Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  After I left the pet store, I thought about taking her to dinner at my parents’ place. That’s what I was paying her for after all. To pull the wool over my dad’s eyes so that he relinquished control of the company. But common sense told me to chill and get to know Maggie before embarking on the grand tour.

  Because Henry and Evelyn aren’t exactly dumb. My dad runs a billion dollar conglomerate and my mom’s led a couple charities in the last decade or so. So they’re not idiots, and bringing a new girl over without prepping her was full-on suicide. It’d never work.

  So yeah, I needed to get to know Maggie first. And damn, but I was kinda looking forward to it. The girl’s easy on the eyes, and she’s got a sweet personality to boot. What could be so bad about this?

  Savory smells filled my nostrils. Yum. Mrs. Jones went all out, making lemon butter salmon on a bed of risotto, along with some homemade sweet breads, rum punch, and a chocolate cake displayed nice and elegant in the center of the table. Oh yeah, all the stops were being pulled out tonight.

  I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes to eight.

  My driver left to pick up Maggie about an hour ago, so she’d be here soon. And like a fussy idiot, I even leaned forward and straightened the napkins before my hands jerked away.

  What the fuck?

  I don’t do place settings. I don’t do flower arrangements.

  And yet my fingers were itching, dying to make things perfect. What the hell? What the fuck was wrong with me? But at that moment, Mrs. Jones came out of the kitchen with her coat on and her purse on her arm.

  “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Lincoln. If you need anything else, please call.”

  As long as I’ve known Penny Jones, she’s acted like a fifties sitcom mom, always smiling and always with delicious food to share. And after fifteen years together, she was more like a mother than a housekeeper, even if we did call each other Mr. and Mrs.

  I nodded approvingly.

  “Thanks for your help, Mrs. Jones. I appreciate that you did this on such short notice.” Of course, Penny was getting a big bonus for rushing the dinner. After all, everything smelled and looked good enough to be from a five star restaurant, just the way I liked.

  And right on time, my phone buzzed.

  “Excuse me,” was my polite nod.

  As expected, it was my driver, Trevor, telling me Maggie was on her way into the building. Perfect timing.

  “Thank you, Trevor. We’re ready up here.”

  “Sure no problem, Mr. Lincoln,” his cheerful voice boomed through the phone. “See you in the morning.”

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Jones was letting herself out the back door.

  “Good night,” she smiled, eyes twinkling. “Enjoy yourself.”

  I nodded, already distracted somewhat.

  “Good night and thank you,” were my final words.

  Because once the door shut, I double checked everything. It’s the perfectionist in me, I can’t help it sometimes.

  The food was on and done. I was dressed in designer jeans and a black cashmere sweater, casual and relaxed. Didn’t want to scare away my pretend fiancée before things got really started. Plus, the most important part. After a lot of pushing and shoving, a mountain of gourmet dog food, and a long walk in the park, Bowzer was snoozing peacefully in the guest bedroom. Thank god.

  Turning to the light switch, I fiddled with it a little, darkening the floor to ceiling windows. These things are pretty cool. The view to the outside was still visible, but no one could see within. Good. I didn’t want any of my neighbors catching an eyeful of anything that went on in my place tonight.

  Not that I was planning shit, but I didn’t get to where I was in life and in business without being prepared for every possibility.

  And like clockwork, a soft knock sounded on the door.

  I surveyed the scene one last time before striding to the entryway and swinging open that massive slab.

  Goddamn.

  The air caught in my chest, squeezing my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

  Because Maggie was gorgeous.

  Like me, she wore black. But that was the only thing our outfits had in common. The soft velvet material draped over her tits and hips, showing off every mouthwatering peak and curve, lush assets on display.

  And yet the girl looked innocent and sweet. Maybe it was the small bow at the neckline that matched her pink pout. Soft white shoulders peeked out from some sort of cut-outs in the fabric, making my mouth water.

  Shit. My dick stiffened in response, like a joystick ready to play. I’d give that slick pussy the ride of her life if the female was willing.

