Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone
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The purity of its beauty was being lost in the dingy gray of my sweatshirt. So I took it off and checked it out again. “This necklace is so beautiful, Grant. Did you pick it out?” I turned a little, admiring the shimmer.
“What necklace?” Grant said, coming up behind me and running his hands down my arms. “All I see is an almost naked you.”
And he said he wasn’t romantic.
I lifted my gaze from the stunning necklace to watch Grant as he eased his large hands over my sides, and onto my breasts. He wasn’t looking at me in the mirror. He was staring down at my shoulders before he dropped his head and kissed my bare skin. It gave me goose bumps. It felt like more than he intended. It felt real. It felt seductive. It felt beyond sex.
It both made me shiver in delight and want to run. I couldn’t do this. I could not be the idiot who fell for the man who insisted he didn’t do relationships. I couldn’t have predicted how the last guy I’d dated had turned out (hello, can’t hold his liquor), but Grant was predictable. Javier had said as much. He ran through women at a high percentage rate.
The necklace sparkled and reflected back at me as Grant teased at my nipples and I looked exactly like what I was—a woman falling for a man who was all wrong for her.
I should run like a serial killer with a raised ax was chasing me.
I didn’t, obviously.
Nope. Not even so much as a step away from him. I just closed my eyes and let myself get swept away in the moment.
That’s how I needed to treat being with Grant. I had to just enjoy each moment in and of itself and not worry about what it was, or really, what it wasn’t.
He was coaxing me to a slow easy orgasm, his hand inside my panties, when a loud squawk made me jump. “What the hell?”
Grant stepped back and gave a casual shrug, like he hadn’t just abandoned me three seconds from satisfaction. “I think that’s the front door buzzer for our dinner. You’re starving, remember?”
“That was ridiculously efficient,” I complained.
“I’ll leave a bad review.” Grant opened his door just a sliver so he could squeeze through without anyone seeing me. “Be right back.”
With a sigh I dragged my sweatshirt back on over my head and removed the necklace. I knew myself well enough to know I just might drop guacamole on my chest at some point. It probably wasn’t easy to get mashed avocado out of intricate jewelry.
When Grant came back into the apartment, I took the bag from him. “I need to eat my feelings.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What feelings are those?”
I opened the bag and popped a chip into my mouth. “Hunger and sexual frustration.”
“I can take care of both of those.”
I had no doubt.
Eating with Leah was the first time it occurred to me I didn’t have a table. I ate at the island, on the sofa, or at my desk. There was room for a dining table, I’d just never gotten one because it seemed unnecessary. I didn’t even remember the designer suggesting one, now that I thought about it. Maybe I threw off a vibe of workaholic dude eats alone or in restaurants.
But while eating at the island next to Leah felt casual and comfortable, it would have been better to be able to sit across from her and see her as we talked. A real meal at a table in my own apartment with a woman. It had never mattered to me. But with Leah the idea held appeal.
Everything about Leah held appeal.
She had destroyed a burrito in about thirty seconds and was now eating plantain chips with guacamole while firing questions at me with a speed of three per minute. Or close to it.
“Sunrises or sunsets?”
“Sunset. I love the night. Besides, the sunset is when you applaud yourself for an accomplished day.”
“I’m the opposite,” she said. “I love the possibilities of a new day.”
That didn’t surprise me about Leah. She was a very optimistic person.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” she asked.
“You,” I said without hesitation.
Leah laughed. “No, I meant for real. I love key lime pie. I would do some shady things for a slice of it.”
“I’ll make note of that.” Seriously, I was going to have to send her a whole key lime pie next week as a thank-you gift. No vibrator included. Just the pie. “That’s good ammunition to have.”
She rolled her eyes. “What’s your answer?”
I thought about it and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a big dessert guy. I guess maybe chocolate cake.”
“Solid choice.” Leah stuck her finger in the guacamole container and scraped the last remaining bits up. “Do you speak another language?”
The random questions kept coming. “Yes. French, learned at boarding school. Spanish, taught to me by my nanny. How about you?”
“Nope. I suck. I really should learn Spanish at least but I don’t seem to have an ear for it.”
“It’s not an ear. It’s not intellect. You have to feel a language.”
“Interesting. Not what I would have expected you to say.”
“I do know how to feel things.”
Leah grinned. “I know you do.”
I nodded. “And I’m just getting started.”
“I can’t wait to see what you mean by that.” But then she went right back to drilling me. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“Two years.”
“Rent or own?”
“Rent. I realize that’s ironic given I own real estate but I have a penthouse in mind that is eighteen months out from completion. I moved in here intending it to be temporary but then I couldn’t find the right property.” The place I wanted was insanely huge for a single guy but it seemed like the next logical step.
“I’ve never been in an actual penthouse. I have a friend who has access to a communal rooftop deck and that seemed amazing enough. When I picture a penthouse, I am imagining a private elevator and a giant glass box where you stand at the corner and stare down onto Manhattan with your hands behind your back while curtains mysteriously blow even though the windows don’t open.”
