The Tycoon’s Fake Fiancée: European Tycoon Book Two

by North, Leslie

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, not with him awakening everything inside her that she had fought so long to conceal from him. Her nails scrabbled across his shoulders, and she hugged his neck. Her climax crashed through her like the torrents pouring from the storm clouds outside, darkening her vision and knocking her senseless. The whole castle shook, and she wasn’t sure what part was the raw elements anymore, or what was them, coming together as if they had never spent a night apart since their beginning until now.

  Their contract was so buggered.

  9

  "Gavin, this is my aunt and uncle…."

  Sarah stood on the doorstep of her family's modest home, beaming brighter than the afternoon sun above. In that incongruous moment, Gavin found himself musing that most homes were modest now that he lived in a castle...

  “… Jean and Matthew.” Sarah finished her introductions with a broad grin.

  "A pleasure to meet you." Gavin adjusted his tie, then spaded his hand belatedly and held it out. Oh God, was he nervous? Sarah had held it together infinitely better when meeting his own friends and family. He didn't think he was particularly awkward socially despite his introversion. Why couldn't he play it cool now?

  "Gavin!" Sarah's aunt stepped forward and encircled him in a hug. He was much taller than she was, meaning she had to stay on the last step of the stoop to chance reaching him at all. Gavin's heart stuttered to a stop at the surprise display of affection. He could tell by the grinning faces of Sarah and Sarah's uncle that hugs were to be expected—probably even bountiful in this household. "We're so glad you could make it! Come in! Come in!"

  Somehow, the older woman managed to maneuver him ahead of her and usher him in. Gavin glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Sarah in silent question, but Sarah simply shook her head. Her lips were pressed together, and he had the distinct impression of a failed attempt to hide her grin. She knew, he thought. I wrote her a dossier worthy of MI6 on every single one of my family members, and she left me to be surprised. He supposed this was how it was done when a couple was not pretending to be together.

  God, how he wished that wasn't the case.

  The thought struck him like a punch between the eyes. Gavin nearly stopped in his tracks there on the stoop, but Sarah stepped up to take his hand and finished guiding him inside. Her thumb brushed the crease in his palm in silent reassurance, but the secret gesture threatened to awaken the beast in him. Gavin gripped her hand hard in his. It seemed with every passing moment since their storm-tossed shag, all he could think about was doing it again.

  The cottage the Hansons inhabited was cozy, and Jean was a consummate host. She took Gavin’s jacket for him and thrust a cup of tea into his hands before he could properly orient himself, and then she ushered him to the dining room and seated him at the table beside Sarah.

  “I’d say this engagement calls for champagne, not tea!” Matthew Hanson laughed at his wife, but the observation wasn’t mean-spirited, but rather—and Gavin was surprised by his own insight into relations between relatives who were not his own—fond.

  Gavin glanced at Sarah and was again overcome by the fierceness of his feelings for her. Not good. None of this was any good. He had anticipated the celebratory nature of the evening, but it suddenly felt as if this whole situation was building to something he wasn’t prepared for. Just looking at the radiant blonde at his side, he knew he was out of his depth—out of his league. What business did he have roping her into this farce when she was so close to these good people? What business did he have entertaining feelings of being in love with her when he was suddenly surrounded by the implications from all angles?

  He felt as if he had been invited to one of those infamous Fool’s Dinners, but he was the only real fool in attendance.

  “All right, well. Jean, care to help me out?” Sarah’s uncle laughed again and carried on without so much as a glance Gavin’s way, which was probably a good thing. Gavin suddenly doubted his own ability to conceal his panic at the internal crisis unfolding inside. Sarah reached between them beneath the table and squeezed his hand, but Gavin had to wonder if it was intended as a comforting gesture. When he glanced sidelong at her, he saw that she was nervous, too. There was something in the air, and as Matthew Hanson popped the cork of the champagne bottle and poured them each an overflowing glass, Gavin’s heart beat as wildly as if he had just run a marathon. The lie kept growing within him to unmanageable proportions, until he felt the truth wanting to spill past his lips the same way the champagne was spilling from the Hansons’ festive glasses.

