I looked over at her wearing a pair of old jean overalls spattered with paint. “I’m not sure I should be taking fashion advice from huckleberry Natalie.”
She snorted. “You know that when I go out, I look better. This is my work outfit, just like schoolmarm clothes are yours. I’m just lucky I’m an artist and can wear what’s comfortable.”
She was probably right. I was fairly conservative with my clothes. Still, that wasn’t the point of this conversation. “So you think I should participate in this deception?”
“Hell yeah. Besides the money, which you need, you get a trip to Italy.” She sat back and sighed. “I’d love to go to Italy. I’d love to get a good look at the David up close. You know his hands are too big.”
“Is that code for something?”
“Well, no, because you can see his dick and it ain’t huge. Still, everyone I’ve ever met who saw it in person says it’s breathtaking. Plus, there’s all the other art there.”
“Maybe you should go instead.” I took a bite of my noodles.
“Sure. Do you think I could pull it off? Dutiful assistant to a bazillionaire?”
I chewed my food instead of responding.
“Right. I can’t. Besides, this guy you two are trying to hoodwink probably knows you, so I can’t pretend to be you while pretending to marry your boss.”
She was right. Mr. LaMont had seen me on the video conference.
“I wonder if it’s a good time of year to be in Italy,” she mused out loud. Then she laughed. “God, even if it rained, a bad day in Italy is probably better than a good day in most other places.”
I still wasn’t sure what to do, but at least I had Nat’s support in whatever I decided.
That night, I lay in bed wondering how I could pull this off if I got over the ethical question about it. What would it be like to be married to Ryan Strong? There was a lot to find attractive about the prospect. He loved his family and worshiped his grandmother. He was committed to the family business and worked really hard. When he wasn’t lost down the rabbit hole of his work, he could be funny and he was very generous as a boss. But that was the issue. He was my boss. Could I see him as a husband?
I worked to put the idea of his being my boss out of my head. I imagined meeting him outside the office where he was just a man and I was just a woman. Would I find him attractive? Well, yes. He had the southern Californian boy written all over him with his blonde hair and blue eyes, although he didn’t have the laid-back surfer vibe that often was associated with southern Californian men. His suit always looked great on him hanging on broad shoulders and lean hips. I once caught him coming out of the gym in the company building and did a double take at the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms. Yep, if I’d met him elsewhere, I’d be attracted to him.
I worked to imagine how this fake marriage would work. Italy was a Catholic country, so we’d have different rooms up until the ceremony, right? Then again, Mr. LaMont was French, and they seemed to have a pretty laid-back attitude towards sex. What would it be like to share a room with Ryan? Did he sleep in pajamas or naked? A flash of his strong arms came to my brain, which I then extrapolated out to invasion him in all his glory. In my mind, it wasn’t just his hands that were big, but other parts as well.
I felt my cheeks flush as I realized I was turning myself on imagining my boss. Laughing at myself, I turned over in bed, to get some sleep. He’d need to know tomorrow what I’d decided. I hoped that the answer would come to me in my sleep.
As I drifted off, a vision of Tuscany filled my head. It was beautiful and I was walking with Ryan along the lush green countryside. Flowers bloomed in bright colors. In the distance, I could see rows and rows of grapevines.
All of a sudden, the sun and blue sky were gone, replaced with gray clouds and it started to rain.
“Does the rain bother you?” he asked.
I tilted my head up, savoring the cool drops on my face. “No. A rainy day in Italy is still better than a good day anywhere else.”
He laughed and it made me look at him. His shirt was gone, exposing his smooth chest and muscles sculpted to perfection, it would have made Michelangelo weep with its beauty.
I reached out, drawing m
y fingers along his chest.
“When was the last time you got laid?” I asked.
He laughed again. “I’m more interested in the next time.” His arm banded around me, pulling me flush against his body. His lips crushed down on mine. Delicious sensations flowed to every part of my body.
He whipped me around, and there was a tree stump. He lifted my dress, pulled my panties off and sat me on the stump.
My breasts were free and he was sucking them, making me whimper. Then his dick was out.
“You gonna help me get laid?” he asked, tugging on my nipple with his teeth.
“Yes, God yes,” I wrapped my legs around his hips, and pulled him to me. His dick filled me. Rain sluiced over his back as I gripped him. Thunder roared in the distance, but all the electricity I felt was between our bodies as he pumped inside me, over and over, pushing me up and up until I was perched on the edge of the sweetest oblivion.