That amused me. “That’s a very specific visual. I bet I could do that here.” I set down my own burrito and went to the windows, which were still open from burning the stir-fry. I spread my legs, stared out the window and put my hands behind my back. “I’m the King of Manhattan,” I said. “Everything I see I own.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Leave it to Leah to refuse to enjoy my bad acting. I stared her down over my shoulder. “Only my mother is allowed to speak to me like that. You will be punished.”
“I’m really scared,” she said cheerfully.
“I can see that.” I went back to the island and invaded her personal space with my body.
Leah paused with a chip halfway to her mouth. I took the chip and ate it.
“Hey.” But she sounded more turned on than pissed off. “That was mine.”
“I’ll order you more chips if you want. But right now, you’re going to answer a question for me.”
“Is this you being Robert De Niro or someone similar or are you being yourself?”
“I’m being me.” I spun her stool so she was facing me and I rested my palms on her bare knees. I had her boxed in and I could hear her breathing deepen in arousal.
Everything about her drove me crazy. Even now, as she dragged her tongue over her bottom lip to moisten it, and stared up at me defiantly, I thought she was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
I wanted to ask her why she didn’t have a boyfriend. There had to be thousands of men in New York who would love to spend their days and nights with her. She was a ray of sunshine with a hefty side of sexy. But asking that would never sound anything less than rude as fuck and I wasn’t that stupid. I also wanted to ask her why she wasn’t a star, because that too seemed like a mystery. But if she knew why she wasn’t a star, presumably she’d change it and be a star. So again, another question that would just annoy her.
“That’s an easy question. I thought you were going to ask something difficult. Yes, I was flirting with you. But my skills as a temptress in real life are not renowned.” Leah put her hands on my arms. “Why does it matter?”
“I’m trying to figure out actress you versus real you.”
“Maybe I prefer to keep you guessing.”
I didn’t like that answer. I decided to take control. I scooped her up off the stool. “I know one thing you aren’t faking.”
“Prove it.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a challenging smile.
“Game on.” I took Leah into my bedroom and set her down on the bed.
She looked good there. All dark hair and naughty smile. The sweatshirt was so oversized, her lean legs descending below the bulk, her fingers wrapped around the sleeve cuffs, it looked like it could be my shirt. Something about that concept made me feel turned on and male and dominant. Territorial. I liked the look of her in my bed.
I took my shirt off and tossed it in the direction of my bathroom.
She was looking around the room. “Very nice. Like a hotel. You’re very tidy.”
“I like order.” I undid my pants and was getting on the bed when she put her hand on my chest. “Yes?” I asked. She didn’t look like she planned to stop me. But more like she had a request.
“What’s your view like? Is it private? Or is it like the living room? I’d love to see the city view.”
Given that she didn’t have a window at all in her bedroom, it seemed like a reasonable request. “It’s a similar view. I’ll open the blinds.” I had a remote control so I reached over her and picked it up off the nightstand and hit the correct buttons.
“Now that’s handy,” Leah said. “I like it.”
“You take in the view.” I tugged her sweatshirt up over her breasts. She was on her back, gazing at the windows. “I’m going to take you.”
“Deal.”
That made me laugh under my breath. It was such a Leah response.
And that thought gave me pause. A Leah response. I knew that because I was getting to know her. I realized I had devoted more time to talking to her in ten days than I had with women I had dated for two months. I couldn’t predict what Leah would say yet, or finish her sentences, but I had a pretty damn good idea of how her mind worked and what made her tick.
She found awe in almost everything. Or if not pure awe, at least amusement or fascination or something. She liked to have conversations like a tennis match. Volley. Back and forth.
Right now, she was studying the lights of Midtown Manhattan and playing with the ends of her hair. Her profile was classic, high cheekbones and a narrow nose. Despite not wearing any makeup she had thick eyelashes, most likely courtesy of her Italian heritage. True to her earlier words, she had put her slippers back on and was still wearing them.
She was very comfortable naked, which I appreciated.
Skimming my hand over her cheek, I traced her jawline, and her bottom lip.
She did turn then and looked at me, her expression thoughtful but relaxed.
For a split second, with her face caught in the city lights, I felt something I didn’t want to feel. Something deep and powerful and fucking earth-shattering.
But then she stuck her tongue out at me.
The moment evaporated and I laughed, grateful for her silly gesture. She’d saved me from falling down a hole I couldn’t climb out of and sure as hell didn’t want to be in.
I bent down and kissed her.
Not a light, teasing kiss.
Not a tender kiss.
But a hard, demanding kiss to make me forget that I could be vulnerable to the beauty of a woman. To remind myself that a relationship wasn’t in our future and that I had no business roping Leah into dealing with me, the cold workaholic who would always put work first.
I ran my hands over her body, touching her warm, soft flesh everywhere, stroking her to sweet little gasps of pleasure.
Then I lifted her fuzzy fleece slippers onto my shoulder and I plunged inside her, hard and demanding.
I wanted to distract myself from thinking.
