by J. J. Bella
Ruse
Fake Marriage Single Dad Romance
J.J. Bella
Copyright © 2017 by J.J. Bella
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
About the Author
1. Peter
2. Rachel
3. Peter
4. Rachel
5. Rachel
6. Rachel
7. Peter
8. Rachel
9. Peter
10. Rachel
11. Peter
12. Rachel
13. Rachel
14. Peter
15. Rachel
16. Rachel
Epilogue
Also by J.J. Bella
About the Author
J.J. “Jane” Bella has always enjoyed reading since she was a little girl, reading everything she could get her hands on.
Today she loves to write contemporary steamy romance stories for her favorite readers.
Plotting sexy and sweet novellas while walking her dogs has always proven to be an exciting experience on a hot summer day.
Wouldn’t you play with strong Alpha Males, wild Bad boys, and wealthy Billionaires if they provided you with happy endings too?
J.J. lives in New England with her husband of many happy years, three children and two family Papillons.
You may just find her writing on the lake, at the ocean, by a brook, in the middle of a NE snow storm, or on the deck in the Fall.
She also loves to hear from her readers and to share Hot new sweltering stories with everyone.
[email protected]
1
Peter
The shrill, incessant sound of the phone ringing jarred me out of my almost-kiss with the faceless woman in my dream, but it didn’t immediately clear up whatever fog was in my brain. With an inward groan, I stayed for a few more seconds in bed, feeling the Massachusetts air wrap around me like a cold blanket—no, like a damn freezing blanket. Blearily, I opened one eye, focusing on the spot where my clock was sitting on the bedside table.
Three in the morning.
The ringing kept going, and suddenly I was already sitting up and ignoring the chills running down my body. No one called me at this time of the night—at least, no one that didn’t mean business.
“Hello?”
“Bartlett. Pleasant morning.”
The familiar voice had me going tense.
“Pleasant morning,” I greeted back. “What’s up?”
“I can’t sleep, and I heard there’s a good coffee house in town. Jafar’s, right? I heard they cost four dollars and thirty cents.”
“That’s right,” I replied, keeping my tone even.
“Good. I’ll get some, then,” the voice murmured. And just like that, he hung up.
To anyone who could have been eavesdropping, they would have found it the oddest conversation they’d heard. While Jafar’s did have the best coffee in town, no one who couldn’t sleep would go there to get some damn coffee.
But I knew what the phone call meant: my boss was ordering me to get to base by four-thirty for a top secret mission.
This was probably my first mission of the month, having stayed at home for a good three weeks and pretty much just relaxing the days away. For the first time since I woke up, I felt my blood pump faster as I stood up and got my things ready. Top secret missions meant I wouldn’t know what it was about until I got to headquarters, which meant it could be anything from going to an exotic location for a reconnaissance to getting in the middle of some country’s cold war. It always varied, and it was already instilled in my brain to expect the unexpected.
My duffel bag was always ready inside my closet, and I grabbed it first thing after brushing my teeth. Then I changed into civilian wear, keeping it thick as I wasn’t brave enough yet to face the cold in normal clothing. Just as I was about to leave my bedroom, I remembered my daughter sleeping in the other room—probably in dreamland, too, at this time of the night.
Quietly, I slipped in and got her duffel bag, which I already had ready too for cases like this. Then I knelt beside her, watching her for a few seconds. A faint smile slipped on my face when I watched how peaceful she was. Tugging the blankets, I wrapped them around her and carried her as gently as I could, tucking her on the backseat of my car and stuffing the bags in the trunk. I then drove through the streets, which were dead silent and still so dark. I wished I could have that coffee now, not for the wake-up call but because coffee was actually one of those things I appreciated the taste of. Because there was no coffee around and Jafar’s was in the other direction, I let my thoughts wander to my last mission.
It had been a simple reconnaissance that turned quite deadly, especially when the assassin I’d been trying to track down got wind of the situation and turned the tables on me. I remembered how my life flashed before my eyes as we grappled on top of a tower—particularly, my daughter’s life, and how she’d be left an orphan had something happened to me. That was the extra strength I needed to fully wrestle the assassin down and knock him cold, then tie him up and hand him over to the proper authorities. Bloodied and bruised, I allowed our health facility to stitch me up and let the nurse convince me to stay there for a few more days to recuperate. When I got back home, no one was the wiser, and my daughter, Isla, was ecstatic to see me and wanted to know all about my soldier adventures. I’d given her a watered down version of what happened, and she listened solemnly and told me I was the coolest dad she’d ever known.
Warmed the heart, really.
