The Proposal (Faking It Book 1)

by Lila Kane

  Her eyes lock on mine just briefly before she shuts them, her face a mask of ecstasy. It’s only moments before she clenches around me. Her muscles tighten hard enough to make my dick jerk inside of her. I keep moving my thumb until her entire body tenses up. She goes taut as a bowstring as she comes.

  Her entire body arches up against mine, her lips parting as she trembles with the orgasm.

  Finally, she relaxes back on the couch, breath coming in sharp gasps. “Fuck me, Michael.”

  Shit. I can’t say no to that. I release her wrists to lever myself above her, then hike up one of her thighs to get in deeper before I thrust hard inside of her.

  She shoves her hips against mine, and I watch as my dick goes in and out of her, spearing her over and over again until I can barely keep moving. My erection gets harder and harder until I explode, coming inside of her rough enough my whole body shakes.

  I grip her tight in my arms, my heart thundering against hers. For a moment, there’s only us. Only our bodies joined together perfectly.

  I release the breath I’m holding, and I release it with the last of my cum before collapsing on top of her.

  I don’t have words for what just happened. All I know is that it was right. Perfect.

  I’ve never thought that about anyone or any experience before. But then, I’ve never been with anyone like Brianna before either.

  15

  Michael’s body is still on mine, warm and smooth. He’s still inside of me, right where I want him. I’m spent, but part of me wants him again. Part of me is already getting hot thinking of his hands shackling my wrists, his strong body slamming into me, taking what he wants.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks, lips close to my ear.

  “All the other ways we can do that. Repeatedly.”

  He groans. “You’re going to kill me, Brianna. But at least I’ll die a happy man.”

  I smile. “I’ll take it easy on you at first. Until you get used to it.”

  “I didn’t know you had such a healthy sex drive,” he says.

  My smile fades. “Me either.”

  Michael pulls out of me, taking away his warmth. He walks to the bathroom at the side of his office and returns with a wet washcloth. I reach out to take it, but he holds it away from me. When he wipes me to clean up our mess, it’s probably the most intimate thing I’ve ever felt. I’m moved with tenderness for him suddenly, and in a way that makes me feel a little uncomfortable.

  “What was that for?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “The frown.”

  It’s hard to focus with him rubbing me like that. I wait for him to finish, and then accept his shirt when he passes it over. I slide my arms into it, breathing in the smell, before leaning into the arm he puts around me.

  “It’s nothing,” I say quietly. “Just remembering.”

  “Remembering what?”

  I don’t want to bring up Chet. It seems like a bad idea. But that’s what I’m thinking. “I didn’t realize what I was missing when I was with Chet. I wanted him to want me—to show me he wanted me. Like you just did. But I guess…I wasn’t enough for him.”

  Michael grips my chin and turns my head to face him. “Chet is an ass, okay? If he didn’t show you he wanted you every single night, he had a problem. I can barely keep my hands off of you. You’re sexy, Brianna. I want you and I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”

  I blush, but it’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. I rest my cheek against his chest. “Thank you.”

  “It’s the truth. I left work early because just the sound of your voice when I was talking to you earlier turned me on. I couldn’t focus.”

  I grin. “I feel the same way.”

  “I’ve never had sex in my office before.” There’s amusement in his voice.

  “No?”

  He shakes his head. “I always keep work separate from pleasure. Makes things easier.”

  “Things aren’t separate now.”

  “No, they aren’t. I kind of like it.”

  I smile to myself. I kind of like it too.

  “You hungry?” he asks.

  “A little.”

  “Let’s head home. We can order something and then see how strong your sex drive really is,” he says.

  I sit up, and then straddle him, making his lips curve. “Thank you.”

  His hands rest on my hips. “For what?”

  “For coming here. For being patient with me.”

  He kisses me and then takes my hand. “Of course.” He runs his finger over the ring on mine. “You’re wearing this.”

  “I was going out and I thought it would be a good idea.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  It sounds like he’s disappointed, but before I can question him, he stands with me still on his lap. “Let’s get home.”

  ###

  Michael orders Chinese food but when I try to sit at the counter in the kitchen, he takes my hand and leads me to the coffee table in the living room. From here I can see the city lights, the subtle coloring of the clouds as the sun slips the rest of the way down to the horizon. We’re only six blocks from my old apartment, but it might as well be miles. And in fact, I’m only a month away from my old life, but it might as well be years.

  So much has changed…and the more I think about it, the more it freaks me out.

  “Where are the forks?” I ask when we sit side-by-side in front of the open containers.

  There’s something very intimate about sharing food from the same container, sitting close enough our elbows touch, in the living room. Our living room.

  At least for now.

  “No forks allowed,” Michael says. “Damn, I forgot to put that in the contract.”

  I glance over with a smile at his joking tone. “A prerequisite?”

  He nods. “You have to be able to use chopsticks. I like women who are good with their hands.”

  “What else?” I ask.

  His lips curve and I smack his arm.

  “What else is a prerequisite?” I ask instead.

  He angles his head, considering. “Dimples.”

  “Dimples?”

