Faking It (4 page)

Chapter Four

Derek knocked on Stephanie’s door. On the last knock, the door swung open. Stephanie was sweaty, disheveled, in yoga pants and a tank top. A bead of wetness trickled down her neck and drew his eye down, over the swell of her breast. He lingered until she cleared her throat, flushing.

Maybe he should have dressed down.

Always dress to impress.
His father’s voice in the back of his mind, stern and cold.

His father had never been in this situation.

She looked him over from head to toe with a wry smile. “Thank you for coming. I guess this isn’t what you had planned when you said you’d pick me up tonight.”

“I’d rather expected sushi and the opera, not a tactical strategy meeting.”

“Is that where you usually take girls when you order them to go out with you?”

“It wasn’t an order.”

She grinned. “Then what was it?”

He paused and canted his head. “A reasonable request.”

“Wow.” Stephanie arched a brow with a soft chuckle, a beguiling glitter in her eye. “Do you ever take the stick out of your ass?”

“Only to change the batteries.”

She blinked at him, then burst into incredulous laughter. Her husky, throaty laughter had a musical sound that played over him like a caress. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to hearing. Derek thought he’d forgotten how to make someone laugh. Yet it came so naturally with her, and here she was, looking up at him with her eyes alight with warmth. Warmth, and a spark of interest that made him remember all too clearly how her plush mouth had yielded against his.

This is only for her sake. Don’t take it seriously.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you.” As her laughter quieted, she took a step back. “Come on, Poindexter. Let’s be diabolical.”

She led him inside her apartment—small but homey, in soft, pastel earth tones, with a sort of cluttered coziness he envied. It looked warn, lived-in, a stark contrast to the vast, cold emptiness of his own condominium. The living room was messy. She was messy, and he had a feeling if he’d let her she’d make a mess of him. The TV was playing Cartoon Network, something bright and goggle-eyed and utterly baffling.

“You…watch cartoons?”

“They’re good brain food. Shut up.” Color bloomed in her cheeks as she dropped onto the couch and curled up, tucking her feet under her butt. “Sit.”

She was nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Yes, master.” He sat at her side, their hips bumping. She tensed but didn’t move away, only playing with the remote on the armrest. He could practically feel her nervous energy swirling around her like a storm.

She ran a slender finger down the buttons on the remote. “Do you want me to change it? I’m sure there’s something about…stocks or the economy or something on CNN.”

“I’d rather chew cardboard.” It would have about the same flavor. He leaned across her, covering her hand on the remote, stilling its nervous—and mildly distracting—tapping. Her body was trapped between his arm and the couch, her slim arm pressing into his chest, all heat and softness. A mussed lock of her hair teased against his jaw like a kiss of chocolate. This close he could smell her, the soft tang of perspiration and a sweeter breath of feminine musk. His mouth went dry. Her fingers curled into a fist under his on the remote.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and almost afraid. Why? What did she think he could possibly do to her?

He almost leaned closer. Almost let go of his rigid control and gave in to the temptation she presented; she was so much more real than the women he was used to, who wouldn’t be caught dead answering the door flushed and sweaty from a workout. The lack of artifice was…refreshing, to say the least. But she would be entirely out of place in his orderly life. Forget bull in a china shop. She’d storm his world like Godzilla rampaging through Tokyo.

He took a deep breath, slipped his hand away from hers, and pressed the power button on the remote. Its gaily chatter silenced, leaving them alone in the laden stillness.

“You wanted something from me,” he murmured.

She was still staring up at him, her eyes glassy. “…what?”

“When you called.” Her parted lips tempted him. “You said something about an attack strategy. What do you plan to attack?”

For a moment, he thought the answer might be him. She swayed closer to him, and her pulse jumped visibly against her throat. Her skin was still sheened with a luscious wet-sugar glaze of sweat, and that pulse drew him until he could almost feel it throbbing against his lips, almost taste her.

But she jerked back, making an odd sound and taking a shaky breath. He was still trapping her. Right. He withdrew his arm and leaned back, putting a safe distance between them.

She looked down and watched her fingers as they picked at a frayed thread on the hem of her tank top. “About that.” Her tongue darted over her lips. “I…I really hate asking for favors. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t necessary. I mean, I know you’ve got your own stuff to do in town, and you don’t have time to do me—I mean—wait, that’s not how I meant it! I just—damn it.”

“Favor first. Backstory later. It’ll be easier if you just spit it out.”

“Easier for you, maybe.” She shot him a dirty look. “Why did you let him bully you into pretending to be my fiancé, anyway? You should have just told him he was crazy and left.”

“We’ve been over this already. I did it for you.”

