The Pretend Fiancé

The woman who came down the Spanish tile stairway dressed for an evening out was light years away from the wholesome, sweet Arkansas girl he’d made a deal with. This woman had on four-inch stilettos, a pair of jeans that hugged every curve, and a sparkly top that showed more skin than it covered. Her long honey-blond hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves. She had the come-hither eyes of a siren. He swallowed hard, his mouth feeling dry. He wanted to put his hands on her body, to push that shirt up this instant and lick his way down her stomach. He could see a sliver of her stomach, pale, probably freckled. He should warn her about sunblock because Arizona could wreck that perfect skin. He wondered where else she had freckles and found he couldn’t string two words together to compliment her appearance.

She looked like an angel from heaven.

“How do I look?” Bella asked him, her eyes glittering mischievously. He opened his mouth to speak but instead of flattering words about how incredibly sexy and delicious she looked, all he managed was a growl. She giggled lightly, a sound that knifed through him with a jolt of desire.

Harvey raked a hand through his sandy hair and pushed up his sleeves, keeping his hands busy so he would keep them to himself. He had an obligation to make this public appearance, to clean up his image for the sake of his career. So carrying her back up to his bed and keeping her there for the next twelve hours or so wasn’t a practical option. He was feeling incredibly impractical just now. The tension sizzled between them as he struggled to remember how to talk.

“You’re stunning,” he said.

“Thank you. And you look very handsome,” she grinned.

“Shall we?” He offered Bella his arm but when she took it, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, he wanted to back away, to jerk his arm out of her insinuating grip. Because however gentle her touch was, it seared him, sending impossible surges of lust through his body, making it impossible to walk to the car like a normal person. He was by no means inexperienced. Why was this blonde, this girl different? On the surface she was only another attractive female susceptible to his charms, perhaps more homespun, more innocent or more hardworking than his other conquests, but nothing tangible tipped the scale in her favor. But she was different, somehow, and whether Harvey Carlson liked it or not, Bella was getting under his skin.

The PR executive who was in on the plan advised him to arrive separately, then dance suggestively with Bella in the VIP room, then to get ‘caught’ kissing passionately as they left in different cars. It was a simple enough concept, but the challenge came from not kissing her passionately on the way to the cars first thing. He climbed into a chauffeured car as she drove off in the Corvette, blonde hair flying as she peeled out of the driveway. Just seeing her in it was so hot he couldn’t think straight. Actually, he could think, but the only thing he could think of was laying Bella out on the hood of that car and having his way with her.

The club was dark and loud, but they had the VIP lounge practically to themselves. No filming or photos were allowed there, but PR had made sure their waitress had clear instructions as to what to video and when to post it on social media. Harvey ordered drinks and they sat close in a booth, sipping from each other’s glasses, sharing tapas and feeding each other playfully.

“I could get used to this,” Bella said.

“That’s the plan. Get used to getting spoiled.”

He softly kissed her lips.

They talked and danced and laughed.

He danced with her to the pounding beat of the house mix and kept her body anchored to his hips, her arms in the air, the glitter from her top catching the flashing multicolored lights as she writhed in his grip.

She gamely climbed up on the little stage in her stilettos and waved those arms and wiggled those hips until he called for her. He lifted her down and kissed her madly. When the time came to depart, they hurried hand in hand down the back stairs, the waitress close behind. Just before opening the door, Harvey plastered Bella against the wall, pinning her hands on either side of her head and dipped his mouth to hers. She parted her lips and he was lost, his tongue in her mouth, his knee pressed between her thighs.

He could feel the heat from her body, pliant against his, and could sense her arousal. She was panting and breathless when he released her. They opened the door, and he kissed her again just in case there were more photographers planted outside of the club. This time, she clutched the front of his shirt and kissed him back ardently. This was definitely a photo opportunity, he thought, and he expected the Internet to burst into flames from the images.

They left in separate cars. They slept in separate rooms. Or she slept. He, for one, couldn’t quiet his body or his mind from wanting her. Early in the morning he’d already done an hour in the gym and talked to the PR executive who was ecstatic with the response to the ‘secret kiss’ posts that took social media by storm. Speculation was rampant that he had a new girlfriend and couldn’t keep his hands off her. Tonight they’d make their official couple debut at a charity auction and at the weekend they were scheduled for an impromptu getaway on his yacht. It would give new meaning to whirlwind romance and hopefully, the board of directors would be swept off their feet.

Harvey soon felt like he was working three jobs: CEO, actor in staged romance, and man, trying not to shag his pretend girlfriend. Because when they’d discussed the arrangement, Bella had used the phrase ‘strictly platonic’ about four times and he’d agreed to it. Just because there was strong chemistry between them didn’t mean he could go back on his word. She said kissing was allowed for appearances, but that was as far as it would go. Still, if she’d quit wearing intentionally alluring things like that little black cocktail dress, the one that was strapless which she wore to the silent auction—it would help his concentration.

He had to get through a weekend of being with her nonstop off the coast of Mexico without any inappropriate touching—at least none that wasn’t staged for the cameras. How would he survive all this champagne-fueled partying and yachting, and remain a gentleman? The thought of it made him break out in a sweat. He was also going to be in the best shape of his life in no time because he was working off all that sexual tension in the gym—sometimes two, three times a day of circuit training just to take the edge off his lust for Bella.

Chapter 13

His private jet was just as unbelievably perfect as everything else she had seen from Harvey Carlson and his lifestyle. Her big, comfortable leather seat reclined and had a cup holder to house her chilled flute of champagne. She watched part of a movie while one of the flight attendants gave her a foot massage. That was actually part of the service on the private jet—one of the stewardesses was a certified massage therapist. So Bella munched peanut M&M’s and watched the latest Bradley Cooper flick while someone called Petra rubbed her feet. It was ironic since this was probably the first time in Bella’s adult life that her feet weren’t tired in the least. She was well rested. She was pampered while her pseudo-boyfriend Skyped with the new office in Jakarta. In Mexico, they deplaned to switch to the helicopter, which then flew them out to his yacht. A yacht big enough that it had a helipad on top.

“I bet this cost a pretty penny to rent,” she said.

“No. This

is my boat,” Harvey replied.

“Wow. I guess after the compound, and the plane, I shouldn’t be surprised but this is crazy. You have completely taken my breath away.”

It was crazy. Pool with a waterslide on board a ship level crazy. The stateroom was plush and fancy, with a Jacuzzi tub right in the bedroom and an awesome view of the sea. Bella changed into her new bikini and went up to the pool deck where she was supplied with a strawberry margarita before she even had a chance to put on her sunglasses. Sitting down on a lounge chair, she was ready to bask until Harvey put his hand on her leg.

“Here, you need sunscreen. I’ve been worried about you getting burnt with that fair skin of yours.”

“Do you make sure every single employee doesn’t get sunburn?”

“Absolutely.”

As a waiter walked by, Harvey waved him over, then held up the bottle of sun block. “I care about my employees getting a sunburn. Please put some sunscreen on.”