  “Well, we’ve invited you here to congratulate you on your engagement, obviously.” Sarah’s aunt giggled, and Gavin found himself wondering if this was the first bottle of champagne that the Hansons had opened that evening. “But we’ve also invited you here to share more than just our home and our wine with you.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah was quick to smile and look between her aunt and uncle. When Matthew gestured for them to join them in standing, Sarah and Gavin stood to their feet and raised their glasses. Sarah squeezed his hand so hard, Gavin nearly winced. Something’s happening, he thought. Hang in there, Sarah. We’ll get through it. We’ll—

  “Well, we’ve never been good at this sort of thing—on account of we’ve never had children of our own to spoil—so I’m just going to come out with it!” Matthew laughed. “Sarah, your aunt and I want to give the two of you a gift. Our contribution is small compared to what Gavin—“

  “Matthew.” Jean elbowed her husband in an effort to keep him on track with whatever he was about to say.

  “Right. What I’m trying to say is… here.” Matthew’s jovial tone quieted as he withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Well, over the years, we’ve put a bit by towards your wedding day. Didn’t say anything to you about it, of course. Wouldn’t want to seem pushy, and all that. But... anyhow, we’d put it aside, and now, with your engagement, it seems the right time to tell you about it.”

  “No!” Sarah set her champagne glass down and put out her hand. “Aunt Jean, Uncle Matthew, please, we couldn’t possibly—“

  “Sarah,” Gavin interrupted quietly. Sarah’s head whipped toward him, and he could see the protest in her eyes, but meeting her gaze, he shook his head slightly. Now wasn’t the time to refuse such a gift.

  Looking absolutely crestfallen, Sarah turned back to her aunt and uncle with a nod. Her lack of excitement translated to complete humility in the face of their generosity, and the teary-eyed couple smiled as they passed Sarah the check. “Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t even open it to look at the amount before shoving it into her pocket. “I’m speechless. This is… more than we deserve.”

  Good girl, Gavin thought, and hated himself more than he thought possible in that moment. They only had to sustain the lie a little longer. They had to get through dinner and depart the Hansons’ humble cottage, and then they could discuss what had transpired… and how best to navigate returning the money once the engagement was broken.

  Gavin sat through dinner at Sarah’s side. He said all the right things. He laughed in all the right places. But he was unable to find her hand again beneath the table.

  That, at least, had been broken already.

  * * *

  Sarah had never felt such an intense need to escape from her family. More often she was running toward the idea of family than away. She had also never thought she would look for any excuse to be parted from Gavin, not when their time together already had an expiration date.

  Yet here she was.

  At least there was one Burrows whose company she could stand to seek out right now. Even if she couldn’t be as honest as she wanted.

  Geneva sat beside her at the Boar’s Head, smiling from ear to ear as she poured them each a pilsner from the pitcher they were sharing and went on to chat amicably. Sarah stared at the gorgeous woman at her side. She couldn’t help seeing all the ways that Gavin’s sister resembled him: dark
hair, big, thoughtful brown eyes, pale complexion. Geneva was far more social, of course, and seemed to thrive on interactions with her family and acquaintances, whereas Gavin allowed only a select few friends close.

  Those, and a fake fiancée he let even closer than most.

  Sarah flushed. Barely a day (or night) passed now that they didn’t find themselves coming together in the bedroom… well, one of the bedrooms. Gavin appeared to have made it his personal mission to break in every guestroom in the castle, and there were a lot to get through. She had been all too happy to oblige him in this mission, and their lovemaking had quickly extended to the ballroom… the kitchen… the garden… and of course, the solarium. She had hardly gotten any work done on the interior gardens since they’d broken the contract and reopened that particular door to the past.

