Single Dad’s Fake Fiancée: A Cowboy Romance

by King, Imani

  There’s nothing stuffy about the strong build of his body, and nothing refined about the heat in his dark blue eyes as he takes in my curves. I don’t know how I could have called him an angel before. Yes, he might be a heavenly being, but he was one who reveled in the fall.

  My stomach flips as I teeter in my Mary Janes.

  Thank God I didn’t wear heels. Pretty sure I’d be in the middle of a face plant right about now.

  Cool wind caresses my skin as Preston opens the glass door. He’s almost close enough to touch. The space between us is minuscule but seems nonexistent. Goosebumps flare over my skin as my heartbeat quickens.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, running his fingers over my bare shoulder.

  Right here? Right now? I can’t believe I’m saying this but…hell yeah!

  I nod vigorously.

  His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Good. You’re going to…enjoy you lunch.”

  I think I’m going to enjoy “lunch” too. I hope we get there quickly!

  But then, instead of…having lunch…we actually takes me to lunch.

  He holds my hand as we start down the steps that lead to the street. A line of serious bald men in suits and sunglasses stand guard. Why do they need to stand guard, you ask? Well, because the paparazzi are here in full force.

  “Don’t worry,” he tells me. “They can’t follow us where we’re going.”

  There’s about fifteen seconds of shouted questions and a flurry of flashes before we get to the limo.

  I hug my arms, sliding across the black leather seat so he can get in after me. The door shuts softly behind him, and tension I didn’t even realize I carried leaves my shoulders.

  Finally, I can breathe.

  Preston’s warm hand rubs the back of my neck. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Do they always follow you around?”

  “No. Unfortunately I was seen having lunch with a famous actress a few weeks ago. Of course, the lunch was about the New York penthouse she was interested in renting from me, but the paparazzi are convinced we were having an affair.”

  My hand moves to my stomach. “Were you?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Was I what?”

  “You know…having an affair with her?”

  His eyes move down my body slowly. I can see them visually undressing me—feel, almost, how he’d slide his thumb under the low scooped neck of my dress and beneath my bra strap. How he’d kiss my collarbone, then move up to the side of my neck to that place where my rapid pulse was giving away just how much I wanted him.

  “Are you jealous?” he asks, smiling. And as he does, his face takes on a sinful expression so at odds with his beautiful demeanor that I can’t make sense of it—make sense of him.

  “So what if I am?” I reply shortly, straightening my back. “A few days ago, you proposed marriage.”

  “And before that day, you refused to return my calls. You refused to see me at all.”

  “Well, that’s probably because I saw you with the actress and I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “No. I met the actress for the first time two weeks ago.”

  “And the two of you had lunch?”

  Alright, there are two kinds of jealousy: righteous jealousy and batshit jealousy. Let’s just say that the wings of the latter were about to take flight.

  “She wanted to fuck, but I didn’t take her up on it. And you’re right to be suspicious, because normally I would have. However, I haven’t exactly been myself these past few months.”

  My mouth is suddenly dry. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve spent a large portion of my life either ruining or running away from the only thing I ever did want. Then, I had it. And even though it was only for a moment, I couldn’t go back.” His penetrating gaze locks onto me. “Maybe that’s what I was afraid of all along. Not just failing, but changing. Because it is true. Once you’ve tasted perfection, you never want anything else.”

  I’m breathing like an old dog on a hot day. Sexy? Hell no. But I’m too far gone to think about sexy. I’m ready for…

  He turns his head. “Kind of like eating at this restaurant. It’s my favorite place to get lunch in the city.”

  What?

  Lunch?

  Who cares about stupid lunch!

  The limo stops.

  He pops open the door, steps out, and offers me his hand like he hadn’t just intentionally gotten me all hot and bothered before we ate some stupid food.

  “Ready?” he smiles.

  Hesitantly, I take his hand. The sensation of his skin against mine is electrifying.

  Alright, I still don’t think I had a good reason for hating Preston Easterbrook so much, but I am beginning to understand one thing.

  The man is very, very dangerous.

  ***

  The waiter knows Preston. He apparently also knows me, too.

  “Tachell!” the little balding man with a combover exclaims. “You are even more beautiful than the papers say!”

  I let him kiss the back of my hand, flashing a nervous, toothy grin that could probably be described as anything but beautiful. The papers had described me as many things. A gold digger. An alien breeding cesspool. But mostly, they called me—

  “You truly are modern day Cinderella!” the little balding man says again. “My daughter is rooting for you. She will be so mad when she hears you came in while she was at school. You’ll have to come back again this weekend.”

  Preston shakes his head. “Always the businessman, Jean-Claude.”

  Jean-Claude shrugs. “Hey, who isn’t a businessman when the bottom line is love?”

  Preston laughs. “The food is really good here. I wouldn’t subject you to this nonsense if it wasn’t.”

  Jean-Claude dramatically throws his hand over his chest. “Oh, Mr. Easterbrook. You wound my heart.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is my table open?”

  “Yes,” Jean-Claude winks. “Right this way.”

