The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend - Part 2 (The Billionaire Saga)

by Sierra Rose

  “Oh really?” I cocked my hips and smiled. “And I suppose you want me to just lather that all over you?”

  “Quite the contrary, Miss White.” He looked offended. “I’m out here developing my golden Adonis hue, whereas you…will burn to a crisp.” He gestured to one of the recliners with a smile. “I’m here to offer my services.”

  A shiver shot straight through me. It was the perfect picture: the man, the chair, the offer… But when you were pretending to date that man for money, did you accept?

  We’d been crossing lines left and right since I moved in here, and yet, this wasn’t something we’d stumbled into. This was carefully planned. Crossing this line meant deciding to do so. I debated momentarily—let the international name fall away and just looked at the man. I liked him, there was no denying it. And I knew he liked me.

  Why not take him up on whatever he had in store? I was here, wasn’t I? Might as well take the plunge.

  “That’s very gentlemanly of you,” I replied as I got down onto the chair and stretched out on my stomach. He perched beside me, and I heard the bottle snap shut as he warmed the lotion on his hands.

  “Now the trick of this is…keeping your movements smooth and relaxed.”

  His hands trailed up my back, rubbing the lotion in wide, rhythmic circles. I bit my lip and pressed my eyes into the pillow at the top of the chair, happy he couldn’t see my face. There was another snap of the bottle, and he continued with his hypnotizing recitation.

  “The lotion can never be too cold, or else the muscles seize up and you have to start all over again.” A sudden freezing blob dropped on my lower back, and I shrieked, giggling and trying to turn around as he pressed me back onto the chair. “See?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Now I have to start all over.”

  His hands moved faster now, making their way down my spine and coming to rest on my lower back. His fingers grazed the edge of my suit but suddenly disappeared, starting the process all over, working from my ankles up.

  “That feels incredible,” I murmured, hugging the pillow to my face. “You could have been a masseur. That’s the male version of a masseuse.”

  “A stripper, a masseur…” Again, I could hear the grin. “You seem to have developed a very odd picture of me, Miss White.”

  “Well, you’re the one who said you have an image problem.”

  He chuckled softly, then re-lotioned his hands, leaning down over me to rub my shoulders. I could feel the heat from his chest as he curved his body over mine, his hands running down along my sides, fiddling playfully with the strap on the back of my bikini.

  “You know...this will give you terrible tan lines,” he chided teasingly. “But I guess I can work around it.”

  I laughed into my pillow. “How very gracious of you.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m well known for that.”

  He continued working for a few minutes before a sudden question leapt to my mind.

  “Hey—what were you saying about lunch? When you came into my room earlier?”

  The hands paused for a minute before sliding innocently down my thighs. There was a hitch in my breathing that I turned into a hasty, transparent cough.

  “Well.” His warm breath tickled the side of my cheek as he leaned back over me, sliding his hands beneath me over the front of my hips. “I was going to just say…” His lips grazed the top of my ear, sending a cascade of shivers flying down my body, “That’s a terrible state to leave a man in for the rest of lunch.”

  I pulled him in for a long kiss. After the kiss, I stared into his eyes.

  “I love how passionately you kiss,” I said.

  He traced the outside of my ear with his tongue and nibbled my earlobe.

  My hands ran down his back. “I feel so good when I’m with you.”

  We started to kiss, his hands sliding up and down my body, along every curve. When he cupped my breasts, slipping his hands under my bathing suit top, I let out a soft moan. I kissed his chest and ran my hands over his shoulders.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, then he trailed his tongue down my neck.

  “No.” My body arched against the chair and I closed my eyes. “Don’t stop.”

  I bit my lip as I arched once more against him, but this time, his mouth came down to meet me, landing briefly on my lips before trailing down my neck. I stifled a little groan, pressing my face into his shoulder as I scratched my nails down his back.

  “Typical,” he murmured against my collarbone. “I should have known you’d be a scratcher.”

  I giggled and squirmed against his hand. “Just be glad I don’t have the rest of my tools.”