  But that’s the thing.

  She didn’t have to be willing.

  These are my terms. My rules. And it was happening.

  “You look real nice, Maggie,” rumbled my voice casually. No need to let her in on the thoughts raging in my head. No need to make her go running for the hills, screaming like a banshee. I’d have her screaming soon enough, for another reason altogether. “Come in,” was my soothing growl. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you,” she said shyly. That voice was low and soft, and she brushed past me, curves jiggling, a hint of flowers tantalizing my nostrils.

  But then she stopped, turning to look back at me with wide eyes.

  “Wow,” came that awed murmur. “This place is amazing!”

  Because my apartment is the bomb. It was the penthouse, and I had it furnished and designed by the very best in the business. A glittery chandelier hung from triple-height ceilings, the white furniture complimenting the view of the Hudson River.

  So yeah, it was nice.

  But looking at her was even better.

  I’ve seen pretty girls before, hell I’ve probably had half of the ones in New York alone. But nobody’s ever gotten me this hard, this fast. Fake fiancée or not, Maggie was hot enough to taste over and over again, and I planned on doing everything to make it happen.

  Forget that.

  It was happening for sure.

  It was just a question of when.

  Discreetly adjusting my cock, I strolled to her side, taking one elbow gently.

  “We’ll be eating in here,” was my low rumble.

  And with a graceful nod, Maggie accompanied me to the dining room. But again, she stopped, eyes wide while taking in the spread.

  “When you said we were meeting, I figured it was at your parents or at a restaurant. I never thought you’d cook.”

  That made me laugh, head thrown back, bronze throat on display.

  “Naw baby, I didn’t cook this. My chef did, Mrs. Jones. But if you like it, I’ll tell her.”

  Her eyes went wide again.

  “You have a chef?” she stammered.

  I nodded, amused.

  “Sure thing. She’s Cordon Bleu-certified, can make everything from the most delicious Italian to Asian fusion. Who knew? I thought Cordon Bleu meant French food only, but I was wrong.”

  She nodded, cheeks flushing.

  “I’m sure it’s amazing,” the girl murmured, looking at the chicken cacciatore. “It smells amazing.”

  My chin nodded.

  “Take a seat, sweetheart,” was my rumble. “Enjoy.”

  And the brunette lowered herself gracefully into a chair, those plump curves lush and generous. But then she smiled at me.

  “This is all really nice, thank you. I appreciate the effort.”

  My heart thumped. How many girls take the time to thank you before a meal? Most ladies can’t be bothered, studying their nails critically or even worse, eyeing the food like it’s poison. But this brunette was totally different. She was grace and elegance, her sweet ways out in the open.

  So I went for it.

  “You should cook for me some time,” was my rumble. “I’d love to taste.”

  Most women would be horrified. Ladies in New York don’t cook, they have jobs. Or they don’t like getting their hands dirty and nails chipped. But Maggie was completely diff
erent.

  She blushed and dropped her eyes to her plate.

  “I’d love to,” was her murmur. But then her eyes flew up to mine, sparkling with mirth. “But I’m all about comfort food. Casseroles, mac n’ cheese, sloppy joes. Do you like that kind of stuff?”

  Please, I’ve got an appetite like a monster. That was exactly up my alley. You can eat at five-star restaurants sometimes, but not all the time. The butter and oil will kill you, cholesterol clogging your veins.

  So I grinned.

  “Sloppy joes are my fave,” was my low growl. “It’s been a while, but I used to always order them at school.”

  The brunette giggled then.

  “I can’t even imagine it,” she said. “Evan Lincoln, his chin covered with sauce? Seems impossible.”

  Oh it was possible. And I wanted more than meat sauce covering my chin. I wanted her hot pussy honey, the nectar that flowed between her legs. My dick jerked under the table, making itself known once more.

  But these thoughts were wrong. It was too early. Maggie deserved a good meal before the scene got raunchy. So I plastered a smile on my face, even with my dick stiff as a rod beneath the tabletop.