  The restaurant doesn’t look like much. The walls are filled with retro posters of Operas like La Boheme and Madame Butterfly. Christmas lights twinkle from the ceiling, and each antique table features a candle and a white rose. I order a salmon over salad. Preston gets the bouillabaisse. When Jean-Claude is done taking our orders, Preston pulls out some lavender and places it in the vase next to the rose.

  “Where were you hiding that?” I ask.

  “I have my places,” he purrs with a smile.

  Uhhh….

  He cringes. “Alright, I just realized that could be taken really bad.”

  “Yep.” Not gonna disagree with him on that one.

  “They were in the inside pocket of my jacket,” he explains.

  “Much better.” I lean forward and shut my eyes, breathing in slowly. “God, I love the smell.”

  “I know,” he whispers. “They’re your favorite flower.”

  I look up at him over the makeshift bouquet.

  He’s watching me with an expression of absolute tenderness, and it stirs within me an effect of absolute lovey-doveyness.

  “Your father grows them for your mother in their garden,” he continues. “You used to weave lavender crowns for your hair when you were little. You called yourself the lavender princess, and claimed you’d only accept kisses from a lavender prince. Unfortunately, when I wove myself a lavender crown, you declared me an impostor and refused to accept my affections.”

  I squint at him skeptically. “I don’t think I’m getting the whole story here.”

  He grins. “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?”

  “Oh God, what did you do?”

  He sighs. “I offered you a free mammogram exam.”

  “WHAT?!?!?”

  He laughs. “Hey, we’re not the only ones here. Keep it down!”

  I start laughing, too. “That’s not very princely.”

  “You’re right,” he replies. “But, the point is—”

&
nbsp; “That you have no game?”

  “Well, yes, but there’s another point too. Lavender has always meant love to you.”

  My heart beats faster. I may not be Cinderella, but this was really starting to feel like a fairy tale. Sure, he had been a pervy little boy, but the man before me was perfect.

  And speaking of perfect, at that moment Jean-Claude showed up with the food. The salmon melts on my tongue. The spring salad tastes like it had just been gathered from the garden. The light dressing complements its green, fresh flavor. Hazelnuts add a little bit of crunch.

  “This is amazing,” I moan.

  “Wait until you taste desert,” Jean-Claude replies. “Our creme brulee is famous.”

  “I’ll have that!” I tell him.

  “Coming right up, Cinderella,” he says with a smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.

  I purse my lips.

  “What is it?” Preston asks.

  “Oh, nothing. I’m just not sure how I feel about this Cinderella title. I mean, I don’t remember Cinderella getting knocked up before the ball. And on a related note, there hasn’t even been a ball.”

  “You’re a modern Cinderella,” he tells me.

  I nod. “Yeah. A modern Cinderella in practical shoes. Who’s successful in her own right, and doesn’t need any rescuing by a handsome billionaire to make all her dreams come true.”

  I glance at Preston to see how he reacts to my little outburst, surprised to find he’s smiling.

  “You know,” he says, “I like your version better.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t think she’s too abrasive?” I prompt.

  “Not at all. If a man can’t take a strong woman, then he doesn’t deserve her.” He gives me a princely smile that sends my heart fluttering. “Oh, look. Your creme brulee is here.”

  Jean-Claude presents me with a spoon and refuses to leave until I take a bite.

  I close my eyes as my mouth orgasms.

  Oh. My. God.

  Vanilla bean. A hint of lemon. And a creamy goodness so perfect it should be illegal.

  “You like?” Jean-Claude asks.

  “No shit I like,” I holler back.

  My eyes whip open. Oh no. Did I just swear in front of the waiter?

  But Jean-Claude is only smiling. “Cinderella’s got a bit of a mouth on her,” he says, and I think I catch a hint of adventurous respect in his voice.

  I glance back at Preston, who’s trying hard not to laugh. Yeah, this wasn’t your average fairy tale. But it was mine, and so I wouldn’t change a thing.

  Chapter 38

  Alright, there’s actually one thing I would change. You know how before I was expecting “lunch”? Well lunch was over, and Preston was ready to take me home.

  “What the hell?” I ask when we’re alone in the back of the limo.

  “You’ve already had dessert,” he informs me.

  No I haven’t! He can’t drop a thousand innuendos while staring at me like he can’t wait to take a bite and then take me back home! I was so freaking horny that I’d actually accept a free mammogram exam from him right about now.

  “This is the most beautiful city in the world,” he tells me while gazing out his window.

  I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to inconspicuously push up my boobs. “Really?”

  “Yes. You can go out every night and discover something new.”

  Maybe if I push up my boobs a little further he’ll notice them? “What sorts of new things do you discover?” I ask breathlessly.

  His attention is still on the passing city out the window. “A lot of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, many of them aren’t good. There are so many people who are hurting and trying to find their way. It can be overwhelming, and yet, whenever I’m overwhelmed I don’t feel like it’s enough. I’ve been very lucky, Tachell. And I don’t think I’ve done enough to help others who deserve it more succeed.”