Drown in pleasure.
And convince myself that this was nothing. That I felt nothing. That we were nothing.
So I gripped her calves with a tight punishing hold and lied to myself.
Chapter 9
Something felt different about Grant.
We were lying in his bed and it was sexy and intimate, our bodies spent. Yet he seemed to have left behind the easy, teasing mood from dinner and was quiet. He’d gotten a notification on his phone and he’d actually looked at it, which seemed like poor post-sex etiquette.
Feeling left out of whatever the hell he was looking at, I’d picked up my own phone and started scrolling through social media.
“Hey, look, that video of me singing in Chanel is still up.” I showed it to Grant.
He took my phone out of my hand. I wasn’t expecting him to do that.
“Um, grabbie,” I complained.
“Sorry, but I can’t see it when you hold it. Your hand is moving.” Grant held the phone up over his head and clicked the play button.
My voice filled his bedroom. I was used to having recordings of me singing, but something about this felt so surreal. The lights of Manhattan penetrated the darkness of Grant’s bedroom and his sheets were cool, our naked bodies warm.
“You sound fantastic. And look beautiful.” He scrolled my screen. “Ten thousand likes.”
“Ten thousand?” That stunned me. “Are you kidding? That’s a lot.”
“There are lots of positive comments too. Which isn’t surprising. Like I said, you sound fantastic.”
“Weird. It doesn’t seem like something that would go viral.” It didn’t seem like that interesting of a video.
“I wouldn’t call this viral,” Grant said.
Okay, then. “Way to burst my bubble.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s just viral is usually like millions of views. I’m sure you could go viral.”
I knew he didn’t mean it that way, but it felt like a slap in the face. A dream-crushing reality statement.
“No, I can’t.” I reached up and took my phone back. “I’m not a six-year-old sounding like Judy Garland. I’m not someone with an interesting story. I’m just another okay-looking, okay-singing twentysomething trying to find a job in entertainment. From an industry perspective, there is nothing interesting about me whatsoever. I don’t stand out.”
It was rare that I allowed myself to indulge in negativity. Truthfully, I didn’t even feel that way very often. I had been born an optimist. But even though I doubted he’d meant to hurt me, it had just seemed so obvious that I was fighting an uphill battle because he was right. Viral videos are viewed millions of times, and here I was about ten thousand and shocked even by that volume. The difference was insurmountable.
“You don’t have to wear a meat dress to stand out. Talent stands out, Leah.”
Maybe it was being in his apartment. Maybe it was all those boxes of designer clothes in the other room waiting to be packed into luggage that cost thousands of dollars. Maybe it was Grant’s confidence. Not just in his career, his life. Confidence that I would take this “job.” That I would agree to come over tonight. Maybe it was that now he seemed a little reserved. Maybe it was all of those things.
But I felt worried that maybe my talent wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Which was precisely why I hadn’t wanted to date a rich guy.
Not that I was. I was fake dating a rich guy.
I was also draped over his hard, masculine chest, with a sore body from sex.
I hit the pause button on the video. I didn’t want to hear my voice anymore. “Sure, it does,” I said. “In a fantasy world.” I tossed my phone on the nightstand and t
ried to shake my unexpected mood. “I’m thirsty. I’m going to get a glass of water. Do you want one too? Also, we should get started packing. That’s a lot of boxes out there.”
Grant reached for my arm as I sat up. “Hey. You okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. That sounded a lot like I’m a total dickhead, and I swear, I didn’t mean it that way. I spoke without thinking.”
He looked concerned.
Which actually made me feel worse. He felt sorry for me.
“It’s totally fine. It wasn’t you. It was the video that reminded me of things I don’t necessarily like to think about. Now let’s not worry about any of that and just enjoy our night together. I still have half of my sangria to drink.” I gave him a smile. Mostly fake, but partially real. “I keep getting distracted by a certain sexy real estate developer.”
“Do I know him?” Grant said, looking relieved that I was letting him off the hook for his unintentionally thoughtless comment. “I’ll crush the competition.”
“He’s great in bed,” I warned. “It’s a lot to live up to.”
Grant threw the bedding off and stood up. He strolled across his bedroom and into his bathroom. “I’m not worried. I’m taking a shower. Care to join me?”
I did and I didn’t. I would love the distraction, and well, all that hard, muscular nakedness rubbing up against me. But at the same time, I needed a minute alone to regroup. “Not this time.”
Pulling my sweatshirt on, I fished around in the bedding until I found my panties and put those on as well. I went into the living room and busied myself cleaning up our takeout food. I washed the wok and wiped down the countertop. Then I started methodically transferring clothing into the luggage. It was mindless and made me feel accomplished.
I used the tissue between layers of clothing, and found nooks and crannies for all the boxes of jewelry. When all the shopping bags were emptied, I started folding them down and wondered what the hell Grant was doing. I felt better. It had been a brief pity party that I had come home early from. What was I worried about? I could pay my bills, comfortably now thanks to Grant’s job offer, and I had friends and endless opportunities in my dream town.