Husband For Hire (A Billionaire Fake Marriage Romance) Page 5

  My belt was still undone, and I reached into my pants and started slowly stroking my cock with my left hand as my right hand searched for Indi’s Facebook profile on the computer. She wasn’t hard to find (all I had to do was go into my messages and click her name), and in an instant, I was at full mast. There was a ‘Vacation Pictures’ album from a time she and her best friend Cinta had gone to stay at Cinta’s cousin’s beach house down in California, and I groaned as I scrolled through bikini shot after bikini shot.

  Jesus fuck. Forget about all these cookie-cutter models—Sports Illustrated needed to get Indi Marlowe on their next swimsuit edition if they wanted to sell a guaranteed trillion copies.

  I pulled my cock completely free of my pants, wrapping my fist around the shaft as I imagined it was Indi instead. After memorizing every contour of her body from one of her swimsuit shots on the computer monitor, I closed my eyes and pictured her on her knees before me, gripping me in her small hands. I saw her pull back to tuck loose strands of that wild chestnut hair behind her ears while she licked her lips, and then I saw her pump my cock a few times before leaning forward and taking me in her mouth. She looked up at me as she went, eyes meeting mine as she licked and sucked, taking me deeper and deeper with each movement, working like a pro.

  I groaned as my hand tightened its grip, wishing this wasn’t just a fantasy. Wishing Indi was really here, really doing all of that to me. My imagination was enough for now, though, and I came with a shuddering jolt into a pile of tissues I managed to grab from my desk just in time.

  When I’d recovered, I clicked out of Indi’s profile, feeling like an asshole now that my horniness was sated and my sanity had returned. She didn’t put those pictures up for sleazy pricks to jerk off over; she put them up as a memory of a vacation she once enjoyed. I almost felt as bad as all those pricks back in Lakewater when we were kids.

  My mind drifted back to our hometown, ten years ago.

  I was at the Marlowe house, hanging out with Dawson and some of our other buddies from the school football team. I’d just turned eighteen, so that probably would’ve made Indi around fourteen or fifteen. Old enough to have a newly-developed woman’s body, but still far too young to be seen as a woman.

  We were all hanging out in the den, shooting some pool, when Indi came in to ask Dawson where their pet dog’s leash was, as she wanted to take him for a walk. He went upstairs with her to look for it, leaving the rest of us behind. The second he was out of earshot, Ryan Jameson started to talk shit.

  “Jesus,” he said. “See the tits on her?”

  “Hard to miss,” chimed in Jason Wu. “I’ve added her to my spank-bank, that’s for sure.”

  “We should take her to our next party. She looks like she’s ready.”

  I grimaced. I might’ve been a bit of a prick sometimes, but that was our friend’s little sister they were talking about, and she was only fourteen. It was disrespectful and downright repulsive. Sure, I thought Indi was great, but I mostly saw her as a beautiful, innocent young girl who needed protection from the assholes of the world. Not a sex object.

  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed her body, but there was a distinction between me and the other boys—it was one thing to think it, but saying it out loud and making lewd comments was another thing entirely.

  “Shut the fuck up. That’s Dawson’s kid sister,” I said, lining up my shot.

  Jason snorted. “She’s not a kid anymore.”

  “She’s literally fourteen, for Christ’s sake, dude.”

  “Pretty sure she’s almost fifteen. Besides, you know the saying—if there’s grass on the field, play ball.”

  I frowned and dropped my pool cue. “Don’t let me catch you saying shit like that about Indi again. And shit, don’t let Dawson catch you either. You think he’d be happy to hear all that? You guys sound like a bunch of fucking rapists.” I paused and did a sarcastic impression of them to drill my point in. “Ooh, look at Indi’s tits, she’s so hot, I wanna fuck her every which way even though she’s barely into puberty. Sound good to you guys?”

  Jason and Ryan had uncertain looks on their faces now, and I gave them a satisfied smirk, sure that I’d made my point. Then I realized they were looking over my shoulder toward the stairs, and I whirled around to see Indi standing there. Her face was crimson.

