You can do this.
I can’t do this.
Tonight will be fine.
Tonight will be a disaster.
The constant flip-flopping in my head is driving me absolutely insane.
Smoothing down my emerald silk dress at the hips, I’m completely on shaky ground. Corbin didn’t lie last weekend when he said we’d return to his condo in the city and begin our ruse.
We’ve been spotted all over the city this week, dining, walking in and out of his building. He neglected to tell me he not only owns it, but lives on the highest floor—a two-story penthouse that’s completely different from the mansion in Cannon Bluffs. There’s no warmth in his place, except for a few interesting wooden tables piquing my curiosity, but I haven’t yet asked about them. Every time he catches me looking at one, especially the narrow whitewashed entry table whose drawers look like they came straight from a barn, he distracts me.
They’re important to him somehow, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk about them.
Yet they’re one of the few things he doesn’t talk about. We talk all the time. Little things, important things. I’ve told him about being raised by my grandma, who died my second year of college. He’s given me glimpses into his family that tell me life isn’t as picture perfect as the photographs of him and his family lead me to believe.
And now I’m dressed in a spectacular gown that does wonders for my hourglass curves, ready to attend my first formal night out with him.
Where we’ll meet his father and mother for the first time.
He’s already arranged for us to go to dinner on Sunday at his parents’ house, insisting no one will believe he’d get engaged without spending time with his mom. When I asked him about his dad, he said it was unlikely he’d be there and then gave me a look that said he didn’t want to discuss it further. Corbin clearly despises the man, and any time his name is mentioned, Corbin shuts down, which doesn’t give me a great feeling about meeting him tonight.
Tonight is our first true show. It’s the first night we’ll be in public as an official couple, me on his arm and surrounded by all of his friends, his associates at Lane Holdings, but it’s not his dad who terrifies me the most.
It’s his best friend, Trey Kollins. They’ve been friends since high school, and they’re constantly texting and talking. A few nights this week, Corbin has gone out for drinks with Trey, but I haven’t yet met him.
And while I gave him the green light to tell Trey the truth about us thinking it will be good to have someone in our corner, he’s been reluctant to share the truth with anyone. I hate that he’s lying to someone he trusts so much.
Which means tonight I’m about to put on the most important performance of my entire life and I’ve never acted a single day.
“You can do this,” I say, lying through my gritted teeth as I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Yesterday when Corbin brought home this dress, he dumped the box it was in unceremoniously next to where I’ve taken up residence on his black leather couch while he was working during the day. What can I say? A week without work and nothing to do, that supple leather is going to have a permanent print of my ass pretty soon.
I opened the box, gasped, dangled the matching shoes from one hand and insisted absolutely not. He’s not dressing me up like some Barbie doll and wasting what has to be thousands of dollars.
My arguing was pointless once Corbin reminded me this was a charity event for Portland Children’s Hospital, and while he knew I had style, I had nothing appropriate to wear and no means to purchase anything on such short notice.
Since I’ve only spent time with Corbin, who is surprisingly normal, I’ve completely forgotten I’ve crashed into an entirely different world.
Which is why I’m now draped in Vera Wang and standing in a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes. A quick Google search proved the shoes cost more than I made in four months at the library.
I’m just hoping I survive the night without staining the dress or breaking a heel.
Or making a complete fool out of myself in front of some of the wealthiest citizens in the Pacific Northwest.
And if they follow the gossip sites as much as I do, or gossip among themselves, then I know they’ll all be talking about the gold digger who crashed into Corbin Lane’s Mercedes a week ago and has somehow wormed her way into his home.
Needless to say, I’ve ended the Google alerts on my phone for Corbin’s name and unfollowed him on all social media accounts. By Tuesday, I stopped being able to handle the hurtful and wretched things I saw being said about me. I’ve not read them since, but four days was enough to get the general gist that legions of females under the age of sixty now completely despise me.
A knock hits my door and I jump, surprised I’ve wasted so much time.
“Come in,” I call out, already knowing it’s Corbin. A quick peek at the clock on my phone tells me we needed to leave five minutes ago.
At least he hasn’t bellowed for me yet.
I turn as the door opens and my breath immediately lodges in my throat.
“Holy…” I whisper, my eyes dropping and rising, taking in Corbin’s sexy-as-sin body clothed in the sexiest all-black tuxedo I’ve ever seen.