But the cold reality was always there at the back of my mind. I’d been in the Navy SEAL since I was eighteen, and I knew the risks. I’d lived them. I’d been in the Navy SEAL before I got married to my high school sweetheart—then still remained there when the said sweetheart cheated on me with a richer man and moved on with her life. Now it was only me and my daughter, and I vowed to myself that I would provide for her in the best way I could.
If there was anything about my career—other than saving the country—that I looked forward to, it was the big pay check. It helped keep our little family financially stable, and it provided for my daughter’s needs. It continued to do so now, something that I was thankful for.
Because what else do you want but for your precious person to have a roof over her shoulder and a warm, happy life?
From the rearview mirror, I checked on my daughter, watching as she turned to another position and just kept sleeping there.
My job also kept her safe from the big, dangerous world out there.
And that was more than enough.
My ex-wife, Evelyn, wasn’t pleased when she opened the door to my doorbell chimes.
Actually, she looked pretty pissed—something I hadn’t expected, considering she always liked keeping her composure around me.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, her voice irritable. She was wearing some silk burgundy robe that showed off her long legs, and her blonde hair was up in a neat ponytail. I assessed her like I always did, noting down that she’d gotten trimmer and tanner, with her lips looking fuller than usual. I was pretty sure it wasn’t natural, because she had slightly thin lips back then. Once upon a time, the sight of her pretty much guaranteed a hard-on on my end.
Now, it did nothing.
“It’s three-thirty,” I replied, calmly. “I would have called, but I wanted you to get the extra few minutes of sleep. I’m just dropping off Isl
a. I’ve been called to work.”
My no-nonsense response seemed to get to her, and I watched as her brows furrowed before she cleared them. She pursed her mouth, the movement emphasizing her lips again. I didn’t bother looking at them, instead looking into her brown eyes and patiently waiting for her to act.
With a sigh, she opened the door wider.
“You take her up,” she said. “I might wake her up and she’ll cause a fuss. She always does. Jack hates waking up early and will be irritable.”
Leave it to her to complain about her nine-year-old daughter causing a fuss. Unable to resist, I turned to face her.
“So Jack’s still asleep?” I asked. “That’s pretty sad. I remember how you often screamed my name in pleasure at this time of the night when I woke you up. He must be boring in bed.”
Then I strode towards Isla’s designated room without waiting for Evelyn’s response.
I normally wasn’t this rude to people—okay, maybe sometimes I was—but I couldn’t stand Jack. He was the man Evelyn cheated on me with a few months after she gave birth, and he had an uppity attitude as he often looked me down on the nose with a silent message: I’ll always be richer and better than you. It didn’t matter to me, because I’d rather have my life than rubbing elbows with snobby elites like he did. But seriously, he could be very annoying.
It took me just a few minutes to tuck Isla in bed, where she rolled facing me and murmured something in her sleep. I kissed her forehead and whispered my goodbye, telling her that I would get her something when I returned. It was a silent promise that I was going to return, and a pact of determination on my end to do so. After closing the bedroom door, I returned to the foyer, where I found Evelyn’s arms crossed as her brows furrowed yet again.
“My husband’s got better priorities than to wake me up at this time of the night,” she spouted off. I bit my tongue to stifle a laugh. “He’s a very important businessman who wants to give me the best in the world.”
He was also twenty years older than her and already couldn’t walk properly from having too much alcohol in his system, but I didn’t point that out anymore. It was her life. But I wasn’t sticking here to listen to her praise the bastard, who often complained about everything and had service people fired left and right if they didn’t cater to his demands right away.
Yes, I had been present to one of those moments, and it was a goddamn nightmare.
When Evelyn finally finished her own litany of complaints, I shot her a look.
“Isla’s list of activities is in the side pocket of her bag. She has ballet practice after school, and she doesn’t like being late.”
“When’s the ballet practice?”
“Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays.”
Evelyn frowned. “I have early dinner with the golf club ladies during those days.”
“She can walk towards ballet practice from school. It’s not far,” I said, trying to keep my temper in check. “You can pick her up after. Just pack her a sandwich—anything but peanut butter, as you know she’s allergic to it.”
“I remember,” she shot back. “Can’t she just skip the ballet practice?”
“It’s important to her,” I clipped out. “Unless you want to bring her to your dinner?”
Apparently the idea was even less appealing, because Evelyn reluctantly agreed to the ballet pickup. I looked at her one more time, taking in the woman who I loved once—starting from high school, when we’d been young and fresh and looking forward to having a future together.
Then betrayal had hit me when I found out that she only married me when we were twenty-two years old for my pay check, and had then proceeded to spend every cent on trivial things, like getting a nose surgery or the latest pair of Jimmy Choo. It led to plenty of fights, which led to plenty of makeup sex that was more about the anger than any actual connection between us. She’d gotten pregnant at twenty-six, and it should have been the most ecstatic moment of our lives—instead, she said it was a horrible mistake, complaining how she’d lose her figure before going ahead to actively cheat on me after Isla had been born.