  “Dawson wanted me to ask you all if you want some sodas while he looks for the leash,” she mumbled, looking at the floor.

  I couldn’t even reply. It was obvious that she’d only walked down here halfway through my sentence, and now she thought I was a complete asshole. She didn’t realize I was just impersonating the other guys as a means of showing them how fucking terrible they sounded.

  Shit.

  “We’re fine,” Ryan said. “Nice going, Blake,” he added under his breath as Indi fled back up the stairs.

  Yeah, nice going, Blake. I cursed myself as I drifted back to the here and now, sighing as I stared at my blank screen. I could’ve chased after her back then, explained what really happened. But I didn’t. I had no idea why. I just didn’t.

  It was no wonder she still thought I was a sleazy prick, even though a decade had passed since that incident. Stuff like that probably got to her, and she saved it all up in her mental ‘asshole men’ file.

  I guess I needed to start trying to change her mind about me now that she was back in my life under the craziest of circumstances, although I had no idea how. Around her, it seemed like I had no filter. The most inane bullshit would spew out of my mouth, all because I couldn’t stop thinking about fucking her senseless.

  Luckily, I was gonna have two straight months to make her see me differently, provided we could actually stay on this dumb show and not get voted out right away.

  She texted me again while I was mid-thought. Sorry to message again so late. Forgot to tell you – Cinta needs to take some fake wedding photos now that we’re definitely in. I was thinking Frobisher Park, near the water. It looks a lot like Lakewater, where we’re claiming we got married. Are you free on Wednesday?

  I grinned. Was I free on Wednesday to see Indi? Fuck yeah.

  For her, I was free any damn time, because I was now officially hell-bent on conquering her.

  She just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Six

  Indi

  “Turn this way. Put your left hand on Indi’s hip, Blake. No, her hip, not her ass!”

  I rolled my eyes and slapped Blake’s hand off my butt as Cinta’s camera flashed again and again. “I know you’re doing this on purpose,” I hissed before plastering on a big fake smile for the photo.

  “I’m not. I can’t tell where your hips end and your ass begins under this huge fucking dress,” Blake said, slipping his arms around my waist for another shot.

  “It’s not that big,” I replied, although he had a point. I’d rented this big puffy princess-style wedding gown from a bridal store for the day, and I hadn’t realized just how long the train was and just how wide the skirt was until I put it on at home before our fake wedding shoot. I swear, it looked different when I tried it on in the store. It was all that stupid overly-flattering lighting.

  “Well, I’ll try to keep my hands off you until after the wedding shoot is over,” Blake murmured. “But then I’ll be allowed to touch you, right? Gotta consummate our marriage.”

  “I’ll consummate your face with my fists in a minute,” I mumbled.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, wifey,” he murmured into my ear.

  “Smile, Indi! You look like you just got a terminal illness diagnosis!” Cinta said, lowering her camera for a second. I realized the fake smile had vanished from my face, and I curled my lips up again. “Okay, now you’re just snarling like a Rottweiler, girl.”

  She set the camera down on a nearby box.

  “Are we done?” I asked hopefully.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Just taking a break. Practice your smile, Indi.”

  She began to review
the shots she’d already taken, and I sighed and turned to Blake. “Why is it so easy for you to fake all this smiling?” He gave me a beatific grin, and I jabbed my finger at his face. “Like that! How do you do it?”

  He leaned in close. “Here’s the secret. It’s not fake. I’m quite happy to be fake-marrying you. Even if you look like a cream cake in that massive dress.”

  I folded my arms, wishing that I had an actual cream cake to smash into his cocky face right now. “Right. Have you started memorizing our backstory yet?”

  He nodded. “Yep. You were my friend’s little sister in my hometown, and I always thought you were cute. You thought I was cute too. We were secret childhood sweethearts for a few wonderful months, but then we didn’t see each other for a while when we both had to move for work and college. We bumped into each other in a restaurant here in the city a couple of years ago, and we rekindled our relationship and were blissfully happy for a whole year before tying the knot.”

