Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5)

by Sarah M. Anderson

  She felt the cool weight of the diamonds he’d laid against her skin. How many thousands of dollars had he spent on them? On her? It was not supposed to be complicated. If they had sex, then it was supposed to be this simple quid pro quo. This was the way of her world—it always had been. The man buys an expensive, extravagant gift and the woman takes her clothes off. It was not messy.

  Except it was.

  “You’re ruining the last of my family’s legacy and business,” she told him. “You’re everything that went wrong. When we lost the Brewery, I lost a part of my identity and I should hate you for being party to that. God, how I wanted to hate you.”

  Oh, Lord—were her eyes watering? No. Absolutely not. There was no crying in baseball or in affairs of the heart. At least, not in her affairs of the heart, mostly because her affairs never actually involved her heart.

  She kept that locked away from everyone, and no one had ever realized it—until Ethan Logan had shown up and seen the truth of the matter. Until he’d seen the truth of her.

  “You can still hate me in the morning,” he told her. “I don’t expect anything less from you.”

  “But what about tonight?” Because it was all very well and good to say that he liked her messy, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still a mess. And that wore on a man after a while.

  He stepped into her. His body was strong and warm, and she knew if she gave first and leaned against him, breathed in his woodsy scent, that she would be lost to him.

  She’d already lost so much. Could she afford to lose anything else?

  He stroked his fingers down her face, then slid them back through her hair, pulling her up to him. “Let me love you tonight, Frances. Just you and me. Nothing else.”

  It was real and honest and sincere, damn him to hell. It was true because he was true. None of those little lies and half glosses of compliments that hid the facts better than they illuminated them. And for a man who did not grasp the finer points of sweet nothings, it was the sweetest damn something she’d ever heard.

  A door behind them opened. She didn’t know if it was the elevator or another guest and she didn’t much care. She took off down the hall toward Ethan’s room without letting go of his hand.

  He got the door open and pulled her inside. “I won’t like you in the morning,” she told him, her voice shaking as he undid the belt at her waist and pushed the coat from her shoulders.

  “But you like me now,” he replied, shucking his own coat in the process. “Don’t you?”

  She did. Oh, this was a heartache waiting to happen, this thing between her and Ethan.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said in as commanding a voice as she could muster. More than that, she didn’t want to think anymore. She only wanted to feel, to get lost in the sweet freedom of surrendering to her baser lust.

  She grabbed him by the suit jacket and jerked it down his arms, trying to get him as naked as possible as fast as possible. He let her, but he said, “Don’t you dare hide behind that wall, Frances.”

  “I’m not hiding,” she informed him, grabbing his belt and undoing it. “I’m getting you naked. That’s generally how sex works best.”

  The next thing she knew, they were right back to where they’d been in the elevator, with the full weight of his body pinning her against the door, her wrists in his hands. “Don’t,” he growled at her. “I don’t want to sleep with your armor. I want to sleep with you, damn it. I like you. Just the way you are. So don’t try to be some flippant, distant princess who’s above this. Above us.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” It didn’t come out confident or cocky or even flippant.

  “Maybe I do.” He kissed her then, with enough force to knock her head back. “Sorry,” he murmured against her lips.

  “It’s okay,” she replied because if they were getting to the sex part, they’d stop talking and she could just feel. Even the small pain in the back of her head was okay because she didn’t have to talk about it, about what it really meant. “Just keep kissing me hard.”

  “Is that how you want it?”

  She tested her wrists against his grip. There was a little give, but not much. “Yes,” she said, knowing full well that he was a man who knew exactly what that meant. “That’s how I want you.” Hard and fast with no room to stop and think. None.

  A deep sound came out of his chest, a growl that she felt in her bones. His hips shifted and his erection ground against her. Yes, she wanted to feel all of that.

  But then he said, “Tell me if something doesn’t work,” and she heard his control starting to fray. “Promise me that, babe.”

  She blinked up at him through a haze of desire. Had anyone ever said that to her before? “Of course,” she said, trying to make it sound as though all of her previous lovers had put her orgasms first—had put her first.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. He didn’t even have to say it—she could still hear him telling her not to pretend.

  Then he moved. “Whatever else,” he said as he slid her hands up over her head and put both her wrists under one of his massive hands, “I expect complete and total honesty in bed.”

  “We aren’t currently in bed,” she reminded him. She tested her wrists again, but he wasn’t playing around. He had her pinned.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t turned on—she was. But a new kind of excitement started to build underneath the standard sexual arousal that she normally felt. Ethan had her pinned. He had a free hand. He could do anything that he wanted to her.

  And he’d stop the moment she told him to.

  For once in her life, she wouldn’t have to think about anything except what he was going to do next.

  “Turn around,” he ordered as he lifted her wrists away from the door just enough that she could spin in place. Then he swept her hair away from her neck and—and—oh, God. He didn’t just kiss her there, he scraped his teeth over her exposed skin, raw and hungry.