  “Your tools, eh?” He glanced up with a grin, now kissing in a slow line down my stomach. “That sounds promising.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but he bit playfully at my hip bone and my voice cut off with a gasp. He smiled against my skin as his hands finally resurfaced and rested tentatively on the straps holding on the bottom of my bikini.

  “These must come off this very instant,” he said softly.

  My eyes snapped open, and I stared down at him, suddenly nervous to be out here in the open air. But one look at his heated eyes quelled any fears I had, and I nodded quickly.

  The bottoms were off in a flash, thrown into the pool for good measure. I watched them sink slowly into the clear water before he parted my knees and started kissing up my inner thigh.

  After that…I have trouble remembering.

  “Oh my gosh—” I muffled my voice in my arm, scrunching my fingers through his hair.

  From an international tycoon, master of everything, I should have expected nothing less. And yet, I was completely stunned as I lay there, struggling breathlessly to keep myself together.

  “Relax,” he murmured softly, trailing a lick up to my belly button, “just let go.”

  Apparently, keeping myself together was not part of Marcus’ plan.

  “You taste so good,” he said.

  He was desperate to give me pleasure, so I let go. I tilted my head back and my eyes fluttered closed. I moaned and squirmed in ecstasy, screaming in delight.

  Pleasurable bliss.

  Damn, he was good!

  The warm, moist heat of his tongue brought me waves of pleasure. I arched again against the chair and moaned aloud.

  “Wow!” I said. “I love the things you do with your tongue.”

  His hands ran over my breasts. I moaned as he sucked my erect nipples. I felt his fingers tracing my curves and stomach. His erection stiffened, begging for my touch. I ran my hands across his chest and over the firmness of his shoulders, feeling every bulge from every muscle. His breathing grew rougher, and his heated touch sent flames throughout my body.

  “I want you inside me. Right now. Please, Marcus. I need you. Desperately.”

  “I’m going to make you feel so good,” he said in a husky voice.

  “I know, baby. I want to make you feel good too.”

  He started to kiss me, then whispered in my ear, “Let’s take this back to my room.”

  “I can’t wait that long,” I said. “I need you right now.”

  I started undoing his trunks. I wanted him inside me badly. I couldn’t wait another second. I’d gotten them halfway off his hips when a sudden gnarled voice rang out in the steamy silence.

  “Marcus!”

  With a sudden clumsiness that was most out of character, Marcus fell clean off the chair, landing on the cool tiling and struggling to pull up his trunks. A look of complete and utter mortification had abruptly transformed his features, giving a greenish tint to his glowing skin.

  “Shit,” he hissed, tossing a towel over my waist. “It’s my grandma! Rebecca, I’m so sorry!”

  “Marcus Taylor! Would you stop servicing that girl and give your grandmother a hug?”

  I peeked around in horror to see an old woman standing at the far end of the lawn, hands on her hips as she surveyed us. My face flamed fire-engine red as every othe
r part of my body simultaneously cooled.

  “Your grandmother?!” I cried in a hoarse whisper. “Do you think she saw us?”

  “I’m so sorry!” He suddenly looked like a child again; a teenage boy caught in the act as he hastily tried to tie the top of his shorts. “Just a…just a minute!” he called over the lawn.

  “Hurry it up,” she barked, “I’m not getting any younger.” The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as she smirked to herself. “And if I remember correctly, it takes longer than a minute.”

  Chapter 12

  “Rebecca, would you come out of the closet? Please?”

  I shook my head, even though no one could see me buried here amongst the silks and lace. While grandmother busied herself inside, commanding the waitstaff bring her canapés and iced tea, Marcus and I had hightailed it upstairs—whereupon he quickly dressed himself in proper clothing and I proceeded to move into the closet.

  “She barely saw a thing,” he coaxed, standing on the other side of the door. “The porch is over three hundred feet from the pool. She just…assumed—”

  “She saw everything,” I fired back. My voice sounded like a chain-smoker’s, hoarse with trauma and humiliation. “Way to throw my bikini in the pool, by the way. It made shuffling past her in a towel all the more memorable.”

