Playboy Prince

"Practice?"

"Our couple face."

Kissing. Touching. Looking madly in love.

Or madly in lust.

I can do that.

Maybe.

In theory.

"We gotta move fast, Bri. Preston wants to do brunch at ten tomorrow. We need to be camera ready in twenty-four hours."

"I don't know if I can—"

"I know you can."

"What if I screw it up? Give something away?"

"How?"

"I don't know. How I'm acting."

"You won't."

"What if I do?"

"You won't."

"And you're sure you won't?"

"Yeah."

"You've never had a girlfriend before."

"I'm aware." He takes another sip. Stands. Motions to the hallway. "Get dressed. I'll call my lawyer. Update the terms. I'll meet you downstairs in ten." He offers his hand to shake.

I take it.

"We have a deal."

A deal with the devil.

Chapter Five

Liam

"This is excessive." Briar runs her fingers over the expensive pen. Stares at the dotted line like her life depends on it. "Even for you."

"Even for me? Is that a category?"

"A rare one." She reads the last paragraph again. Takes a deep breath. Pushes an exhale through her nose.

Then she signs and places the fountain pen in my palm.

She's right. This is excessive. I fuck with people for fun, but I never mix it with work. I don't cross the line with coworkers. I don't talk business with fuck buddies.

A sixteen page contract isn't a normal part of my personal life.

I work with my brothers. Business and personal is a tangle. But business and sex?

Uh-uh.

No way.

Not ever.

I've made plenty of mistakes, including sexual partners, but never with a coworker.

Now, I'm asking my assistant to play my fiancée.

To stand close enough, I smell her honey shampoo.

To smile and stare into my eyes and bring her lips to mine.

Fuck, those lips. They're painted wine red today. A gorgeous dark hue that complements her hair and screams of sex.

She's not wearing it to torture me—Briar is a punk rock princess, whether I'm here or not—but she's doing a good job of it anyway.

What do those lips taste like?

How would they feel on my skin?

And when she comes, are they parting with a sigh?

Or pressed together with a groan?

Fuck. I close my eyes. Try to picture anything else. Fail miserably.

My cock whines.

Briar. Now.

In those heeled boots of hers, she's nearly as tall as I am. It would be so easy to bring my hands to her curvy hips, pull her soft body into mine, taste her wine red lips.

When she groans Liam now it's irritation.

But if she said my name like it was the only thing she needed—

Fuck.

Not the time.

Not the place.

Not a possibility.

I force my eyes to the paper. This is it. Two weeks of lying to the guy who taught me everything I know.

My last gift to him.

It's not even close to enough.

I can't fuck it up.

I sign. Set the paper on the desk. Give my lawyer room to collect it.

He reminds us about some of the finer points, then he says goodbye and heads to the elevator.

Briar looks around the empty office. The frosted glass walls of my suite. The clear windows letting in the light of the city.

It's a beautiful day. Bright blue sky. Puffy white clouds. Lemon yellow sun.

I can see half the Financial District, the Hudson, Staten Island. Even the outline of the Statue of Liberty.

A babe in a sheet. It doesn't get better than that. But it's not just the French hottie. Or even the vision of an ideal America.

I know liberty isn't the same thing as freedom. Let's be honest. I've never wanted for liberty.

But freedom?

The second I broke out of my parents' house, I let freedom rule every one of my decisions. From starting this company to staying single.

People think I'm a slut. I get around, sure, but I don't count the notches on my bedpost.

I'm a man. I have needs. I fill them in a way that hurts as few people as possible.

I've tried other arrangements. Fuck buddies. Friends with benefits. Four-week flings.

They never work.

Women get the wrong idea about me. Think I'll fall in love. Stick around. Become their happily ever after.

No matter how sure they are they want casual at the beginning, they have a different idea after two weeks of sex.

They don't get it.

Sometimes, I develop feelings. Sometimes, I don't want to say goodbye. Sometimes, I'm tempted to extend our arrangement.

But I don't.

No matter how much I want someone, I want freedom more.

Coupled people are half a partnership and I'm not ready to compromise. I want my personal life to be mine.

Maybe if I met someone like Briar. Who got me. Who didn't try to make me into someone I'm not.

I follow her rules. Respect her boundaries. All that important shit.

All right, maybe I'm not acing the boundaries test, being her boss and asking her to kiss me, but at least I'm aware of it.

I trust her, respect her, want the best for her.

And she's straight with me. Yeah, that's usually her calling me a fucking asshole, but, hey—