  “Please, eat.”

  I poured some rum punch for both of us. And only once she picked up the fork, did I start on my own food.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” was my invitation. Perfect. The girl would never suspect that I was dying to pound her right now, to split open that creamy snatch and make it mine.

  “Me?” she murmured surprised. “Well, there’s not much to tell,” she blushed. “I’m at community college to get my degree so I can one day be a vet.”

  She had ambitions beyond the pet store. Nice. My dad would like that.

  “In the meantime,” she continued, “I’m working at DoggyMart part-time. I know, I know,” she laughed, holding two hands up. “The store name is so ridiculous.”

  Hey, DoggyMart was no worse than K-Mart. Customers knew exactly what they were getting.

  “Do you like it?” I asked curiously. Most women hate their jobs, hoping and praying for a prince to sweep them off their feet so they can quit. Strike that. They’re waiting for a sugar daddy to set them up so they can quit.

  But Maggie was different.

  “I love it,” she admitted shyly. “The animals are so innocent, it’s impossible not to love them. They just want to be taken care of by a nice family. And it’s terrible that more people don’t feel the same way. We get a lot of strays because DoggyMart is also an adoption clinic,” she explained, “and not just a pet store.”

  The girl opened her heart, talking about her dreams in life. She was caring, sincere and genuine, wanting to make a difference in the world by taking care of ailing animals.

  And fuck, I loved it. Because maybe she didn’t have money, but she had a lot of what counts.

  Good values.

  Good priorities.

  An open heart.

  So I leaned back, idly tapping my wine glass.

  “It’s great your so into dogs. Bowzer loves you already, that’s clear.”

  She blushed and looked down, smiling. Those long lashes rested pretty and dark on those ivory cheeks.

  “You’re welcome,” she smiled. “By the way, where is Bowzer?” she asked, craning her head around. “I haven’t seen him yet tonight. Did you lock him up?”

  I let out a short bark of laughter.

  “Hardly. Ain’t nothin’ gonna keep that dog chained up. He’s sleeping in the guest room,” I explained. “Out like a light after a meaty dinner and a long walk.”

  The girl’s laugh tinkled, making my balls hum.

  “See? I told you,” she teased. “He’s a good dog at heart, nothing like the big monster you make him out to be.”

  But then her tone went serious.

  “So what about you, Mr. Lincoln? Why are you doing all this? You were kind of vague back at the pet store with this- this fake fiancée stuff,” she stammered.

  What a question. But it was only fair, right? I dragged her into this. My life should be an open book. Or at least somewhat of an open book because I wasn’t going to scare her with the raunchy parts quite yet.

  But how to describe my life without seeming like a douche? Because I’m the guy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. From birth, it’s been privilege non-stop. Private schools, yachts, college, the obligatory European tour, and then a job at my family’s company. From the outside, it looks like I was handed everything. But nothing is ever that simple, and I work hard for this shit.

  Because Henry Lincoln is a hardass. When I described him as a human form of Bowzer, that was an understatement. He’s Bowzer times five. Or times ten. He’s a ruthless businessman who doesn’t know how to turn it off when he steps away from the boardroom. Thus my current predicament. Marriage for control of the Lincoln Corp.? What the hell? The two had nothing to do with one another, but Henry doesn’t see it that way.

  So I explained it to Maggie in broad brush strokes, leaving out the worst parts.

  “My dad’s an ass,” I said smoothly. “He wants to control my life, but it’s just a ruse. In reality, he doesn’t want to give up the CEO position at our family company, so he’s made it impossible by demanding that I get married.”

  Maggie paused.

  “But why is that impossible?” she asked with a puzzled gaze. “There must be tons of women who want to marry you,” she murmured, cheeks coloring.

  It was a good question.

  “There are,” I confirmed shortly. “The ladies love me, but I need something different. I need to get married and then divorced immediately, no fuss, no muss. I want this to be a business deal, and that’s why you’re in the picture.”