  He looks at me, and I jump back, immediately embarrassed that I’d been trying to shamelessly seduce him while he contemplated important things.

  “Do you know why I like your art so much?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “It’s honest. It cuts to the heart of everything, and forces me to look at deep, dark emotions I’ve buried. It reminds me of this city, full of lights illuminating shadows…and lights blinding you from seeing the suffering right in front of your eyes.”

  I shiver. I can’t believe he’s saying all these things about my art, especially since I don’t even feel like an artist. All the paintings I’ve done seem to have come from some other person. I don’t know her, I keep thinking, and then I realize that I don’t know myself.

  But he seems to know me—both who I was, and who I am. “You talk about my art like you’re the artist.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely not. I never could be.” He looks down. “But I appreciate it. I find new things in your art every day.”

  “You look at it every day?”

  He nods. “In my office. In my home. In my bedroom. Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I see is a part of you. And it is the last thing I see every night before I shut off the lights to go to sleep.”

  My heart speeds up. “It’s not a nude self portrait, is it?”

  He smiles devilishly. “No. I don’t have one of those…but I’d love to commission one.”

  My cheeks aren’t the only thing burning. Every part of me is on fire. “Really?”

  “You know, a few days ago you would have been furious if you knew I had one of your paintings in my bedroom.”

  “Didn’t I see it when I—we—um…”

  “You didn’t notice it. I kept you pretty occupied.”

  “Oh.” I gulp. Shut my eyes. I hated this man. He’s even warned me that I hated him. And yet…

  Boob inspections were pretty damn lame, but they didn’t inspire a lifetime of hate. There had to be something deeper. Something I was afraid to look at too closely. This fear made me pull away even as I wanted to fall deeper into this sweet, beautiful feeling.

  I scoot towards him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Why did I hate you?” I whisper, searching for the answer in his large blue eyes.

  He looks down at our almost touching fingertips. “Because I’m not a good man.”

  “You seem so good to me now.”

  “I know.”

  I take a deep breath. “Is it because you’re lying?”

  “No.” Slowly, his white fingers slide over mine. “It’s because I’m showing you things about me you didn’t see before. But the other things—the things you hated—are still there.”

  “Then why are you pulling away? I like these things.”

  “I told you, once, that I would only give you to a man you deserved. That man isn’t me.”

  I frown. “Isn’t that for me to decide?”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “You don’t make decisions for me,” I continue. “I make them for myself.”

  “Yes, you certainly do.” He gives me a private smile.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Want to know a secret?”

  “What?”

  “I love that about you. How driven and strong you were and how you didn’t take anyone’s shit—least of all mine. And, even though the thing that you wanted was never me, I loved how you were always reaching for it and never compromised. Because the things you did reach for, you did so with your entire heart and soul. It inspired and humbled me. And even still...” He laces his fingers with mine. “Even still, I tried to stop you.”

  A chill rushes through me. “What did you do?”

  “So many stupid things, because instead of becoming the kind of man you’d reach for, I tried to just take you, because I knew that you’d never reach for me on your own.” His eyes burn into me with such heat that my entire body trembles. “
That’s why I’m a bad man. That is why you hate me. Because you saw through my schemes, my desires, and my pain. You saw the man within, and he wasn’t a man you could ever love.”

  “I don’t think I did,” I whisper. “There are things that we do, things that make us feel a certain way, that frame our experience. And sometimes we can’t see beyond them to what is really there.” I step closer. “I think you’re pushing me away because you’re afraid.”

  “What?” he asks, astonished.

  “I think I get it now,” I tell him. “I don’t remember, obviously, but I think I get it. You pushed me away because you didn’t think I’d accept you if you didn’t. But maybe you never really wanted me to accept you because you were afraid. It was less painful to purposefully fail than to try to make it work and then fail. You could keep your hope, that way.”

  He gulps. His beautiful, sharp Adam’s apple bobs like a knife, and the image cuts straight through my heart.

  “You always did see too much,” he whispers.

  “So why are you doing it now?” I ask. “You have your chance. You say I never saw the real you. Show me. Let me decide.”

  He shuts his eyes, sighing. “How you tempt me, Tachell.”

  My body trembles.

  He leans closer. “It wasn’t fear—or at least fear wasn’t the strongest part of it. I want you so much I can’t think clearly. I can’t stop myself. I think that is what it is—not fear of failing, but fear of what having you in my grasp will make me become. Because I can’t stop myself with you. I want, and I want, and I want...and the desire is so strong that I don’t know if I’ll ever be satisfied.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m strong enough to put you in your place, then.”

  “Yes. It is good. But it is also a challenge.” He pulls his hand away. “We’re almost to your place. When we arrive, I think you should go.”

  No! He can’t pull away just when I’m getting to something true. “Why?” I ask.

  “Because if I kiss you now I may not be able to stop, and if I kiss you now and I don’t stop, you will feel bad if you wake up tomorrow. You won’t be able to live with yourself for giving into me, even if it was just for a few moments.”