  Frances sucked in air at the unexpected sensation. “Good?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good,” he said, biting a little harder this time, then kissing the sore spot.

  Frances shifted, the weight between her legs growing hotter and heavier as he worked over her skin. Then he was pulling the zipper down on her dress, and the whole thing fell to her feet, leaving her in nothing but a white lace pair of panties that left very little to the imagination.

  “Oh, babe,” Ethan said in undisguised appreciation. She started to turn so she could see his face when he said it, but he gave her bottom a light smack and then used his body to keep hers flat against the door. “No, don’t look,” he ordered. “Just feel.”

  “Yeah,” she moaned, her skin slightly stinging from where he’d smacked her. “I want to feel you.”

  His hand popped against her bare bottom again—not hard. He wasn’t hurting her. But the unexpected contact made her body involuntarily tighten, and the anticipation of the next touch drove everything else from her mind.

  Ethan’s free hand circled her waist, pushing her just far enough away from the door that he could cup one of her breasts, teasing the nipple until it was hard with desire. Then he tugged at it with more force. “Yeah?” he asked, his breath hot against her neck. He shoved one of his knees between her legs and she sagged onto it, grinding her hips, trying to take the pressure off the one spot in her body that made standing hard.

  “Yeah,” she moaned, her body moving without her permission, trying to find release, that moment where there was a climax that only Ethan could bring her to.

  “You want more?” he demanded, tugging at her nipple again.

  “Ethan, please,” she panted, for no matter how she shifted her hips, the only pressure she felt did not push her over the edge.

 
He pulled away from her. “Don’t move,” he said. Then her wrists were free and his knee was gone and she felt cold, pressed up against this impersonal hotel door. Behind her, she heard the sound of plastic tearing. The condom. Good.

  Then Ethan put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her away from the door. “Hard?” he asked again, as if he wanted to make absolutely sure.

  “Hard,” she all but begged. “Hard and fast and—”

  He led her to the bed, but instead of laying her out on it, he bent her over the edge. Her panties were pulled down, and she was exposed before him.

  Her body quivered with need and anticipation and excitement because this was not gentle and sweet, not when he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her bottom against his rock-hard erection. His fingers dug into her flesh in a hungry way.

  “Ethan,” she moaned as he smacked her bottom again, just hard enough that her muscles tightened and she almost came right then. She fisted the bedclothes in her hands and tensed, hoping and praying for the next touch. “Hard and fast and now. Now, Ethan, or I won’t like you in the morning, I swear to God, I’ll hate you. Now, Ethan, now.”

  Then he was against her, and, with a moan of pure masculine satisfaction, he was in her, thrusting hard. Frances gasped at the suddenness of him—oh, he was huge—but her body took him in as he pounded her with all the aggression she needed so badly.

  She hit her peak, moaning into the sheets as the wave cascaded over her. Thank heavens, she thought, going soft after it’d passed. She’d wanted to come so badly and—and—

  And Ethan didn’t stop. He didn’t sputter to a finish. Instead, he paused long enough to reach forward and tangle his hands in her hair and pull so that her head came off the bed. “Are you nice and warmed up now?” he demanded, and a shiver ran through her body. He felt it, too—she could tell by the way he twined her hair around her fingers. “That’s it, babe. Ready?”

  He wasn’t done. Oh, he wasn’t done with her. He was going to make her come again, so fast and so hard that when he began to thrust again, all she could do was take him in. He kept one hand tangled in her hair, lifting her head up and back so that she arched away from him and her bottom lifted up to his greedy demands.

  All she could do was moan—she wanted to cry out, but the angle of her neck made that too hard. Everything about her tightened as Ethan gave her exactly what she wanted—him, hard and fast.

  This time, when he brought his hand against her ass in time with his thrusting, she came equally as hard. She couldn’t help it. Her body acted without her input at all. All she was, all she could feel, was what Ethan did to her. The climax was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, so intense she forgot to breathe even.

  Ethan held her there as waves of pleasure washed her clean of everything but satisfaction. When she sagged against the bed, spent and panting, he let go of her hair, dug his fingertips back into her hips and pumped into her three more times before groaning and falling forward onto her.

  They lay there for a moment, his body pressing hers against the mattress while she tried to remember how to breathe like a normal human. She didn’t feel normal anymore; that was for sure.

  She didn’t know how she felt. Good—oh, yes. She felt wonderful. Her body was limp and her skin tingled and everything was amazing.

  But when Ethan rolled off her and then leaned down and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades—she felt decidedly not normal. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. She didn’t know what to say. Her! Frances Beaumont! Speechless! That was hard enough to accomplish by itself—but to have had sex so intense and so satisfying that she had not a single snappy observation or cutting comeback?

  Not that he was waiting for her to say something. He kissed her on the shoulder and said, “I’ll be right back,” before he hefted himself off the bed. She heard the bathroom door click shut, and then she was alone in the hotel room with only her feelings.