  “Yes. She has to have dimples. Or at least one. Like this.” He touches the corner of my lips on the right side. “Just a small one.”

  “That’s not a dimple.”

  “It is when you smile.”

  I frown, making him laugh.

  “I said smile,” he says, “not frown.”

  “What else?”

  He digs into the kung pao chicken. “She has to like puppies, hate black licorice, and love horror movies.”

  Yes, yes, and yes. That’s all me. And all scary to think about. But those are just surface things, I remind myself. Everyone likes puppies and hates black licorice. Most people like scary movies. Most people have dimples when they smile.

  “Kind heart,” he continues, not meeting my eyes, “and a creative soul. A forgiving nature and a sense of humor.”

  The more he continues, the more the unease builds in my stomach. I feel like he’s no longer listing general traits. I feel like he’s talking about me. That should make me feel good. And maybe in another circumstance it would. If we were two regular people. Dating. Then it would feel right. But we have an agreement, and I know it’s not going to last forever.

  I force myself to grin and make a joke. “Damn. So close. But I can’t use chopsticks, so…” I shrug. “Guess you’ll have to add that to your contract for next time.”

  Michael sets down his chopsticks and turns to face me. His knees bump mine, but when I move to give him space, he catches my hands. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Brush me off like that?” he asks.

  Words catch in my throat. “What do you mean?”

  He runs his fingers over the ring again, the engagement ring I’m already getting used to wearing. “I mean, I’m trying to get to know you. I’m trying to make this work. And I feel like you
’re…holding back.”

  “Holding back?”

  He frowns. “I think you know what I’m talking about, Brianna.”

  This is my cue to take a step back. To tell him the truth. Hey, maybe even run. This is a dangerous talk because it addresses all my fears. I don’t want to hurt Michael, but I don’t want to be hurt either.

  “This is…” I swallow. How do I say this without hurting him? “I’m not trying to hold back from you. But this is an arrangement. It’s not—we’re not supposed to be a real couple here.”

  His jaw shifts. Damn. I didn’t do it right. I said the wrong thing.

  “Then what was that this afternoon in my office?” he asks.

  My throat dries. Sex. But I can’t say that because it isn’t true. It’s more than that. It wasn’t just sex and I probably wouldn’t have let it happen if it was.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  He releases my hands and goes back to eating. I’ve lost my appetite now. I don’t know what to say or to do to make this better, but I have to try.

  “It’s not you,” I tell him.

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” Michael says. “Yes, I’ve heard that’s a good excuse to use when there really is something wrong with the other person. I get it.”

  “No, it’s really not you—”

  “Then what?” He shifts to face me again. “Is it what happened the other night? Me blaming you for the article? Because I thought we moved past that.”

  “No. I mean, yes. We did move past that. It’s not that at all—”

  “Then explain it to me.” His eyes soften just slightly. “It’s Chet, isn’t it?”

  I exhale, my heart aching. “What do you mean?”

  “He hurt you and now you’re afraid to trust me. You think I’m going to do the same thing he did.”

  My mouth opens in surprise. How does he know that? Am I that easy to read?

  “You’re worth more than that,” Michael says. “And I want the chance for this to be something more between us. I’ve never said that to anyone before, but I’m saying it to you.” He stands quickly, but I don’t miss the hurt in his voice. “I want something more. But you clearly don’t, and now it’s too late to take back what happened this afternoon. I’m sorry for pressuring you, and from now on I’ll just stick to the contract.”

  He walks away before I can respond. Before I can even think of how to respond. I’m left in front of our spread of Chinese food, my heart hurting more than it did when Chet left me.

  16

  I work hard. So hard my eyes blur at the end of the night because I’m so tired. Workouts in the morning, business at the office all day, and then another workout at night. It goes like that for days and days. It should be making me feel better. It should be distracting me.

  Instead, I just feel frustrated because I'm going in circles. But what else am I supposed to do? I'd opened myself up to Brianna, made myself think we could have a real relationship—my first truly committed relationship—and it hadn't worked.

  She isn't ready, plain and simple.

  Again, it should be a good thing. We have an agreement and she's sticking to her side. I should be able to stick to mine. It's just for a year. But damn it, I let myself slide. I let myself think that year could be something more than an arrangement.

  It's after seven when I leave the office. I plan on going to the gym, but a flicker of guilt hits me right in the gut. I've been doing this every night. Barely making time for Brianna. It's probably easier for both of us, but that doesn't mean I don’t feel bad.

  Shit. I debate what to do as I ride the elevator down to the lobby and step outside into the humid evening. Storm clouds hover over the city. The rain is going to come at any time.

  I hop into the car and order the driver to take me home. I'll check on Brianna, say hi, uphold my end of the contract—which at this point is simple civility—and then head to the gym. With the schedule she's keeping, she'll probably be in bed by the time I get home from my workout so I can avoid her more easily.

  Even if I want to be in that bed with her.

  It's hard living with someone you desperately want to be around—be with—and not being able to do anything about it. Sure, it's a choice I made, but only because it's what she needs. What we need.