  There was a guilty pause followed by a dull thud as he pressed his head wearily against the door. “And you need to be quit being so scared of the peacock.”

  “He was chasing me!”

  My eyes closed and I prayed for an empty void to swallow me up. As if the initial humiliation wasn’t enough, Eduardo—the bane of my existence—had chosen that precise moment to emerge from the shrubbery and give chase. I leaned against the far wall of the closet, drawing my knees up to my chest and burying my face in hanging clothes. It was big enough in here that I could realistically stay for several days. Definitely until my apartment was ready. I’d just need someone to slip me trays of food.

  “If you want, I can have Eduardo assassinated for you?” Marcus tried again. “We could stick an apple in his mouth and roast him on a spit. Luau-themed wedding?”

  I laughed.

  The corner of my mouth twitched, and I opened the door a crack with my foot. His eyes appeared instantly on the other side, crouched down at ground level.

  “I could also try to have my grandmother deported. I’m sure the German consulate would be interested to know that her visa’s expired.”

  This time, I let my hair spill forward so he wouldn’t see me smile.

  “Was that a grin?” he asked hopefully, angling his face so he could better see inside. “A little grin? Maybe?” I finally looked up and he smiled. “Ah, there it is.”

  “I have no idea how I’m supposed to go down there,” I said truthfully, my cheeks blushing furiously at the very thought. “Can you just tell her I got sick?”

  “You absolutely don’t have to go,” he replied instantly. “You can stay here as long as you want. She’s my grandmother—it’s my mess to deal with.”

  I sighed. “That’s not how fake relationships work, Marcus. We’re a team. After all, she’s supposed to be my grandmother soon too, right?”

  He gazed at me steadily. “You do whatever you like—seriously, Becca, no pressure either way. But I’ve got to go down and meet her on the veranda. Will you be okay up here?”

  “Oh yeah.” I glanced upwards at row of silk pashminas. “I could weave those into a very handy noose.”

  He chuckled and got to his feet. But before he left, he leaned his head once more against the door. “Becca, I’m sorry we were interrupted but…you make one hell of a swimming buddy.”

  I sank back farther into the closet as the door clicked shut, thanking my lucky stars that he couldn’t see as a fresh wave of color flooded my face.

  It took me about five minutes to convince myself that a closet was no place to live and raise a family. Another five to rinse off the copious amount of sunblock that coated my skin. Another five after that to select an outfit that didn’t scream, ‘You just walked in on your grandson going down on me.’ (That outfit turned out to be slacks and a conservative blouse—not that it was fooling anybody.) When I finally skittered down the stairs and made my way out to the veranda, I thought I was steadied and prepped and ready for anything.

  That is…until I got a better look at Marcus’ grandmother.

  They say that when you find yourself in the presence of a great lady, either your knees lock up or you find yourself stumbling into the middle of the floor. I did a little of both.

  While Marcus jumped up automatically to catch me, his grandmother wasn’t fazed in the slightest—keeping her eyes straight front as she took a regal sip of iced tea.

  “So nice to see you again, Rebecca.”

  I pulled myself straight and smoothed down my increasingly-silly-seeming blouse as Marcus leapt forward to make the proper introductions. “Yes, Rebecca, this is my grandmother. Augus—”

  “Sit down, Marcus.” She cut him off dismissively. “I can introduce myself.” There was a soft creaking as she shifted toward me in her giant chair. “I am Augustina Mariette Taylor.”

  Augustina? Of course, her name was Augustina.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said politely, trying desperately not to crumble under her stare.