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t need people to do things for me.”

“Yet you called me here. And I doubt it was because you really wanted to see me again tonight.”

She faltered, and looked away. “I wouldn’t say that,” she muttered under her breath, pink to the tips of her ears, then raised her voice. “Okay. So. You might regret the whole ‘knight in shining armor’ act. You’re stuck with it. Or not, I mean, you could say no.”

He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. “Say no to what, exactly?”

She cringed, scrunching down into the couch. “…to being my fiancé for the next week.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be simple.

“A week, hm?”

“Yes.” She looked so small, so vulnerable, hunched down and picking furiously at that thread until her shirt was starting to unravel at the hem. “Rodgers thinks Wheeler will want to see you again at various business functions, starting with dinner tomorrow night. He thinks it’ll make him like me—and the company—more. The whole family values thing.”

“So that’s your attack strategy.” He assessed her thoughtfully. “Lie until you win.”

“Look, it wasn’t my idea, all right?” She lifted her head with that stubborn tilt to her jaw. “I’m not that kind of person. You weren’t the only one who got bullied.”

Ah. Now he understood. “And I’m not the one who stands to lose everything if he doesn’t acquiesce.” He brushed his fingers underneath her chin. Her skin was warm to the touch, fine and smooth. “Did he threaten you, Stephanie?”

She made a miserable sound. “He might as well have.”

“You shouldn’t cave to threats. It sets a bad precedent for future business…and it lets men like Rodgers believe they can continue to get away with their tactics.”

“Yeah, well, it’s gotten him this far.” She pulled away from his touch. “I wouldn’t ask, but…”

“You’re desperate.”

She smiled weakly. “Aaron did ask me to play tour guide this week. We could make it part of the luxury Miami Business District tour.”

“There is that.” He nearly smiled. “Why do you work for a man who forces you to lie?”

“Because…” Her voice softened. “Because he’s a means to an end. Sometimes you have to put up with bad people to do good things.”

“And lying is a good thing?”

“If it means helping those who can’t help themselves…yes.”

Her eyes were distant, her mouth soft and pensive and so entirely alluring. Too alluring. This was Aaron’s younger sister—and Aaron would take his legs off at the knee if he touched her again.

“Aaron might have me abducted if I say no.”

She laughed. “Every time I think you don’t have a sense of humor…”

“…you grew up with him. Do you really think that’s a joke?” He snorted.

“You have a point.” Her smile was more tentative this time, shy. “You’ll really do it? I promise I’ll try not to trip you into traffic or spill coffee all over you or cause any natural disasters.”

“Do you do that often?”

“You haven’t known me long. Just wait.”

“I suppose I have a week to find out, dearly betrothed.”

He had to be out of his mind.

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Thank you!”

Before he could think too hard about what he was doing and why he was doing this, he found his arms full of a soft, kittenish bundle of woman, her slim arms around his neck, her scent surrounding him, her face pressed against his throat. Every inch of her set him alight, her lushness molding to fit his body, her lips a micron away from his throat. Hugging him. She was only hugging him, he reminded himself fiercely. She’d flung herself at him just as she would with any of her brothers, and he reminded himself to keep his touch brotherly as her hands settled on her waist.

But as she drew back, his grip tightened unconsciously. He didn’t want to let her go. She froze, their noses almost brushing, her eyes locked with his. She wasn’t looking at him as if she saw a brother. She was looking at him as if she saw a man, and in that moment she was very much the woman who could make him forget propriety and act on an impulse he should ignore.

Yet he couldn’t resist cupping her cheek. His thumb caressed her lower lip, and her breath caught. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, touching his thumb for a brief second. To hell with propriety—and consequences. He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. Once. Twice. The third time, he lingered and didn’t let go.

She yielded against him with a low moan. Her softness would be his undoing; he wanted to touch her everywhere, feel the velvety texture of her entire body against his palms. But her nails dug into his shoulders, bringing him back to reality. He couldn’t do this. She was Aaron’s sister. He lived over a thousand miles away. A fling would have Aaron breathing down the back of his neck. Derek couldn’t ask her for more than that when his life had no room for a woman who lived half a country away.

And she’d only asked him for a favor. That gave him no right to more.

“I’m sorry.” He bit back a groan and reclined on the couch. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

For a moment, hurt flashed through her eyes. Then she pulled away and retreated to her corner. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen.”

“It did. But it won’t happen again.” He sighed. “I’ve no intention of taking advantage of you, Stephanie. You asked for my help. That comes without strings.”

“For Aaron’s sake, right?”

No. For yours.