I could have handled the betrayal, but I couldn’t handle her complete abandonment of Isla. It was only when Isla was five that she finally acknowledged her daughter’s presence, and I still thought she had a lot to make up for.
“When will you be back?” Evelyn asked once I was out of her front door.
“Depends. Two, three weeks. I’ll let you know once I get my assignment.”
Then there was nothing more to talk about. With a short wave, I walked out and slipped in my car right away. Evelyn watched me go before shutting the door softly. Then I was out of there and racing towards the base.
Eight years of being divorced had dampened any remaining anger I had towards my ex-wife, and even the bitterness was gone. But I couldn’t help the resentment rising up from time to time, especially when it involved Isla. It felt like she treated our daughter like some sort of task—some household chore that she had to stomach doing, even if she didn’t want to. I didn’t even know why she suddenly wanted to have a part in Isla’s life. It just happened, with her calling me one day to tell me that she wanted in.
I wasn’t exactly that selfish to prevent them from seeing each other, considering she was the mother. But as the years passed by, I could feel the same disconnection that I felt during our last few years of marriage, and it often made me wonder if she was starting to regret her decision in becoming a part of Isla’s life. Her high lifestyle often involved parties and social events, then jetting off to European countries where high fashion was a very big deal. Evelyn hadn’t voiced out anything yet regarding cutting off the connection, so we worked out a routine that was convenient for both of us—at least, convenient for her most of the time, and convenient for me when I had to abruptly pack my stuff and head to yet another mission.
Still, I didn’t miss the way her voice was more bothered than usual today.
Perhaps it was time to look at babysitting options, just in case things didn’t work out.
I only hoped it wouldn’t be too rough for Isla, considering she wasn’t the same unaware one-year-old as before.
It wasn’t a reconnaissance mission this time.
I listened intently as my boss, Colonel Jameson, explained exactly what my mission partner and I were supposed to do.
“We’ve spotted a high-profile terrorist in Connecticut under the fake alias of a businessman, coming in from the airport at eighteen hundred hours yesterday. There’s Intel that an arms deal will be made, with a plane ready half an hour after the transaction in a private ramp. You will be meeting with a team of five from the city, and your team of seven will stop that deal before it happens.”
It was the basic introduction to get us acquainted with what we were getting into. The Colonel then began to get into details: terrorist profile, behavior, connections, things to watch out for. Then a plan was laid out, starting from when we got to Connecticut and ending when we apprehended the suspect and got out of there. Because plans always had a way of unravelling and messing up more than most, we detailed out a second option, then a third one. Then, when the briefing and the planning was over, we were dismissed and told to gear up, then meet up in half an hour.
My mission partner, Jake Malone, was a rookie when it came to the job, having only started taking on missions about a year ago. But having had the chance to work with him twice before already, I could say he had a lot of potential—if only he could rein in a bit of his rookie eagerness. Still, the kid was talented, so I wasn’t going to complain.
We geared up, taking only what was necessary. Our alias was brothers coming to town for a vacation, and we could certainly pass, considering we both had blond hair and similar shades of blue eyes. Once we were in the helicopter that would take us to our destination, I turned to Jake and watched as he stared straight ahead, a nervous energy vibrating off him in waves.
“You really need to keep that energy in check, Malone,” I
warned, keeping my tone mild. He sat at attention right away, eagerly nodding his head.
“Yes, sir.”
I smirked. “And stop calling me sir. I’m Peter once we get there.”
He shot me a curious look. “So we don’t change our names?”
“We do,” I confirmed. “I’ll be Peter and you’ll be Jake. We’re the O’Neills.”
“Copy, sir.”
I raised a brow at him.
“Copy, Peter,” he corrected, reluctantly.
I grinned at him, then settled back to rest for the few minutes of flight. Jake was twenty, still wet behind the ears, but he was a good kid. This was also his first mission that involved apprehending a terrorist, so I got how it made him feel.
Let’s just hope we got in and out of there before things got too messy.
2
Rachel
“I’m really going to miss you, Rachel.”
My college roommate, Michelle, hugged me tight as she said these words, and I hugged her back. She’d always been a hugger—had always been a touchy-feely person who never ran out of fun, laughter and affection for people.
Unfortunately, the said affection often extended to bringing boys in our shared room and having sex with them under her blankets, thinking I’d be too asleep to hear it or complain. But I was never an early sleeper despite my attempts, which resulted in me hearing every moan, groan, and slapping skin that went on in the room, followed by the unmistakable scent of sweat and sex in the air.
I was so glad I was getting out of that.