Penthouse Prince (4 page)

Chapter Six

The stranger reflected in the mirror frowned.

Pearls accented the little black dress Camden had picked out earlier, making her neck look somewhat swanlike. The whole getup reminded Jeanie of Audrey Hepburn…
You know, if Audrey had a curvy body.

Snorting, she stuck her tongue out at the woman with the elegantly upswept hair and ruby red lips. “You still look working class, Jeanie-girl. Working class playing dress up.”

Her reflection didn’t have a rebuttal. She didn’t want to like the makeover, wanted to be derisive of the clothes, but everything Camden picked had been clothes she might have loved to own, had she ever had the time or money to be concerned with that sort of thing.

The door behind her opened, and she pulled a neutral expression out of her arsenal. Seeing it was only Camden, she spun and faked a smile. “Well, dah-link, I’m all dressed up. This is my beautiful people impersonation. What do you think? Will I pass for the fiancée of the Penthouse Prince?”

“The tabloids gave me that ridiculous name. I’d love it if you could never bring it up again, thanks. And, yeah, you’ll do. Did they fix your nails? Because they looked like a manicure wasn’t something you’d even heard of.” Stalking into the room, he seemed to take up too much space, shrinking everything around him with his sheer presence. His mood, almost lighthearted earlier, had darkened for some reason while she’d primped and applied her masking glamour.

“Nails, hair, the works. Is there anything I need to know before walking onto the stage, so to speak?”

He tilted his head, squinting as if considering the question. “We met at the office. You dumped a coffee on me in the elevator, our gazes locked, and it was history from there. Epic love story, blah blah blah. Oh, and I proposed at sunset. Yeah, that sounds pretty romantic. Women really get off on the death of a day.”

She gnawed at her lip. “Very romantic. On one knee, I hope?” The rub of it was that it
did
sound romantic, but she couldn’t admit that to him.

“Sure, but get all soft looking when you reminisce about it. After all, you’re madly in love with me. Oh, and I’m going to be a touchy-feely guy.”

Her eyes went wide. “Just how touchy-feely?”

“If I’m not, it won’t look natural. Everyone knows how I am. If I reach over for your hand, take mine and don’t flinch away. If I lean in for a kiss or to whisper, make sure you don’t tense up. Just go with it. You probably know all this, body language one-oh-one from psych class or from your own experience about falling in love, but—”

Turning back to her reflection, she adjusted the skirt. “I’ve never taken psychology. You don’t require a degree for hiring in the call center, in case you forgot. I had some college, but when I got Kaycee, I dropped out. And I’ve never been in love. Have you?”

“I’m not answering that.” He dropped to sit on the bed, bouncing as if testing its softness. “But the answer should be obvious, since I mentioned I was engaged.”

She faced him, considering what he’d said. Not answering meant he didn’t want to. If the easy response would have been yes, because he was engaged, he wouldn’t have added a caveat. “Wouldn’t I know? I mean, as your fiancée, wouldn’t you have told me?”

He surged to his feet and invaded her space. “Nope. Not my style. But I would have given you this.”

He cracked open a blue velvet box and revealed a bed of white silk framing a sparkling, diamond-encrusted ring. Forgetting the conversation, she ran a fingertip across the ring. Lovely, probably worth a fortune, the band of white gold beckoned her.

“It’s beautiful.” Actually, she’d never seen anything like it. If she were to pick out her engagement ring…he’d nailed it. It would be the one in the box, hands down.

“Yeah, well, give me your hand. Let’s see how well I did at the sizing.”

Before she could offer it, he caught her suddenly numb palm in his own and slid the ring on her finger after tossing the box back toward the bed. “It fits,” she whispered.
Perfect.
It fit and looked perfect.

He kept her captive by holding her fingertips. She couldn’t lift her gaze, kept it locked on the shining thing as the air around her became too thick to breathe.

A gentle knock interrupted the moment and brought them both back to life.

“That would be Ruby. Dinner must be done. Shall we?” He offered his arm, and she twined her own with it. He began to escort her from the room.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

His palm rested on the doorknob, but he froze, going statue-still. “The engagement? Fooling everyone? Or dinner, because it’s not really challenging when you have a chef.”

She licked her dry lips. “You don’t think someone will see through it?”

He nudged her back into motion and positioned her against the still closed door, facing him. She studied his tie, trying hard not to inhale his intoxicating scent. “I think the key to selling a lie is to bathe it in half truths. I think, if we’re comfortable enough together, if we smile and can’t seem to stop looking at each other, we could sell it. Can you do that? Can you focus on me and only me, like I’m the thing that makes you get up in the morning and the last thing you think of before you fall asleep?”

Her breath seemed to come harshly, burning in her lungs. He was too close. His heat and body caged her in a cocoon of tension. She couldn’t answer, her throat suddenly too dry.

He tilted her chin up, forced her gaze to meet his, and leaned close so their foreheads touched and his breath teased her flesh when he spoke. “Can you pretend to love me, even for a little while, Jeanie?”

