew I’d guard that kid with my life.
A tall, leggy blonde stepped out of the building and stopped in front of Jackson. He handed her the diaper bag. She laughed at something he said, and her entire face radiated warmth and such pure fucking happiness, it almost hurt to watch.
I held my breath as the wind whipped her thick shoulder-length blond hair over her wide eyes. She wasn’t a classic beauty like Emily, nor was she a siren like Felicia, but for some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She spoke with animation and pointed at something down the street. Her own story made her laugh and, in response, my dick twitched.
Hard.
Which didn’t make sense. She wasn’t my type. She was too girl-next-door. She looked too happy. But she did also look like a good dose of trouble. Exactly how I liked it. Exactly what I didn’t need.
But my brain and my cock were rarely on the same page.
Hard cock or not, I needed to get my act together. What I didn’t need was to get tangled up with a chick who looked like she could lead me around by my dick with one mischievous smile.
I forced myself to look away.
Jackson jogged back towards me. “Ready for that steak dinner now?”
“I could eat.” The question ripped out of me before I could stop it, “Who’s the chick?”
I could feel Jackson’s scrutinizing glance, but the bastard took his time answering. Long enough that I turned to see if he’d heard me. His green eyes looked amused.
“Her name is Beth.”
Chapter 1
Beth
My toes were killing me. Judging from the amount of circulation cut of
f by my insanely high and pointed Louboutins, you’d think I would’ve lost all feeling in my phalanges by now. Instead, they screamed in pain.
The church felt unusually hot for a Wednesday afternoon. I stood at the front and tried not to sweat as the minister droned on in front of empty pews. This was the exact spot Emily had announced, in front of all her wedding guests, that she was pregnant with Jackson’s baby.
Now, today, we were here to celebrate that baby.
All five of us.
Jackson and Emily.
Theo.
The minister.
And Jackson’s friend, Porter.
I shifted my stance for the third time in a minute, trying to be discrete, but a set of eyes shifted to my body. Like their owner, they were dark and broody—grey eyes, fringed with thick, sooty lashes.
Porter was as tall and built as Jackson. He wore a black suit, and his shirt collar sat so tight around his thick neck, it gave the appearance that he was being strangled. The rough biker facial hair that covered his face made it difficult to tell what he looked like under the fuzz. His un-styled and messy hair was a beautiful, dark blonde with natural highlights that would make my girlfriends envious. Even the best salon couldn’t produce those highlights.
His intense eyes continued to hold my gaze. Feeling judged, I lifted my chin at him a fraction. In response, he shifted that all-knowing gaze away from me.
I didn’t like him. I know you’re not supposed to judge people before you get to know them, but something about him dug under my skin. I couldn’t decide if it was his x-ray vision that seemed all-knowing, or if it was the fact that the guy hadn’t spoken or cracked a smile since he’d arrived. Christenings were supposed to be joyous occasions, but he acted like he was attending a funeral. Theo deserved more from his godfather.
The minister glanced up at us. “Would you like to gather around Theo as I bless him with the holy water?”
I stepped forward, conscious of the fact that Porter matched my step. I could feel him close beside me. Despite my five-inch heels, he still loomed over me, like some gargantuan hulk.
I smiled at Emily. The minister said some words, then slowly poured water over Theo’s head. Theo’s eyes widened. Shocked. And then, when I expected the kid to scream bloody murder, he rewarded us with an infectious giggle. Emily and Jackson shared a look.
I never cry. Not at weddings. Never at funerals. But that look was filled with so much love, so much tenderness and heartfelt expression, it choked me up. I raised my eyes upward to blink away the surprising, unwanted tears.
We made eye contact again. Me and the grey-eyed soldier. Except, I leaked weepy emotion, and he was utterly blank. Devoid of emotion. No expression. Just observing me. His lack of expression made me feel oddly vulnerable, which only made me dislike him more.
The minister asked us to bow our heads in prayer. I tucked my chin down, staring at our feet. The prayer was taking forever. I wavered slightly and stepped sideways to catch my balance. I hit a wall. A solid, hard, muscular wall that didn’t budge. Using core muscles I didn’t know I had, I managed to shift my balance, so I no longer leaned against him.
Face flaming, I focused on one spot on the floor. His fresh, clean scent surrounded me. A subtle hint of sporty, masculine soap and male pheromones. I wanted to lift my head in the air and sniff like a hound catching a scent. That’s how good he smelled.
I gritted my teeth. Why did this guy get under my skin so bad? I couldn’t take his unwavering gaze, his knowing eyes, his emotionless heart. He had no business being a godfather. Theo needed love. Not some wary, cold robot-man watching over him. Although maybe that’s why Jackson had picked him. He wanted Theo safe, and what better way to do that than to assign a solider to watch over him.