He’s perfect. Tall and wide shouldered and narrow waist. Beneath the tuxedo, I’ve seen those muscles. I’ve seen almost all of them, because Corbin has no problems walking around his house in only a pair of shorts after he showers or sweats after he works out. When he comes home from work, he typically jogs upstairs and shucks off his suit to change. Admittedly, I’ve totally stared as he walks back down the stairs, gray sweatpants on and still pulling a tight white T-shirt over his chest, and my goodness, is his body carved to absolute perfection. I’ve memorized every plane of his body and then gone to bed dreaming about that very same body. I’ve dreamed about running my hands down the muscles of his arms and clamping my hands on to his ass as he drives into me.
But this…fully dressed in a tuxedo is almost better.
He clears his throat. I’ve been unashamedly gawking at him. Worse, he’s let me.
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry I’m late. I’m nervous, I guess.” I reach for my shiny gold clutch, which accents a gold necklace he provided along with the dress, and turn back to him.
When I do, I almost stumble directly into him.
“Corbin?”
His eyes are glued to where my ass just was, and he still hasn’t said anything. Jaw clenched tight, he’s white knuckling the door handle and his lips are pressed tightly together.
I think he likes the dress.
A small part of me wants to shimmy and shake in celebration, but he quickly snaps his eyes to mine and barks, “Time to go.”
I startle, but he’s already turned, heading out the door and down the hallway.
I follow him quickly, and by the time I meet him at the door to the elevator in his entryway, he’s glaring at his phone like it’s offended him.
Okay. Perhaps him liking the dress is all in my head.
I try to find something say, but he makes it clear by keeping his gaze on his phone and moving to the side when I step near him that he wants nothing to do with me right now.
Which is a shame. And disappointing. I could use some comforting. A small little pep talk telling me we’ll be able to handle tonight just fine. That perhaps the friendliness we’ve somehow been able to speak to each other with this week won’t immediately evaporate as soon as we step into the elevator and are whisked away into the night.
There’s something about condo living in the city I can definitely see myself getting used to. This building has everything, including its own boutique grocery store and wine cellar, a restaurant for residents only, room service like we’re living in a hotel, and dry cleaning. There are a host of other amenities including an enormous weight room, sauna, an indoor pool, and an outdoor one. Living here this week with Corbin has been more like an extended vacation I could only dream of, and not real life.
Except it is, and I have to continue reminding myself no pinch is necessary—I’m not dreaming.
The elevator arrives and the doors open, but in a move completely unlike his normal gentlemanly qualities, Corbin steps inside and moves to the side instead of gesturing for me to enter before him.
A frown tugs at my lips but I blow it off. Perhaps he’s as stressed and worried as I am. For all the talking we’ve done this last week, we still don’t know each other well, but I’ve seen him go from friendly to jerk with a snap of the fingers before.
He’s also been quick to apologize.
I fidget with my clutch, wishing I had something to do so I wasn’t staring at us in the mirrored walls. With every floor we reach, descending to the lobby where I know a car will be waiting for us, my pulse quickens.
By the team we reach the lobby, I’m on the verge of having either a heart attack or a panic attack. Quite possibly both. Corbin steps out, and as I follow him, he holds out his elbow, still staring at his phone. I take his rudely offered arm and we walk out to the waiting car together. I’m not amused.
I won’t allow him to be rude to me, ignore me, and then play the perfect part in public, which is the only reason he offered me his arm. There’s always someone in the lobby, waiting either for a guest or for a car they’ve called for, and now that there are people around he has to be polite.
By the time he opens the door and gestures for me to go before him, I’m not only terrified, my anger is boiling over.
If we can’t do this together, at least be kind behind closed doors, the next two years will feel like an eternity.
Once the car pulls away from the curb, he tucks his phone into his jacket pocket.
“I want you to stay close to me tonight,” he says, not bothering to look at me. “If this is going to work, we’re going to have to pretend to be in love. It might mean I touch you more than normal or kiss you, so if you don’t think you can handle that, you need to let me know now. Otherwise, like I said, stay close to me. At all times. My father will take any opportunity he has to tear you apart, and I don’t want to give him one. Not to mention some of the women might be less than circumspect.”
My anger bubbles over. He’s used this tone with me before, the morning he handed me the contract. Do this, sign this, ask me questions, do what you’re told. I do not like this side of him at all.
“It might help me sell this well if you stop being a gigantic asshole to me, you know.”
He blinks and shows no other reaction to my outburst except for his hands curling into fists in his lap. His shoulders pull tight and he heaves in a deep breath before skewering me with a glare that makes me want to shrink back into my seat.
I’m somehow brave enough, or stupid enough, to resist.
“I’m simply explaining my expectations for the night.”
“And you’re doing it acting like a complete prick and not the nice guy you’ve been all week. If I’ve done something to upset you, we can discuss it, but don’t treat me like trash and expect me to silently submit. If I’m not mistaken, our contract also states we will be respectful and cordial to one another.”
