Fake Wife (Taming The Bad Boy Billionaire 8)
“Not having sex to save a marriage? That one would have Freud on Prozac,” Charlie joked.
“No, you’re looking at it wrong. We’re not having sex to save a friendship,” I corrected him. “I want us to walk away from this without wanting to kill each other.”
He slammed the shot glass down on the bar as Eddie refilled it. “So we’ll make the marriage work by not sleeping together?” he said with narrowed eyes as if he was trying hard to understand my crazy logic.
My grin widened. “You got it.”
“I doubt that’ll work, so I guess I’d better get to work. If I can prove to you that you can’t say no, you’ll never be able to say no for two whole years.”
“Is that a friendly wager I hear?”
“It is. I bet you can’t resist me.”
“And I bet I can...and for two more years to boot.” Bullshit. I knew it and he knew it from the glint in his eyes, but damned if I was going to say that out loud.
“Fine. If...no, when you give in and fuck me, then we’ll fuck hard for the next two years.”
“Wow. I guess the next week or two is a very critical time for our future marriage. It will determine whether or not we’ll end up in bed together or in separate rooms, leaving you to wander the Sahara with your dry little cactus hanging out.”
Gosh, did I want to give in already, but I gripped my beer bottle tighter and refused to fall for the bait.
“There’s nothin’ little about it, baby,” Charlie said with a wink. He gazed into my eyes and pushed a strand of hair behind my ears. “You’ll find that out soon enough. You can count on it.”
In that instant, I pictured my lips smashing into his, my mouth trailing over his body, my hands gliding down his powerful chest and unfastening his belt, then pulling his shirt from his waistband. I had never experienced sexual tension of such magnitude, such a blizzard of emotions and sensations, like I never thought possible flooded my veins and the fire burned even hotter deep within me.
“So sure of yourself,” I said. “I hope you enjoy living in a desert for two years. It’s gonna be one helluva dry spell.”
“Dry spell, my ass. I want you in my bed, and I’m not gonna stop trying till you’re there, where you belong, tangled up in my sheets.”
“That is yet to be determined.”
He laughed. “It’s adorable that you think you can win. I already know who I’m going home with tonight.”
“Still convinced, huh?” I said, then playfully stuck out my tongue. “Don’t be so sure. The night’s not over.” I wanted to use it, most definitely, in the vilest of ways, but I wasn’t about to lose out on our bet by telling him that.
“Put that tongue away unless you plan to use it,” he said.
I smiled. “Maybe I just enjoy teasing you.”
He shifted on his barstool, running his fingers down the frosty side of the bottle as he eyed me closely. “Two can play at that game, lover.”
“Oh, but I’m not your lover yet, hotshot,” I fired back. My eyes drifted to his hand on his beer, staring at the way his fingers moved against the glass, the same way they’d inched up my body after our fencing match. My back stiffened, and I cleared my throat, forcing my eyes away. “I’m sure there’re other things we need to go over to make sure this fake marriage of ours seems...real.”
“Like having morning sex anytime we want it,” he said and shifted again, turning his whole body to face me.
I laughed. “Always the dreamer, aren’t you?”
He chuckled.
I bit my lip at the sight of his tight muscles rippling beneath his shirt. Why must he wear such tight clothes around me? I wondered, peering over at him. “I, uh... I assume you’ll want us to live together.”
He smirked and shrugged. “Might be a good idea. It’d be a little strange if we don’t. So you and your four dogs are welcome in my home.”
“You sure you can handle all of us? I mean, we’ll be trampling through your house, making an awful mess of the place. Oh, and did I tell you that I recently took up a new hobby?”
“Practicing to join a nudist colony?” he said, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.
“Nice try, mister. No, I wanna become the drummer. I’ve been practicing on my very, very loud set.”