He looked away from her, at the blank, quiet TV. “Something like that. I’ll play the part you need from me in public. But I’ll leave you in peace when we’re alone.”

“Such a gentleman,” she mocked, and curled in tighter on herself. Her voice was flat, but with a slight hitch. “Then you’ll need to be ready for tomorrow. We’re meeting Mr. Wheeler for dinner. Black tie formal, so you’ll need to rent a tux.”

Why was she so upset with him? He watched her from the corner of his eye. “I own a tux. Several, in fact.”

“Of course you do.” She laughed, brittle and humorless. “Rich, right? All of Aaron’s frat boy friends are rich.”

“Do you have a problem with rich men?” That would be a refreshing change.

“No, not really.” She sighed. “Just…so many of them have it so
easy
. And not many of them are like Wheeler, thinking about those who don’t.”

It was clear who she meant. Him. What would she think of him if she knew who he really was? He hadn’t told her the whole truth about his job, though he hadn’t lied. He’d just neglected to mention that he owned the company he worked for, and could likely buy her apartment building several times over. Most of the women he’d dated lit up at the number of zeros tacked on to his personal net worth.

Somehow, he had the feeling Stephanie would just be disappointed in him. Disappointed in everything he’d worked for, in the life he’d built, the corporation he’d founded, the money he made hand over fist…and did nothing worthwhile with. He’d done everything his father had wanted. Had met his expectations entirely, grooming himself into the man Walter Rory had expected him to be, burying every trace of his dark-eyed, wild-spirited mother’s heritage. He’d even taken speech training classes to eliminate most of his accent.

Yet the man he’d crafted, he thought, wasn’t a man Stephanie could respect.

And that really shouldn’t matter…but it did.

Chapter Five

She hadn’t called him.

Stephanie had put Derek out on her doorstep the night before, with polite murmurs about needing to work and not wanting to take up more of his time. He wasn’t sure if she was angry with him or just uncomfortable with the situation, but he’d somehow found himself looking at her polite smile—followed by her front door.

The same door he was looking at right now, standing in a rather grubby hall in a full tuxedo and listening to her neighbors scream at each other. From what he could make out from their garbled Spanish, the man had cheated on the woman. A crash sounded. If those crashes turned into gunshots, Stephanie would be sleeping in his hotel room tonight.

If she was even here. She hadn’t called to give him the time, to tell him the name of the restaurant, to let him know if they were meeting there or arriving together. Nothing. Pure cold shoulder. So he’d hazarded a guess, and arrived early enough that even if they were late, it would be fashionably so. Wheeler would give them knowing looks, of course. Young lovebirds. Always so distracted by each other.

The farce shouldn’t make him so uneasy. He was helping his friend’s sister get ahead at work. Nothing more.

So why hadn’t he knocked yet?

He rapped on the door and waited. He’d almost thought she’d left without him by the time the door opened. She was breathless, her hair curled to lay about her shoulders in gleaming ringlets that shone like polished teak, her slender frame dwarfed in an oversized bathrobe. One eye was dusted with silver-dark shadow that brought out the luminescent gray of her eye, the other bare. “I just need five more minutes. You’re early.”

“It would help if you’d told me when to arrive.”

She blinked. “Didn’t I?”

Her dumbfounded expression coaxed a smile. He’d thought she was cold-shouldering him, and she’d just been distracted. His own fault for assuming the worst. “Apparently your umbrella isn’t the only thing you forgot.”

“Oh. Well. Sorry, I just…you know. Lot on my mind.”

Like that kiss?
he wondered, but said nothing as he followed her inside—and latched all the locks behind him, including the deadbolt. Just to be safe. How could Aaron let Stephanie live somewhere like this? She could be mugged or murdered just unlocking her front door, and…

…and why was he making it his problem?

He sank down on the couch to wait. Tonight would be interesting. He knew next to nothing about Stephanie. Aaron had never talked about his family much in college, and Derek doubted Aaron had said particularly much about his friends when home for the holidays—not that Derek’s would be a long story to tell. By college he’d already immersed himself in his dream of starting his own company, and had been intently focused on his studies. He’d started his first LLC by junior year, and it had only grown from there. He’d never been good at taking orders from someone else—but as long as he held the reins, he didn’t have to.

Would Aaron have told Stephanie all of that? Or was he as much a stranger to her as she was to him? Yet tonight he had to pretend he knew Stephanie well enough to love her—and loved her enough to want to marry her. And he had to pull it off convincingly if he wanted to make a shrewd businessman believe it, forcing a public display of emotion that went against every inch of his ingrained training.