  Now what was she going to do?

  Thirteen

  Ethan splashed cold water on his face, trying to get his head to clear. He felt like a jackass. That wasn’t how he normally took a woman to bed. Not even close. He usually took his time, making sure the foreplay left everyone satisfied before the actual sex.

  But pinning Frances against the door and then bending her over the edge of the bed? Pawing at her as if he were little more than a lust-crazed animal? That hadn’t been tender and sweet.

  He didn’t want to be responsible for his actions. He’d smacked her bottom—more than once! That wasn’t like him. He wanted that to be her fault—she’d worn the red dress, she’d been this siren that pushed him past sanity, past responsibility.

  But that was crap, and he knew it. All she’d said was that she wanted it hard and fast. He could have still been a gentleman about it. Instead, he’d gotten rough. He’d never done that before. He didn’t know...

  Well, he just didn’t know.

  And he wasn’t going to find out hiding in the bathroom.

  He’d apologize; that was all there was to it. He’d gotten carried away. It wouldn’t happen again.

  He finished up and headed out. He hadn’t even gotten undressed. He’d stripped her down, but aside from shoving his pants out of the way, he was still dressed. Yes, that was quite possibly the best sex of his life, but still. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d gone too far.

  That feeling got even stronger when he saw her. Frances had curled up on her side. She looked impossibly small against the expanse of white sheets. She watched him, her eyes wide. Was she upset? Hell.

  Then her nose wrinkled, and he was pretty sure she smiled. “You’re not naked,” she said. Her voice was raw, as if she’d been shouting into the wind for hours.

  “Is that a problem?” He tried to keep it casual sounding. He wasn’t sure he made it.

  She uncurled from the bed like a flower opening for him. “I wanted to see you. And I didn’t get to.”

  “My apologies for the disappointment.” He started to jerk open the buttons on his shirt, but she stood and closed the distance between them. His hands fell around her waist, still warm from the sex. He wanted to fold her into his arms and hold her for as long as he could.

  Where was all this ridiculous sentiment coming from? He wasn’t a sentimental guy.

  “Let me,” she said. He saw that her hands were trembling. “And it wasn’t disappointing. It was wonderful. Except that I couldn’t see you.”

  Ethan blinked twice, trying to process that. “I didn’t go too far?”

  “No,” she said, giving him a nervous smile. “I—” She paused and took a deep breath. “Honestly?”

  “Even though we’re still not in bed,” he said with a grin, tilting her chin up so he could look her in the eyes.

  She held his gaze for a moment before forcibly turning her attention back to his buttons. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  That was not quite what he’d been expecting. “For what? I think I got just as much out of that as you did.”

  She undid the last button and pushed the shirt off him. Then his T-shirt followed. Finally she shoved his pants down, and Ethan kicked out of them.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered, skimming her fingers over his chest and ruffling his hair.

  He fought the urge to flex. The urge won. She giggled as his muscles moved under her hands. “Ethan!”

  “Sorry,” he said, walking her back toward the bed. “I can’t seem to help myself around you.”

  This time, they actually got under the covers. Ethan pulled her on top of him. He didn’t mean it in an explicitly sexual way, but her body covering his? Okay, it was more than a little sexual. “Why did you thank me?”

  She laid out on him, her head tucked against his chest. “You really want me messy and complicated?”

  “Se
ems to be working so far.”

  She sighed, tracing small circles against his skin. “No one’s ever wanted me. Not the real me. Not like this.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You are a hell of a woman.”

  “They don’t want me,” she insisted. “They want the fantasy of me. Beautiful and sexy and rich and famous. They want the mystique of the Beaumont name. That’s what I am to people.” When he didn’t have a response to that, she propped herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. “That’s what I was to you, wasn’t I?”

  There was no point in playing games about it. “You were. But you’re not anymore.”

  Her smile was tinged with sadness. “I’m not used to being honest, I guess.”

  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He didn’t intend for it to be a distraction, but she must have taken it that way because she pulled back. “Why did you agree to a sham marriage? And don’t give me that line about the workers loving me.”

  “Even though they do,” he put in.

  “Most men do not agree to sham marriages as business deals,” she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “I seem to recall you making quite a point of saying love wasn’t a part of marriage when we came to terms. So spill it.”

  She had him trapped. Sure, he could throw her off him, but then she shifted and straddled him, and his body stirred at the thought of her bare legs wrapped around his waist, her body so close to his.

  So, with mock exasperation, he flopped back against the bed. “My parents have an...unusual relationship,” he said.

  She leaned down on him, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin on her arms. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but so? I mean, my mom was second out of four wives for my dad. I wouldn’t know a usual relationship if it bit me. Present company included.”

  He wrapped his arms around her body, enjoying the warmth she shared with him. No, this wasn’t usual, not even close. But he was enjoying it anyway. “Have you ever heard of Troy Logan?”