  The brunette nodded slowly.

  “You don’t have any female friends that would do it?” she asked. “That’s why you need a stranger?”

  I nodded curtly.

  “That’s exactly why I need an unknown,” were my clipped words. “Female friends develop feelings. Pretty soon they want clothes, jewelry, and worst of all, time and attention. But this isn’t a love thing,” I said, my voice a little cruel. “This is as far as you can get from love. This is a business deal.”

  The female recoiled a little, but then she nodded again. Good girl. The truth stings, but it’s better to get it all out there in one go.

  “Okay,” she said, the word drawn out on her lips before taking a deep breath. “Mr. Lincoln,” she said more firmly this time. “I have to ask about the parameters. What do you expect from me? What exactly?”

  A black brow raised.

  “As in?” was my drawling inquiry.

  The brunette flushed.

  “I mean, do I just play the role of your fiancée around your parents? Or is this a 24/7 thing?”

  A grin flashed.

  “My parents are smart honey. It does no good to act like lovebirds in front of them and then cool and controlled around everyone else. It’s a 24/7 thing for sure.”

  She nodded, cheeks going pink once again.

  “And when do I get paid?” she asked quietly.

  My eyebrows shot up this time.

  “I thought you already got paid,” was my smooth growl. “The ten thousand dollar check? Or was that a mirage?”

  The girl bit her lip then, her pout going rosy. Fuck. How I wanted to devour her right now. That honey pot was waiting to be plundered.

  But Maggie had to get her say in first.

  “I just mean,” she began slowly. “That I didn’t realize this was a 24/7 thing. If it is, then I need to ask for more,” she said in a rush.

  My surprise didn’t show on my face. Because I’m a seasoned negotiator, and hell, I respected her for raising her price.

  “How much are you thinking?” was my low drawl, blue eyes calm. “What’s your number?”

  And Maggie bit her lip again.

  “Ten thousand,” she blurted. “Ten thousand over what you’ve already paid.”

&n
bsp; I tapped my fingers lightly, like I was contemplating the proposal. But shit, the female had no idea. Twenty thousand was nothing to me, my rent on this penthouse was one hundred g’s a month alone.

  But hey, I didn’t get to this point in my life by caving at the merest pressure. So I turned a cool, assessing gaze her way.

  “If I pay you twenty, do I get extra?”

  The girl’s eyes went wide.

  “Well no,” she stammered a little. “Other than my time, no.”

  The perfect segue.

  “Well, I think I deserve a little extra, don’t you? Twenty thou is a lot, even for me,” the words came sliding out between my teeth.

  Maggie nodded slightly then, hands trembling.

  “Well, what were you thinking?” she whispered. “What’s on your mind?”

  But there was no need to spell it out. Instead, I looked. My eyes roamed over those sassy curves, taking in the big breasts, the wide hips and the long, lovely legs below. I didn’t even bother to hide my erection this time.

  “You,” was my curt word. “You in my bed, every night. In the mornings. In the shower with me. Whenever I want, however I want.”

  It was brutish, but to the point. I wanted to fuck this girl all the way to heaven and back, to make her scream as she took my dick.

  And those brown eyes went wide then, pretty pout parting for a moment before snapping closed.

  “Me?” she asked disbelievingly, her voice a little choked. “Me?”

  But I’m a man who conquers.

  “You,” I rasped this time, blue eyes intense. “You, bent over every which way, any time I want. Total access around the clock to your sweet body.”

  The blood drained from her face before rushing back in a beautiful pink shimmer. Those big breasts heaved and trembled, caramel eyes wide pools of shock.

  But then the girl nodded.

  Shit, my little filly was on board.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “For twenty thousand, I’ll do it. But only for a month. And only if ….” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yes?” was my low growl. Shit, my dick was gonna burst any second now. The little girl had no idea how my cock ached and twitched, dying to be inside.

  Her cheeks colored once more, but Maggie met my gaze with a determined one of her own.