He never should have accepted Aaron’s lunch invite.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Stephanie slipped out. Her strapless black gown whispered over her body in caressing sighs of soft fabric; the pale skin of her shoulders and delicate crests of her collarbones were like moonlight above a glittering night sea. She’d swept her curls up into a loose chignon, and they fountained from the twist into a lustrous froth that lay against the white column of her throat.

The sight of her held him, compelled him, and he stood slowly, drawing closer. Her wide, smoky eyes mirrored the twisting in his chest, the burn deep down in his stomach. “
Que belleza
,” he murmured, and the soft Spanish words felt like a prayer leaving his lips.

She bit down on her lip. Her fingers knotted so tight in her elegant clutch purse it turned into a mangled twist of velvet. Her gaze slid over his body, and her tongue, pink and damp and distracting, slid over her lower lip. He ached to do the same.

“I don’t speak Spanish,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to.” He brushed his fingertip down her jaw. “You are beautiful.”

“Oh.” She swallowed hard. “Well. Um.
Que belleza
to you too.”

He smiled. Quiet laughter welled up in his chest. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“No! I mean—I—oh damn it.” Color crept high in her cheeks, and she looked mutinously away with a sweet little pout. “…you shouldn’t smile like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me think you’re a human being, and not the Dominican T-1000,” she huffed.

“Puerto Rican.”

“What?”

“My mother was Puerto Rican,” he said, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She eyed his arm as if it might bite her, lifted her hand—but her phone rang, breaking the spell. She took a hasty step back, pulled her flip phone from her purse, and lifted it to her ear.

“Hello?” Her eyes took on a far-seeing look, before her jaw tightened and her shoulders sagged. “No. Not yet. But if you give me another month, I’ll get it to you by the end of the week.” She paused, then closed her eyes. “…I know. I do. I’m sorry. Just…please. One week. I’ll have the rent…yes. Yes. Thank you.”

The latter clearly came hard to her, and as she closed the phone she sat stiffly on the couch and pressed her face into her palm. Derek watched helplessly. There was nothing he could do, yet he felt as if he should do
something
. Anything other than standing here like an unfeeling stone statue. The T-1000, she’d called him. How fitting.

He sank down next to her. “You cannot pay your rent.”

She shrugged in a short, sharp jerk. “I will. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around his wallet. “Do you need money?”

“
No
,” she snarled, then took a deep breath and flashed a forced, artificially flirtatious smile. “If anything, I should be paying you. You’re the hired entertainment for the night.”

“You’ll accept that favor, but not this one?”

That smile vanished, and she shot him a sharp look. “I’m already indebted to you for this mess. I won’t ask for more. Thank you, but no thank you.”

He frowned, but let go of his wallet. “What about Aaron? Does he know—?”

“No.” She stood and glared at him. “And he doesn’t need to know. Not one word, Derek.”

He bit back his argument. The stubborn little thing wouldn’t budge, if she was anything like her brother. He worked his jaw and stood. “Very well, Miss Miller.”

“When you say my name like that, I feel like a spinster schoolmarm.” She snorted. That fake smile was back, plastic and strained. “We’re supposed to be in love. Hearts and flowers on a first-name basis.”

His brows rose. “Is that what you think love is? Hearts and flowers?”

“Not really,” she said, “but I can’t fit puppies and kittens in this stupid tiny purse.” She tossed her head and headed for the door, her heels clicking, her hips swaying. “Come on, before I figure out a way to kill myself just by walking in heels.”

Downstairs, they climbed into the waiting cab and settled in. Neither spoke again until they were deep in downtown traffic, the city lights crawling past. She glanced at him, then blurted out, “We should probably go over a few basics about each other. So we sound realistic. I can count the things I know about you on one hand after a fireworks accident.”

“Basics such as…?”

“Favorite foods. Pet peeves. Work. I don’t know, things people know about each other when they’re in love.”

“Have you never been in love to know?” He had trouble believing that even as he asked. She was a wild little thing who seemed made to love and be loved, brimming with enough unfettered emotion for ten women. She hesitated. Her eyes lowered, and then she looked away, quickly, glancing at something outside the window. “I thought I was. Once.”

The silence that followed was strained. Her profile was ethereal under a panorama of shifting lights that slid over her skin like oil, gilding the bridge of her nose, its upturned tip, her glossed and parted lips. He’d said something wrong. What, he wasn’t sure. But he was starting to think there was more to this woman than her kittenish charm, and he wondered what could make such an animated little thing suddenly turn so still.

“I’ll start,” he said quietly. Perhaps he could coax her to speak again. “How long have you been with Inner State?”

“Almost a year.” Her small smile was distracted. “They hired me as a temp, with the possibility of full-time employment. My temporary position is up in March.”

