Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection

“I hate when you do that,” she complains.

“You don’t like winking?”

“No, I don’t like when you… make me…” She groans. “Why am I second-guessing myself? Why are you so damned… you?” She waves a hand in my general direction.

“If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the only distracted one.”

Her cheeks flare, if possible, redder than ever before. “Great. So we both have bad judgment.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Unless there’s something about you I don’t know.” I tilt my head to one side, grinning. “Some horrible secret that would make you unmarriageable.”

“You mean besides the fact that I agreed to marry a guy for money and a letter of recommendation for college?” She bursts into laughter, which only gets worse when the waitress appears at our table, eyes huge enough to indicate that she must have overheard at least part of our conversation.

“A private joke,” I explain as I slide my hand across the table to take Dee’s once more.

She lets me, and continues to hold on after the waitress departs. I trace my thumb over the back of her hand in slow circles, marveling at how soft and smooth her skin is. How perfect and unmarred.

“I’ve never been in love,” she says, unbidden.

My eyebrows shoot upward. “Are you faking the break-up already, because that doesn’t come until after the faux honeymoon, you know.”

“No, I mean…” She flushes. Damn. It’s distracting as fuck when she blushes like that. Especially when she tilts her head to one side and chews on her lip, as she’s doing now, eyes downcast, like she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to tighten my grip on her hand. Drag her across this table and into my lap. “You asked what makes me unmarriageable. I’ve never been in love before. I don’t even know if I’m capable of it. I mean, I like sex, don’t get me wrong—”

“Thank God for that,” I interrupt, though I have to admit, hearing her say the word sex makes my already tight pants uncomfortably tighter. I’ve imagined that too much, too many times already, for it not to go straight to my head—my southern head.

She laughs, and flashes me a look that’s half-glare, half something else. Something underneath that feigned annoyance that looks a whole lot like the same desire curling through my body. “But I’ve never felt more. All that romantic stuff you’re supposed to feel. The stuff my parents felt.”

I know that feeling. “Sounds to me like you just haven’t met the right person yet.” I lift one shoulder, let it drop.

She scrunches up her forehead. “Or the right person for me doesn’t exist.”

“Now, now.” I lean forward and catch her under the chin with two fingers. Tilt her head back until her eyes snap to mine. “There is definitely somebody for you, my dear. Face like yours?” I search it. Commit it to memory. Her eyes, too, the way they widen now and catch the light, little perfect pools of blue that someone you could lose yourself in far too easily. She’s dangerous. It makes me want her more. “I’m surprised there isn’t already a line out the door, waiting for you to take your pick of suitors.”

For a breath, she doesn’t move, eyes locked on mine. Her lips parts, just a hair, and I start to lean toward her.

Then the waitress reappears with our food, and she snaps back to the present, leans away from me, head bent so her hair tumbles forward out of its hold and disguises her face. “I’m not the kind of girl guys chase,” she murmurs to her plate. “I’m more of the best friend type. The one who encourages them to chase the girl they really want.”

“Hmm.” I lean back in my chair and study her, not even bothering to pick up my fork yet. I’m not interested in the food anymore, even though this is one of my favorite restaurants around. Right now, she’s all I see. “If you ask me, those guys are blind, then.”

She laughs, and her face lights up with it, and I realize… I’m in trouble here.

5

Dee

I force Jasper to sleep on the couch.

Well, force is a strong word. More like, we get back from dinner, my head dizzy from his stares, his compliments, and the food, which tasted better than anything I think I’ve ever put in my mouth before. Anything except Jasper’s tongue, my unhelpful subconscious points out.

And then I made a beeline straight for the bedroom and shut the door between us. Just in case he got any ideas about bidding me goodnight, I locked it for good measure.

It’s the honeymoon suite, far too enormous for its own good, so there’s a full en suite bathroom out in the living room anyway. And even though I locked my pitiable overnight back out there with Jasper, there’s more than enough supplies scattered throughout the honeymoon suite to tide me over for the night. I brush my teeth with the hotel’s toothbrush, wash my face with their soap—which is nicer than the dollar store stuff I packed, and put on one of the hotel’s cozy nightgowns. The one with the Mrs. stitched over the lapel. For a moment, I smile at it in the mirror, thinking of the joke Jasper would make.

Then I chide myself. Why am I still thinking about him?

Why have I been thinking about him, nonstop, every day at the office hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of him, then lighting up every time he texts me. All week he’s been stuck in my damn head, ever since that disastrous kiss after we went racing around the test track last week.

Disastrous… and impossible to forget.

He kisses like he’s dying of thirst, and I’m an oasis. He kisses like he’d like to drown in me, and I’ve never been kissed like that before, not by anybody.

I meant what I told him at dinner—I’ve never fallen in love. I don’t even know if I can. But the last thing I want to do right now is to develop real feelings for the guy I’m pretending to be married to for work. So even though I spent the last week dreaming about what I’d do alone in a hotel room with Jasper—or rather, dreaming about what he could do to me, with those big, strong hands of his, and that chiseled, perfectly sculpted body… Not to mention the sizable cock I’ve glimpsed through his jeans when I surprised him in his office and realized he must have been doing some daydreaming of his own.

God, think about how that thing would feel between my thighs right now, with me spread-eagled across the bed, him poised over me, those hooded, dark eyes studying me, drinking me in, like he did all throughout dinner…

I shove that thought to the back of my mind and stay in my bedroom alone instead.

I do, however, slide a hand down my panties while I think about him out there on the couch. I imagine joining him. Throwing caution to the wind and complicating the fuck out of this situation. I think about his lips on mine, his hand where mine is now, spreading the lips of my wet pussy and pressing between the folds, delving into me again and again, his finger thicker than mine, moving faster, harder, enough to make me cry out in delight—

Shit. I freeze, heart pounding, chest heaving, fingers still inside my wet, hot, clenched pussy. Because I just did just that. Screamed out loud.

I hold still, hold my breath, and listen through the pounding in my ears for any sound from the other room. Did he hear that? Does he know what I’m doing in here and why?

Finally, after far too many minutes of waiting, I decide he must already be asleep. Thank God.

Only then do I push off the bed and head for the shower. I turn the handle all the way to cold, and only warm it up once the icy water has washed up away any remaining fantasies and desires. But at last, when I do turn in, sleep eludes me. I stare at the ceiling, and my mind just keeps drifting back to the same spot. Back to the temptation I know I need to resist…

Over breakfast, Jasper keeps shooting me sly smiles. “You look lovely this morning,” he says, in a way that instantly makes me suspicious.

“Don’t know why; I barely slept,” I mumble through a mouthful of scalding hot tea. I wince and set the cup back down to give it more time to cool off.

“No?” He lifts a brow. “I always found the

beds here comfortable. That is, unless you were… distracted.”

My face feels hot. “What on earth would I have to be distracted about?”

He shrugs one shoulder, casual. “Maybe you were in there regretting locking me out. Missing all the sleep we could have been avoiding together.”