Fake Marriage Box Set

"No, thanks."

He turned and grinned down at me. "Why? You only let rich and appropriately-dressed men buy you drinks?"

The quiver in my stomach brought my defenses up again, and I could hear the snobby tone as soon as I opened my mouth. "You must work here to be so free with your drink offers."

Penn blinked. "Work here? No, I don't work here. He does, though. He's a bar-back. And, she's actually the owner of the karaoke lounge."

I looked at the people he pointed out. The woman he named as the owner was petite and wearing an even smaller dress. Her long hair was bleached white and knotted into dreadlocks. The bar-back noticed me looking and waved, his dress shirt crisp and bright in the dim lounge.

"Hard to tell about people because clothes can be deceiving," he said.

I scowled at his smugness. "So, what can you tell about me?"

He looked me up and down, those dark eyes roving over my body with the heat of lasers. "You like slumming it almost as much as you like designer dresses. Though, you really can sing. There's no mistaking that. How come Daddy isn't buying you lessons or your very own record label?"

The heat from his eyes turned to cold ashes at the mention of my father. "You don't know anything about me, Penn. You don't even know my name."

I tipped my head back to give him a defiant glare and was surprised by the soft empathy I saw there. Just being near him was tossing my equilibrium. There was a magnetism I had never felt before that pulled me in even as his words and his appearance repelled me.

Penn took my hand and raised it to his lips. "Please, do me the favor of telling me your name."

I yanked my hand back before he could kiss it, sure the sensation would fry what was left of my rational thoughts. "Corsica."

"The island where Napoleon lived in exile?"

"Sure. Why not?" I often chose not to disclose the origin of my name because I had worked very hard to cut all ties with South Dakota.

A waiter appeared with two drinks that Penn took without hesitation. I didn't understand how the man who looked as if he should be changing people's oil was the one being waited on.

"Why are you here if you don't work here?" I asked.

Penn frowned and swirled the olives in his drink. "I've been summoned to San Francisco by the big boss man. I just didn't feel like rushing right over to wait for him, so I came here. I'm glad I did."

I felt steadier. "So, you get special treatment because everyone knows who you work for? Doesn't that bother you?"

"That would bother me, if it were true. I knew these people when I had nothing, and, yes, the drinks arrive a little faster now, but I haven't changed."

"So, you're from San Francisco?"

I could have let the conversation fizzle. I could have thanked Penn for the drink and walked away. I could have returned to the small table where Ginny was reuniting with an old co-worker.

Except, the longer I was near him, the more I felt tying me to him. His presence sent my system into chaos, but I felt a familiarity with his thoughts and an attraction that was nearly impossible to deny.

Ginny smiled and waved from across the lounge, and I knew I would not be able to deny that Penn was the most interesting man I had met in a long time.

"Yes, though I've never been a good city-dweller," Penn said. "How about you?"

"Here and there."

Penn snorted. "Singers always say that, don't they? So, Corsica, what do you plan to sing next?"

I shrugged. "Depends on what inspires me."

"What inspired that last song?"

I didn't want to admit it even to myself, so I took another sip of my drink and continued walking along the bar. Penn followed, and when I reached the corner near the emergency exit, he tugged me into the short, dim hallway. I didn't resist. It was impossible; I wanted to press my body against his and feel just how hot he could make me.

"What is it about you?" Penn asked on a harsh breath. He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. "You're snobby and stuck up and quick to get the wrong opinion about people."