So she barely had a week or two left on her contract. “Do you still sleep with a night light?”

The whites of her eyes flashed in the darkened cab. Her mouth dropped open. “I—you—how did you know that?”

“Guess.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

His mouth twitched involuntarily. “That’s a yes, then.”

“I stopped when I was sixteen!” She hunched down against the leather upholstery. “…I liked scary movies, okay? But they stopped being fun after dark.”

“What was your favorite?”

“
The Grudge.
”

“Mm.” She was sulking, and it was adorable. He wanted to pull that sulky mouth to his and— “I prefer the original Japanese version.
Ju-On.
”

She blinked at him. “You like horror movies?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Well…yeah. You’re, you know…”

“…gifted with a battery-operated stick up my ass?” he offered with a dry smile.

Her sudden laugh could have lit the entire cab. “Yes.” She leaned a little closer, eyes glittering impishly. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He swayed closer, lured by that wicked gleam. “And that is?”

“I still have the night light. It’s pink.
My Little Pony.
”

“Your little what…?”

“You are such a boy.” She laughed again. “God, we sound like we’re in junior high and playing Truth or Dare. Is it my turn to ask yet? I have to think of a good one.”

“Missed your turn. When did you graduate?”

“You don’t play fair.” She shrugged. “Two years ago. I’ve been bouncing from one temp job to another ever since. I’m hoping this is my last contract…but right now it doesn’t look promising.”

He captured her hand. Her fingers were soft and small in his, and as he leaned closer he caught the scent of lavender. “You’ll get your investor, Stephanie. I’m your advantage, remember?”

She withdrew her hand with a tense smile. “Are you the guy who ate a cheeseburger after it fell on a New York sidewalk?”

“That was Michael.”

“Oh.” She pointed a finger at him, her eyes alight. “Then you must be the one who got caught having sex in the library.”

Of course Aaron had told that story—and left out that it was about himself. Derek wasn’t going to be the one to tell her the truth. His phone vibrated in his pocket; he took advantage of the distraction to check it. Work emails, even this late at night. They were starting to pile up. He was trying not to feel guilty, and failing. “Not me.”

“Oh, come on!” She scowled. “There has to be some dirt on you. You’re way too serious. Guys like you are usually secret freaks on an R. Kelly level.”

He eyed her sidelong and tucked his phone away. Work would have to wait until after dinner.

She returned his gaze with a long, discerning look. “Like I said. Too serious.” She looked out the window again. “Next question. Are your parents still together?”

He stiffened. “I’d prefer not to discuss my family.”

“If you’re my fiancé, I should know more about you.”

Derek shook his head. “He won’t be asking about me. He’ll be asking about you. You don’t need to know my whole life story.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why would they possibly want to know about my family?”

Stephanie glared back at him, fearless and challenging. “What if they ask a simple question and I panic and blow the whole thing because I don’t know your favorite food? Or what your mom’s name is?”

“It’s not a multiple choice quiz with an answer key. You could say my mother’s name is Conchetta McFee and they wouldn’t know any difference.”

Her mouth quirked at the corners. She half-swallowed a snickering sound. “Conchetta McFee?”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “Be quiet, you impudent imp. You put me on the spot.”

“See? Even you’re getting flustered. Now imagine me, trying to make up something convincing with Rodgers and Wheeler staring at me. When I tell them your childhood pet was a cactus and you used to pretend to be a goldfish in the bathtub, it’s completely your fault.”

“Dragon, actually.”

“…you pretended to be a dragon?”

“Yes.” He looked firmly out the window. “I thought the Loch Ness monster was a dragon, and I’d use my toy boats to drown hapless sailors.”

She burst into that silvery, engaging laughter again, and leaned over to nudge him with her shoulder. “You know, you’re almost cute…for a Terminator.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, and forced a tight smile.

She was waiting. He could feel it in her silence, in the soft, curious way she looked at him. He was tempted to kiss her. Kiss her so she’d stop asking her questions; kiss her so she’d stop prying at him, needing to know him. She wasn’t asking for his life story. She wasn’t asking for the dirty details, like how many beatings it had taken before Derek had fought back against his father. Like the words spoken between them when he’d walked out, and become his own man.

Because he was never really his own man, as long as he lived by the rules his father had whipped into him, beating the last of his defiance out of him.

Maybe it was a spark of that defiance that made him speak. “My mother is gone,” he said, and took a deep breath. “She died when I was a boy.”

She made a soft, sympathetic sound. Her hand on his arm was like a little spot of soft flame, burning through his coat sleeve. “How did it happen?”