  “Sarah? Are you feeling all right, love?”

  She shook her head to clear it, then nodded vigorously to let Geneva know that the latter was her real answer. “Yes. I’m just confused, that’s all.”

  “That’s understandable,” Geneva said. She ran her finger around the lip of her drink for a meditative moment. “And believe me, you’re not the only one.”

  “I’m not?” Sarah turned to her friend in trepidation. “Tell me the truth: your family disapproves of me, don’t they?”

  “Hardly!” Geneva barked a laugh and set her pint down to avoid spilling it in her mirth. “Sarah, everyone in our family adores you! That’s why we spend all our spare time worrying about you!”

  “Worrying about me?” Sarah repeated in bewilderment. “What do you have to worry about? Gavin and I… we’re perfectly happy together!” And so long as they were together, that wasn’t a lie.

  “Because all’s not perfect, is it?” Geneva leaned in and leveled a finger at her. “You want children. Gavin doesn’t.”

  “I… that’s…”

  “Am I wrong? I daresay I’ve known my brother a long, long time,” Geneva said frankly. “And I’ve never heard him even entertain the idea of changing his opinion of fatherhood.”

  Flummoxed, Sarah could only stare at Geneva for a moment. “I know,” she whispered at last. “I know.”

  The subject should not be occupying her brain as it had this past week. She had no real future with Gavin. They were playing house… in a castle… fooling everyone around them with their shadowbox play of an engagement and their perfectly proportioned dolls’ smiles. Only it didn’t feel fake, not to her. And that was where the real danger lay. She was falling back in love with Gavin Burrows—if she had ever fallen out of love to begin with.

  They were using each other to pursue their dreams, a mutually beneficial arrangement. But what if, somewhere along the line, her dream had changed? How could she reveal the truth to him without looking like a heartbroken fool?

  “Maybe… maybe he’ll change his mind,” she said wistfully.

  Geneva smiled in sympathy. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time in human history a man did that, would it?”

  Sarah didn’t bother correcting her as they clinked their glasses together. Too much was going on in her head for her to keep up with the details of their conversation. Her own words continued to echo and rebound around the walls of her skull:

  Maybe he’ll change his mind.

  10

  Too often nowadays, he found himself looking for Sarah. He simply couldn't stay away from her. She was proving as big a distraction from his work as she had been three years ago—and that was still something he was trying to wrap his head around. What was the point of having a big brain (as Sarah liked to fondly remark) if he couldn't multitask in the presence of a woman?

  Admittedly, she was the most irresistibly gorgeous woman on the planet.

  He would strive to think of her more as his muse, Gavin thought as he wound his way through the twists and turns of the castle garden on the hunt for her. She would like that, he was sure. And while he wasn't normally one for flights of fancy, convincing himself that he found inspiration in her presence as well as distraction would do wonders for his work ethic.

  "Sarah? Are you out here?" he called.

  "Gavin!" her delighted (and delightful) voice answered. To his ears, it sounded akin to birdsong; the fluttering in his heart seemed an appropriate response. Lord, how daft his thoughts were around her. He fought hard to keep them to himself... although the filthier ones had a way of slipping out.

  He was actually entertaining explicit thoughts of pinning Sarah in the soil when he rounded the corner. After all, the blonde was caked in dirt half the time when she was around the castle anyway; what business did he have being so clean? He could use the opportunity to find a renewed appreciation for his garden, and formulate some good, lasting memories of the place in the process.

  That said, upon discovering Sarah, he stopped dead in his tracks. She turned with a flirtatious swish of her golden ponytail, grinning broadly. "Well? What do you think?"

  If Gavin had expected to find her hands free, or to free them up himself from some planting endeavor or other for more illicit pursuits, he had been mistaken. Sarah was holding up part of an enormous wood frame. Gavin scanned the other pieces at her feet, processing what he saw. Assembling. All thoughts of sweeping his fake fiancée off her feet died in an instant as his brain fit the puzzle pieces before him together.