  At home, the elevator releases me into my penthouse. It's quiet in here. Too quiet. I'm used to hearing the clacking of keys from Brianna's computer. She's been working non-stop lately. Guess she figured she'd do the same thing as me and throw herself into work.

  When I walk to the window, to her favorite spot with a cozy chair and a table nearby for her coffee or water—or wine when it gets later—I see her computer. But she's not there. A glass of water sits on the table and there's a notepad with scribbles on it.

  First I think it might be a note for me, but it's just work stuff. Website stuff that doesn't make much sense.

  I do a lap around the penthouse, unease creeping up on me the longer I go without seeing her. Brianna's always here when I get back, and if not it's because she's out with Deb. Even then, she usually sends me a text to let me know. Our arrangement might not be ideal, but it's working. We’re on the same page.

  Shit. What if she left? What if she actually did it this time? Walked out and ended this relationship?

  I don't find a note from her, but I check her closet to see if I can piece together other clues. There are still clothes inside. Not many, but it doesn't look like she's packed anything up. And in the bathroom, all her makeup and hair supplies are there.

  I pull my phone out and check my texts just in case I miss something. Damn it. Where is she?

  I've forgotten all about the gym and now I just want to know where Brianna is.

  When I walk to the living room again, I hear the sound of the elevator and turn when it opens. Brianna stands there, a box in her hands, hair disheveled.

  I release a long breath. "There you are."

  She steps into the room, still clutching the box against her body. I try to keep my cool. It's a big box—which means, she could be packing up. The last thing I need to do is lose it and drive her away from here.

  “I didn't think you'd be back until later. You usually aren't,” she adds, defense in her voice.

  “I'm not upset—I was just worried. Everything okay?”

  She bites her lip and it takes everything I have to keep my distance. “It's...getting there.”

  What's that supposed to mean?

  “I've been figuring things out,” she says, setting the box on the counter. “I had to get the rest of my things from the apartment. They're leasing it to someone else next week.”

  My shoulders relax slightly. If she got the rest of her things from the apartment, it means she's staying here, not leaving.

  “Actually...” Her gaze travels to the window. Outside, lightning shoots across the sky and thunder grumbles. “It's not even all my stuff. Most of it is Chet's.”

  My jaw clenches. Chet. Again. The whole reason I had to take a step back.

  She seems to sense the tension because she shakes her head and holds up her hands as if to explain. “I've been doing a lot of work this week.”

  I nod. Both of us have.

  “Not just for my business, though that's helped.”

  “Helped with what?”

  She gives a small smile, one that hits me right in the heart. I don't know why. Sometimes I feel like we still barely know each other, but others it's like this opportunity came along for both of us. Because we both need each other.

  “My identity. My new identity. I'm not Brianna from the coffee shop or Chet's fiancée anymore. I get to be someone new. With a new career and a new life and—and...” Her gaze flicks to mine, but she doesn't finish. “It sounds stupid, I know.”

  I take one step closer to her, trying to understand. In fact, I'm pretty sure I do. She's moving on. “It doesn't sound stupid at all. It sounds like you're doing what you need to do.”

  She swal
lows and nods. “I am. Sorry for worrying you. I'll get out of your way.”

  I grit my teeth, hating that we're both feeling like this. I watch as she digs into the box and pulls out another box—a small one, black velvet. A ring box. When she turns to terrace door, I follow her.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  She stops just inside the door. Rain taps on the glass. “Not far. I'll stay out of your way when I get back. I just need to do this.”

  “You want company?” I don't know what makes me ask, but she looks like she could use someone—even if it's just a friend.

  She angles her head and looks at me. Really looks at me. I'm ready to step back when she nods. “Thank you.”

  When she pulls open the door, cold raindrops hit us. But it doesn't deter her. She walks to the rail overlooking the city, close enough I almost reach out for her.

  “Be careful,” I warn.

  To my surprise, she grins and holds out the box. “This is the engagement ring Chet gave me.”

  I take the box and open it to find a simple ring, diamonds in the band. It looks nothing like the one I gave her. Much simpler. Maybe even fake. I frown.

  “Go ahead,” she says, blinking up at me through the drops of rain that hit her cheeks. “Say it.”

  “What?”

  She sighs. “It's not real. It's cheap.”

  “Brianna—”

  “You won't hurt my feelings, I promise. I know it's cheap because I'm the one who bought it. It was all I could afford.”

  I bite back a curse. “You bought your own engagement ring?”

  “I know. It's stupid. I should have just said I didn't need anything. But it was a symbol, you know?”

  “It's not stupid. You should have had something and Chet's a major asshole for not at least buying this one himself. What a dick.”

  Her breath catches in a half-laugh, half-sob. “I know. A huge dick, right? And I think I knew it was over before it ever was but I was just hanging on. I don't—don't have family or anyone else who's really close. Just Deb. And I guess I figured this was my shot. To have that family.” She takes the box from me. “A terrible reason to hang on to an engagement, I know. But that's why I did. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really even loved him...Anyway, I needed to move on. You were right about Chet. I was hanging onto that hurt. Not because I lost him but because I lost that dream. So...I'm moving on.”