The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 1 (The Billionaire Saga 1)

“You’re so fine. I can see why you have your choice of women. What woman wouldn’t want to jump your bones? Hell, I wouldn’t mind joining the Mile-High Club with you right about now.” I squeezed his butt. “Interested?”

I think I might have slurred that last part.

His whole face changed in an instant. “This isn’t like you at all. Are you drunk?”

I dropped my voice conspiratorially. “Um, maybe a little. Not a lot. Just a little. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

“Why?”

“You see, I have this fear of flying. And I almost didn’t come. But then I didn’t want to disappoint you. We made a deal, and I knew I had to get my ass to the Caribbean. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

“I’ve been drunk a few times myself. Guess the shoe is on the other foot.”

“Mr. Taylor,” the pilot interrupted.

Marcus put his arm almost protectively around my shoulders as I swayed slightly in place.

“We’re ready for takeoff when you are,” the pilot said.

“Thank you, Jim.” Marcus led me toward a tiny ramp away from the bustling flight crew, fighting to keep a straight face all the while. Once we were relatively alone, he took me gently by the arm and pulled me closer. “You should’ve told me you were afraid to fly.”

“What else would you have done? Get me some Valium and knock me out?”

Eyes darting suspiciously around, I held my purse between us and opened it a crack so he could peek inside. About twenty vodka shooters, courtesy of my concerned roommate, clinked together as I brought the bag protectively back to my chest.

“Shit, Rebecca!” His eyes widened in bemused disbelief. “How many have you already had?”

“Just six,” I whispered. “And keep your voice down. I don’t want them confiscated.”

“Why would you—”

“You don’t understand. It was this or a concussion.” My voice grew sullen as I remembered. “Like last time…”

“A concussion? Rebecca, I don’t know what you’re—”

“I said to keep your voice down.”

Two hands shot out and took me firmly by the shoulders. “Rebecca White.” He lowered his beautiful eyes down to mine. “I own the plane. Nothing’s going to get confiscated. You can bring whatever you want. That’s not what concerns me right now.”

“Marcus…that’s brilliant!”

“What concerns me is why you felt the need to drug yourself before takeoff. Is this like another irrational peacock phobia? Should I be worried?”

I cocked my head to the side and studied him seriously. The edges around his hair had begun to blur, but other than that, I felt like I was on top of my game.

I stepped toward him. “Tell me something…how did that day begin? Did you just wake up, peer out over your copy of The Gilded Faithful, and say, ‘You know what, this grass needs, a peacock!’”

He pursed his lips. “I’m getting you on the plane.”

“I’m getting you on the plane!”

“Mr. Taylor,” the pilot was back, “might I have a moment—”

“Not now, Jimmy.”

“Marcus, stop this nonsense at once! Indulge the man!”

Two pairs of eyes flew my way, and I thought it best I excuse myself to the cabin.