  “Where?”

  “Lakewater, our beloved hometown. It was a spring wedding.”

  “Who attended?”

  “Only very close friends and family. We wanted to keep things low-key. That’s why hardly anyone remembers that we got married…right?”

  I nodded, satisfied. “Right. Good. Why was our relationship a secret when we were kids?”

  “We didn’t want your brother to know because we knew he wouldn’t approve. A sort of modern-day Romeo and Juliet, minus all the death and mayhem.”

  “And what are our issues now that we’re married?” I asked. Seeing as the reality show was for couples with serious issues, we needed to have that part of our backstory sorted as well.

  He frowned, looking upwards as he tried to recall. “Er…you have a porn addiction and neglect me all the time, and I nag you way too much.”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Other way around, smart-ass.”

  “Why do I have to be a porn addict?” he asked with a lifted brow.

  “Well, you look like one,” I said with a snort. I narrowed my eyes as I looked him over. “By the way, I forgot to ask. Where did you hire a suit like that on such short notice?”

  He’d shown up to our faux wedding photo shoot in Frobisher Park wearing a tux that made him look like a more handsome version of James Bond. It was clearly very expensive, given the gorgeous fabric and the beautiful cut, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say it was bespoke. It fit him like a damn glove. He looked incredibly debonair, and it was almost enough to make my mouth water until I remembered who he was and how much I wanted to kick him in the nuts.

  “Only thing that’s been hired here is me,” he said. “Mr. Husband For Hire.”

  My eyebrows knitted together. “You actually own the suit?” I asked. He nodded, and my eyes widened. “Why? I thought you worked down at the port. No offence, but are there all that many upscale wine mixers and cocktail parties in that line of work?”

  “I do work at the port. Sort of. And I guess we have the odd party or two,” he replied, ever the mysterious bastard who wouldn’t give me a straight answer. Oh well. It didn’t matter. He was here, and he looked like a real groom. That was all that mattered. The rest of his life was none of my business.

  “Get back to your positions!” Cinta yelled. “I want one of you two kissing now.”

  I shot her a panicked glance. “What?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You want this to look realistic, right? The most important thing to have is a kiss-shot. It’s not real, so it’s fine. Right, Blake?”

  Blake nodded, shit-eating grin still quirking his lips up. “Right.”

  I let out a sigh which more closely resembled the sound an angry bull might make. “Fine.”

  “You may kiss the bride,” Cinta announced, lifting her camera.

  Blake looked down at me, eyes flashing with undisguised lust, and he lowered his face to mine. “I don’t bite,” he murmured.

  “Well, I do,” I replied.

  Before I could even try to say anything else to put him off, he crushed his lips against mine, and I moaned. The kiss was immediately intense, powerful and seductive, and before I knew it, I was returning the gesture in full force.

  To be honest, I hadn’t kissed a huge amount of guys, so I had fairly limited experience. But still, I knew enough to know I’d never been kissed like this. Blake was making love to my mouth with his tongue, forcefully pushing past my lips and claiming me as his with every swipe. My breath caught in my throat as he deepened the kiss, arms wrapping around me, and I moaned again as heat grew between my thighs.

  Our marriage was fake, and so was this photo, but the kiss was far from it. It was real. Beyond real, and beyond amazing. I couldn’t stop. Blake’s mouth was a drug, and I was addicted.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Jeez, guys,” Cinta called out. I could barely hear her. My body was feverish, overheating beneath all the white layers of fabric, and Blake didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping.

  Our lips clashed over and over until he finally broke away, leaving me breathless. My chest heaved, and I touched a finger to my mouth, my lips still tingling. Blake winked, and I knew he hadn’t missed how flushed I was now; how hot my skin was at the mere thought of another kiss like that.