I have no idea where my boldness comes from. I don’t tend to stick up for myself, at least not in the moment. Years of staying with a man for comfort and not love is the perfect example of it. Yet I’m liking this new version of me.
He sucks in another breath and turns to me, leaning in so I am forced to move backward or his chest will be on mine. Not necessarily a bad thing, but dangerous. The mere thought of his chest brushing against mine makes my nipples harden.
Thank the good Lord above for my new satin bra that can hide the effect he’s having on me.
“You want respect? The way you look in that fucking dress tonight is making me think this agreement is a very bad idea. Trust me, Teagan, I’m thinking anything other than cordial thoughts right now and you’re testing my control.”
Holy freaking snickerdoodles.
A rush of breath escapes me and my chest tightens. Nipples salute him and a rolling heat hits me in all the perfectly hidden away places.
“Corbin.” I breathe out his name, unable to say anything else. He’s left me tongue-tied and turned on without any hope of escape.
One perfect brow arches. “Nothing to say to that? No rambling like you’re prone to do?”
Clarity and common sense flee. There’s no thought in my mind other than, Yes. Please. Do it. Take me. Kiss me.
Bad idea. Very bad, stupid idea.
“I don’t think—”
“I don’t really care what you think right now,” he whispers. Has he moved closer? He has. I’m plastered against the door and he’s so close I can see every small line around his eyes. His dilated pupils have almost entirely erased the blue. His breath ghosts across my lips. “You’ve been tempting me since the moment I met you, and I’m trying to keep my distance. This dress, though. Fuck, Teagan.” His hands land on my thighs, gripping me firmly.
My body shudders. He’s not doing this. He’s teasing. He has to be. He’s given me no indication he finds me attractive in the least.
My bravery flees. Hopefully it meets my common sense and returns to me.
Until then, I say the only thing I’m thinking.
“Do it.”
Strong, firm fingers dig into my thighs, clamping me in place, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s consuming all the space around me and to hell with it.
I want him to kiss me.
“What?”
I can’t take it back. Lust for the man in front of me and no sex for way too long are overtaking me. I lick my lips, his gaze dropping to my mouth and following the path of my tongue. “You said yourself we have to touch and kiss tonight.” Oh God, this is stupid. I’m being stupid. I no longer care. “We should practice it once. Get it out of our system.”
“You want me to kiss you?”
Yes. Please, please, please, kiss away this crazy maelstrom of emotions you’ve started in me. Rationality flickers in my mind. “I want to sell our arrangement.”
One side of his mouth lifts into a sneer. “Of course you do.”
And then his mouth lands on mine. The kiss is not soft or teasing or even exploratory. He devours me like he’s been starving to taste me. His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me so firmly in place I can’t move an inch except inhale the scent of him, accept his mouth on mine, his tongue seeking entrance. I highly doubt this is the kind of kiss he’d give me in public, but hell if I’m stopping him. My hands jump to his biceps as I open to him and his tongue dives inside.
Oh good grief. He tastes like mint and man, his smooth, full lips spurring me on.
I groan, releasing a primal noise of need deep from my gut and he takes it, fingertips digging into the back of my neck in approval.
Mistake, mistake, mistake reverberates in my mind, but I don’t care. If kissing Corbin Lane is a mistake, I want to make a thousand more bad decisions.
Pulling him to me, I am no longer a passive participant. I dig my fingers into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, shifting against him as much as my dress will allow until I’m practically in his lap.
This is insane, and I’m completely enthralled. Corbin Lane kisses like I know he’ll make love to a woman—hard, demanding, dominating, and yet at the same time, there’s a tenderness in his touch that calls to me.
Holy crap. I am irrevocably screwed in the worst way possible.
The car slows and stops. As if it’s the sign he needed to snap back to his senses, Corbin yanks his mouth off mine and stares into my eyes.
Our lips are parted, and we’re both panting. His gaze roams my face, and all expression in his eyes evaporates in an instant.
He’s not completely turned cold, but I see it starting and I refuse to allow it.
Whatever just happened between us, whatever sparks ignited, I’m keeping them. Fanning them into a larger flame if I have to.
“Well,” I huff, my breathing still erratic and much too fast. I turn to him and wink. “I think we can pull this off.”
To my surprise, he barks out a laugh, adjusts his tuxedo jacket, and smooths down the lapels.
His door opens and he takes my hand, escorting me out of the car behind him.
Outside, his hand slides to my lower back and he pulls me to him. His blue eyes sparkle and his smile is almost blinding. Whatever he was trying to erase is now exposed, in full force.
“Yeah. We can pull this off. But I was also serious in the car: stay close to me at all times.”
And if that’s not a delicious foreboding statement, I don’t know what is.