Fake Marriage Box Set

"Alicia? No. Not at all. She's this big-time heiress, tons of money," I stopped myself from nervous babbling. "I just thought it'd be nice to have a quiet glass of wine and enjoy the view from my, I mean, Xavier's house before we go out to dinner."

"Sure thing, birthday boy," she said with a wink.

I watched Corsica walk up the front steps of my home and knew I did not want to go out to dinner. It was all I could do to tear my gaze away from her long legs as her hips swayed.

"I'm going to go freshen up and change," she said. "It was really fun meeting your friends on that beach, but my hair is a mess. Meet back here in ten?"

I nodded. If any other woman had quoted me ten minutes, I would have laughed, but Corsica's easy beauty made it believable. Despite every strange situation I had thrown her in, she still looked perfect.

Except that few seconds after a kiss. Her eyes were hazy then, like the sky on a hot, humid day. And I loved the look of her tousled hair. I almost called that out but stopped myself just in time.

Did I have no shame? I was acting like a teenage boy around here, and it was ridiculous. Growing up, I had had dozens of women in a wide range of ages throwing themselves at me for just a glimpse of my fortune. Then, I denounced all of that and found women attracted to my “bad boy” image. Now that I had both my image and my own fortune, I figured I should be irresistible.

Instead, Corsica seemed content with our business arrangement. She studied my lifestyle, the one she thought I was appropriating from Xavier, like it was out of a course book. I thought she hoped to reference back to these days as an anecdote to amuse and impress the future guests in her exclusive hotel.

I thought of Corsica in a hotel, stretched over crisp, white sheets, the traffic flow of some foreign city muffling our pleasures even with the windows wide open.

I didn't even glance towards my bedroom. I wasn't changing clothes, and we weren't going anywhere. Instead, I spun on my heel and dug through every decorative cabinet until I found a variety of candles and a book of matches. I just had time to put music on and lean down to light the fire when Corsica bounced back into the living room.

"I'm back to my little black dress, but, then again, I haven't seen you out of those khakis since we got to Monterey," she said.

"I'm fine taking them off if that's what you want." I grinned.

Corsica stopped. "This doesn't look like we're going to dinner."

I shook my head. "Nope. The birthday boy opted for some quiet time at home with his girlfriend."

She glanced over her shoulder. "But we're alone. You can stop pretending."

"Okay, I’ll stop pretending right now," I said. "Corsica, I want you. Ever since you bumped into me on the stairs in that dance club-"

"Oh, no, no, no," Corsica laughed. "You bumped into me,

and this is far from our deal, Penn."

"Then, let's toss out the deal. It's over. Can we just have an evening, you and I? That's what I really want for my birthday."

Her eyes flared wide as I approached to take her hand. She resisted but finally joined me in front of the warm fire. The wind had picked up outside, and the waves crashed chilling sprays into the air. The droplets misted over the windows like rain.

"Don't you want to go out for dinner? Your boss was nice enough to make us that reservation," Corsica's eyes darted back and forth. "Or we could go meet up with your friends and celebrate."

I took her other hand. "Is it so hard to believe that all I want is to spend some time alone with you? We haven't had an unbroken minute together almost since I met you."

Corsica bit her lip. "Really? Why?"

I tugged her closer and lowered my lips to hers. "Because of this."

The kiss was electric, and I felt the current of it shake Corsica to the soles of her spindly high heels. The shocking need for her short-circuited my brain and my arms wrapped around her waist. We stumbled, and I turned so that when we tripped towards the couch, I broke her fall.

"You did that on purpose," she said with a smile. "Careful or you'll mess up my hair."

"That's exactly what I intend to do," I murmured and tangled my hands in those soft, honey-colored waves.

This time, Corsica did not resist. She lowered her smile to mine, and I felt the electricity bolt through both of us again.

I wondered if she still thought of me as a “bad boy.” I certainly liked disrupting her good-girl image. With that thought in mind, I slipped one thin strap off her shoulder.

Corsica pushed back again. "Penn," she muttered.