The prayer ended, and the service was done. We took photos, I fussed over Theo, Jackson shook hands with the minister, and we made our way to the front steps of the church.
“Now the fun part.” Emily smiled up at Porter.
To my surprise, he gave a small smile back. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his lips did move.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Jackson and I’d like to take you both out for dinner.”
“Yay, I’m starving. Can’t wait.” I hooked my arm around hers. “Where to?”
Emily gave me an apologetic smile. “Bayswater.”
Oh, fuck.
I beamed a tight smile at her. “That’s a perfect place for dinner.”
“You’re sure?” She chewed her bottom lip. “I thought it’d feel like my grandma was here with us today if we went there.”
“You’re not going to hear any complaints from me,” I assured her.
But then again, she could drag me to Hell’s gate, and I wouldn’t complain. Emily was the kind of friend I’d do anything for. No matter what. But if you asked me, I’d choose Hell’s gate over Bayswater any day.
She unhooked her arm from mine, expertly slung the diaper bag over her shoulder, and shifted Theo in her arms. “Beth, do you mind taking Porter in your car? It’s a bit tight in the back with Theo’s car seat.”
“Of course not,” I lied through another smile. “There’s lots of room in my car.”
Her smile radiated. “Thank you so much. I’m so excited! Okay. See you guys there.”
I tilted my head at the silent stranger standing beside me. “I’m parked over here.”
We walked in complete silence to my car. My heels clicked decisively on the pavement. We got in my twelve-year-old Corolla. With his big knees against the dash, Porter looked like he was sitting in a go-cart.
“You can put the seat back.” Sighing in relief, I reached down to take off my shoes and toss them in the back. Fuck heels.
Without speaking, he pushed the seat back as far as it would go, looking only marginally more comfortable. Then he took off his tie, stuffed it in his pocket and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his dress shirt.
I started the engine. We drove in complete silence. I wanted to turn on the radio, but that felt like conceding defeat. If he could sit through awkward silence, so could I.
“Why don’t you like Bayswater?” His question caught me off guard almost as much as his deep voice—smooth as a fine scotch.
How did I answer this question? I had attended weekly dinners there, twice a week, for my entire childhood. It was a stuffy, extravagant country club, built solely for the purpose of allowing wealthy, pompous people the opportunity to flaunt their affluence in front of each other. In other words, it represented everything I didn’t want to be as an adult. Self-absorbed, selfish, and greedy.
“I don’t like some of the people that hang out there.” I glanced at him. “But it holds some good memories for Emily, so that’s all that matters today. Our job is to focus on making more good memories for Jackson and Emily.”
I added that last part for good measure. To prompt him to think about Emily and Jackson’s experience today. Perhaps he could crack another smile or partake in some conversation.
More silence.
“So, how do you know Jackson?”
“We did BUDs together. And now we’re in the same unit.”
I glanced at him, stating the obvious, “You’re in the Navy.”
He barely nodded. His eyes were on the road. Observing everything.
“What’s with the beard and long hair? I thought everyone in the military had to be clean cut.”
“Social camouflage.”
I processed that for a moment. “You don’t want to look like an American soldier.”
He paused so long, I wasn’t sure he would answer. “Nope.”
Huh. Okay. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his job. That was fine. I didn’t like to talk about my job either, because as far as careers went, mine was circling the drain.
“So, where are you originally from?”
Nothing. We drove almost a block before he begrudgingly said, “Montana.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes. Trying to talk to this
man was like pulling teeth.
I concentrated on driving but got distracted by his big hands. Those rough and strong hands rested on his knees, and they moved with nervous energy.
I liked a man with big hands. The metrosexual men of New York tended to get manicures, and nothing made me feel more unfeminine than a man who took care of his nails better than I did. What would it feel like to have those calloused hands touch me? Would he be gentle or rough?
“Look out.” One of those hands reached out and grabbed the wheel, swerving my car into the next lane.
A high-pitched scream escaped out of me while I slammed on the brakes. Thanks to my surly passenger, I managed to avoid sideswiping the car in front of me.
A lone horn sounded long and impatient from behind us.
“Are you okay?” his voice sounded irritatingly calm.
In a panic, I grasped the steering wheel with both hands and managed to wrap my fingers around his.
“Sorry.” My fingers fluttered, releasing my hold of his fingers.
He scanned behind us. “You’re okay to drive.”
I did a three-point check, then slowly merged back into traffic. The adrenaline made me feel quivery and uncertain.