  That was the worst part. I could swear up and down all day that I didn’t like Blake, but deep down, I knew I already wanted more. Wanted him to take my breath away again. Wanted this relationship to be real.

  Oh, lord…

  I was in serious trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  Indi

  “Remember our backstory?” I asked as I lugged my suitcase behind me onto the train station platform. One of the wheels had broken. Stupid thing.

  We were on our way to Vancouver, Canada, where we’d be meeting up with the other contestants and the show crew before catching a boat to Fremantle Island. Vancouver was the closest city to the island, despite it being US territory, and I was grateful Seattle was so close to Canada in comparison to some of the other contestants, who had to get there all the way from Florida or other far-flung cities.

  Blake smiled and picked up my case with ease. “I’ll take this. And yes, I remember the backstory. You’ve only drilled it into my head a billion times over the last two weeks.”

  I sighed as I stepped onto our carriage. “I know, but it has to be perfect, or people might suspect something. Our stories need to match up.”

  “Stop worrying,” he said in a soothing tone, stashing my case in the overhead compartment. “Just sit down and relax. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted, heaving myself onto my assigned seat.

  I’d been so stressed about actually doing this reality show that I’d barely gotten a wink of sleep in the last week. I’d also had a lot to do in terms of packing, training Cinta on everything in the store (work was slow for her at the moment, so she’d offered to watch the place while I was gone) and generally psyching myself up to appear on TV in front of a couple of million viewers each week. The thought was nerve-wracking, but the prize money was a shiny carrot on a stick which kept me motivated to go through with it.

  “The train ride to Vancouver is four hours. You can have a nap. I’ll make sure no one steals your stuff,” Blake said with a grin. My stomach did that annoying flip again, and I tried to ignore it. Maybe I was just hungry.

  Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I’d known from the second our lips touched two weeks ago that I had a serious thing for this man. Maybe I always had, and I’d just been in complete denial because I didn’t want to like him.

  “You don’t mind me sleeping?” I said.

  He shrugged. “You can do anything you want. You’re my wife, after all, and I love you.”

  He made a big fake smooching sound with his mouth, and I rolled my eyes. I knew he was just kidding, but I’d be lying if I said his words didn’t send a frisson of pleasure through my system. You’re my wife, and I love you.


  “I’ll even give you a foot massage,” he said, hoisting my legs up onto his lap all of a sudden. I almost fell horizontally, but he kept me steady.

  “Hey!” I protested.

  “Do you want a massage or not? It’ll help you get to sleep.”

  I hesitated. When was the last time I had a hot-as-hell man rub my feet? Erm…never, come to think of it.

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said. I was a little suspicious of his motivations, but hell, if he was actually going to be nice and sweet to me for once, I wasn’t going to turn that down.

  I moved myself so that I was perfectly comfortable, and Blake pulled my shoes off. “I’m glad you don’t have smelly feet,” he said.

  “It’s a shame. Knowing you, you’d be into that.”

  “No, I actually don’t have a foot fetish. I’m just trying to get you to relax,” he replied with a grin. “I’ll go up your legs a little bit, and I’ll also hit some spots on your hands. There’s a few pressure points that will relax every inch of you for hours.”

  “Go on, then,” I said with a yawn. “Work your magic.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the side of the carriage, using a comfy neck pillow I bought at the train station to support my neck. Blake’s big fingers began to knead my right foot, and I let out a blissful moan. “That feels amazing.”

  “Told ya.”

  My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted off to sleep within moments. While I slept, I was acutely aware that I was dreaming, but it felt incredibly real all the same. In my imagination, Blake’s hands weren’t just on my feet. They were moving farther up my legs, far enough to reach the hem of my panties. Then they slid inside the silky fabric. I was soaked, nearly dripping wet as he pulled them aside and slipped a finger between my folds.

  “Mmm…” I moaned softly. I knew we shouldn’t be doing this right here on the train. Someone could walk by and see us at any moment. But I didn’t care. The danger of someone walking by and spotting us only made it hotter.