  "Surprised?" Sarah clearly mistook his expression for one that complemented her own high spirits, and her smile expanded by degrees. "What do you think? Want to help me put together the swing?"

  "No." His own voice sounded suddenly as if it came from a stranger. He was powerless to stop himself, reduced to sitting idly as a passenger in his own body as instinct and memory took hold. "No, I'm not going to help you with that."

  "Why not?" Sarah lowered the beam to the ground and tugged her work gloves on tighter as she stared at him. To his eyes, she looked like a boxer preparing herself for an unexpected match: her mouth thinned, though her blue eyes still held confusion.

  "Because you're going to send it back."

  "Hey, you approved my design!" Sarah exclaimed. "And you approved my budget! Unless you're telling me you didn't even read the thing before signing?"

  "Of course I read it." Perhaps not all of it.

  "The swing will go perfectly in this alcove," Sarah argued. "Gavin, it's the centerpiece of my whole design. It lends itself to romance. Family. And children."

  "And I've told you, I'm never getting married," Gavin cut in, more force behind his tone than his usual flippant repetition. "And I'm never having a family. If the people who move in after I'm dead decide they want a swing, they can deal with it then."

  "Are you saying I can install this swing over your literal dead body?" If she was attempting levity with that remark, Sarah had fallen sadly short, to his way of thinking. She was too obviously frustrated to pull off the joke, and Gavin was in any event uninterested in any attempt at humor.

  Merely looking at that disassembled monstrosity littered at her feet made his leg twinge, phantom pain, yet not to be forgotten, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many years he put between himself and the inciting incident. He crossed his arms, a gesture of finality. "Over my dead body."

  * * *

  Who knew Gavin Burrows had such a flare for the dramatic? She certainly hadn't!

  Sarah stood her ground against him, trying to hide her shock behind a mask of indignation. She wondered if she’d succeeded because Gavin certainly wasn't coming out with a ready reason for acting like a total psychopath. What did the man have against swings, anyway? Was this just an extension of his pre-existing hatred of gardens? Did it have to do with the previously unrevealed focal point? Or had she done something wrong that was completely unrelated to their present standoff to make him behave this way?

  "I'd put in five swings if I had my way," she growled. "But I obviously don't want you dead."

  "You just want to make your point known." Gavin looked unlike himself, she realized. Not only had the
color drained from his face the moment he’d joined her, but he looked a little green around the gills. What was that about? Did the thought of letting her do her job the way she wanted really upset him this much?

  Or was it something else?

  Silence reigned until her tumbling thoughts forced words out of her mouth. "Well, since we're completely dismissing my thoughts on the subject, what did you intend to put here instead?" she demanded.

  "Nothing." She thought in that moment Gavin had noticed her studying his expression because he quickly turned away before adding, "I don't know. Ask your aunt and uncle for ideas."

  "I'm the designer on this job, Gavin. Not them."

  Back still turned to her, he hissed, "Then do what anyone else coming up short would do, and outsource."

  Stung, Sarah watched him beat a hasty retreat into the castle. Was it her imagination, or was he favoring his left leg even more than usual? Then again, she didn't think he had ever departed from her presence so quickly before.

  "What the hell?" Sarah muttered to herself. The wind sighing through the beech trees was her only response. A single leaf spiraled down and landed on the seat of the unmounted swing.

  What was that all about?

  11

  “Smile, sourpuss, and try having some fun!”

  “Geneva.” Gavin didn’t turn to acknowledge his sister as he watched Sarah flit from group to group on the dance floor. It was several days after his encounter with the swing; Sarah had returned it the next day, and they hadn’t spoken about the matter since. Still, there was something in the air between them—a new tension that had them circling each other more warily than before.

  “Was it really you who insisted on throwing this party, or did Mum and Dad take more of a hand?” Gavin inquired around a sip of wine.