  She was perched in her tall-backed chair like a queen—her sharp, blue eyes missing nothing as they swept over every inch of my body. Her snow-cloud hair was swept up into an old-fashioned pile atop her head, her glittering barrette matching the large sapphire fastened to her throat on a choker. There was an ornate cane with a head of quartz set firmly between her legs, but from the way she carried herself, I doubted there was really a need. In my time working at the hospice center, I’d learned that some people used canes to walk, some people used them to gesticulate and order people around. Judging by the frown—not smile—frown lines around Ms. Augustina’s eyes, I was thinking she was the latter.

  “So you’re the little nurse who swept our Marcus off his feet,” she said critically, inclining her head as if to see me more properly.

  “Rebecca.” I debated stepping forward to shake but was worried she’d find it too prosaic. “Rebecca White. And I’m a nursing assistant.”

  “Oh, yes, dear.” There was that icy stare again, “I know exactly who you are.”

  “Taylor?” Marcus interrupted, still stuck on her introduced name. “Is that the last name you’re using now?” He raised his eyebrows skeptically before turning to me to explain. “My grandmother’s been married seven times, so she definitely understands the significance of what we’re about to do.”

  I felt like he was taking his life into his own hands by teasing her, and turned fearfully to see her reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

  “I’ll have none of your cheek, boy!” But her eyes sparkled indulgently. “And of course, I’m using Taylor. He was your grandfather, after all. And the only one I ever really loved.”

  I pictured her like a mantis, slowly devouring all seven of her mates but feeling remorse only for one. The one who gave her children.

  “That’s…sweet,” I managed. Both of their eyes turned to me, and I instantly regretted speaking. “So is that why you’re here?” I asked conversationally. “To help plan the wedding?”

  “Miss White.” Her voice was like little shards, digging into my face and the bare skin on my arms. “Do I look like I have any interest in planning your wedding?”

  Marcus’ eyes dropped momentarily to the table, and his shoulders wilted with an inaudible sigh. This clearly wasn’t going how he’d envisioned. That same protective instinct welled up in me, and I turned to her with a smile.

  “Well, I’m guessing it wasn’t just to see our little sex show.”

  Marcus spat a mouthful of tea back into his glass, but Augustina turned to me with something bordering on respect.

  “I’m here, dear one, for Thanksgiving.” Marcus and I shared a blank look as she
took a dignified bite of canapé. “Not that I was invited.”

  Thanksgiving? That was today? I’d completely forgotten. It wasn’t on our social calendar, after all. But now that I thought about it, the staff had been busier than usual prepping the house and decking it out in autumn finery.

  My eyes flickered to Marcus, but he looked as bewildered as I felt. “Of course,” he recovered quickly. “Happy Thanksgiving. Grandma, I’m sorry, I—”

  “You forgot,” she said.

  I suspected it was a family tradition.

  She crossed her arms. “You forgot. That’s what I thought. Although I did hope now that you had a woman in your life, she’d make you more aware of these things.”

  I flushed but held my ground—going for the honest route. “Actually, I’ve never been especially fond of the holidays. There’s no avoiding Christmas, but this one completely slipped my mind. It doesn’t help that I don’t cook,” I added quietly, digging myself an even bigger hole.

  But again, she regarded me with a bit of a smile. “Nor do I. It’s household work, I’ve always said. And I don’t like to partake in anything used to bind women to the hearth.”

  I smiled tentatively, forging an uncertain bond of friendship. “Exactly, it’s just what—”

  “Besides, it’s servant’s work.”

  My mouth closed up as I dropped my head with a little smile. Alright, so maybe our common ground didn’t stretch as far as I might have hoped. But as long as I could keep Ms. Augustina Taylor’s mind on something other than how I was swooping in to fake-marry her grandson, perhaps some sort of truce could be made.

  “So this wedding,” she said sharply, forgetting the holiday for a moment and looking at Marcus, “when is it happening?”

  He lifted his head, but for the first time since I’d met him, he seemed to be completely out of his element. This woman held some kind of power over him, and no matter how many contracts he developed or corporations he merged, I sensed he would always be a child around her. It was actually rather endearing, and relatively normal, considering most of the relationships in his life. I liked to think all grandmothers held a similar position in their grandsons’ lives.