“It’s a two-way street.” Her spine straightened, and she returned his challenge, cocked her head so their lips brushed with her words. “Can you pretend to love me, Camden? Act like I’m your sun and moon and you can’t resist me? I know, challenging. I’m frumpy, after all.”

His laugh shot electricity zinging through her blood stream and left her excited in a brittle way, like he could shatter the sensation with one wrong word. “You’re playing a dangerous game, dear. I’m willing to bet I can pull off my end. Want to make a little wager?”

“I don’t bet.” She pulled back, impeded by the door, but gained a few precious inches of breathing room.

“Actually, I like the idea.” His fingertip teased a trail down her cheek, then stopped after he stroked across her bottom lip. “Of course, if either of us fails, the other will cover it—keep the show going, so to speak. The challenge is to not be the one who requires a save. I’m willing to bet no one sees through me, doubts me, or questions my feelings for you. I’ll bet you…”

He mulled it over while she tried to control her heartbeat, her breathing.

“I’ll bet you this penthouse no one sees through my act.”

She snorted. “So I can win this penthouse, on top of all of my pay and benefits, if I simply out lie you?”

“Yup. I bet I can convince the world I’m madly in love with you.”

His tender look kept her off-balance, and she knew she couldn’t beat him at his kind of game. He practiced lying, daily.
Seduction?
Easy for him. The tabloids told the story of his conquests—from actresses to one short fling with an actual princess—and they were many.

“What do you get? If I lose, I mean?”

He ducked his head, nibbling at her ear until she shivered.

He is good—too good.

“What do you have that I want, little fiancée?”

The knock sounded, again, from the other side of the door, and Jeanie jumped, which put her in full contact with the length of him. She gasped, prepared to pull back, but he held her close. “I don’t have anything you want. I don’t have money, or things, or…”

“If I win, you’ll marry me.”

Her laugh broke free and snapped the tension, even though she still lounged in his embrace. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious.” He looked serious.

She smacked his shoulder and scoffed, “That’s stupid. Why would you want that?”

“I have to get married anyway. Why not make it a simple business arrangement? No nasty emotions to get in the way…it’s perfect. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it eons ago.” He seemed to be considering, almost weighing benefits against downfalls, while she watched.

“You want to bet on your marital status?”

He nodded, releasing her. He clicked his tongue. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

“I—” She searched for reasons, ways to point out the stupidity of his plan. “Wait, unless you’re so sure you can’t possibly win?” It seemed ludicrous, but what other reason could he…“How would I even know you’d keep up your end of the deal?”

“Um, because I don’t want to lose my house.” He held his hand out and raised both brows. “So what you should be asking yourself right now is, ‘Do I want to risk happily ever after with this man for a chance to winning the best real estate in the city?’ If the answer is yeah, and you’ve got some balls about you, shake on it.”

“But—”

“Don’t think, Jeanie. Bet or don’t bet, but don’t waffle. It’s unattractive.”

She blew out a breath and clamped her hand in his. “It’s a bet. I’m going to kick your ass, Camden James. I will out-love you, fair and square. Just do me one favor? Don’t cry when you have to fork over your house.” Her heart raced, and her palm broke out in sweat, but she didn’t waver.

He jerked her hand once, his smile fast and more charming than he deserved. “Rule number one, little fiancée: never shake on a deal until you hash out the details. You didn’t put any qualifiers on the marriage. This might be a mistake you later regret.”

“Only if I lose…and I don’t intend to lose.”

“Let the games begin.”

With that, he opened the door and graciously allowed her to pass.

And she wondered, for the second time that day, what in the hell she’d gotten herself into.

Chapter Seven

When he’d disagreed with Lowe earlier regarding the appeal of his hired date, he’d somehow convinced himself she wasn’t beautiful. Striking seemed a more apt word, at least prior to her makeover.

After the makeover? He couldn’t deny it—Jeanie wasn’t just beautiful. She was gorgeous. Something about her filled his head with adjectives he’d never found apt in describing a woman before. Words like lovely, graceful, elegant, and mysterious. Not to mention sexy. Watching her from across the table, he wouldn’t dream of denying his attraction. He’d not admit it to her or anyone else, but he could at least be honest with himself.

He didn’t entirely believe his father got called away right as the help served dinner, but he didn’t point it out to Jeanie. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, sipped a glass of water, and watched her revel in the meal.

Lowe left before dessert—a perfect tiramisu—landed on the table, leaving Camden alone with the refined blonde who’d replaced the woman he’d hijacked into engagement. Without an audience, she visibly relaxed and dropped her act as if it were no more than a night wrap to be cast aside. Her casual comfort in his presence, after their short acquaintance, shocked him a bit. It might be another illusion, but he actually believed she might trust him.

Ironic, considering they were together perpetuating the biggest lie of his life.

But it felt good to be trusted. No one else trusted him, not even Lowe, and he was an old college buddy. Everyone knew what Camden could do and guarded themselves. Not that he blamed them.

She might not be high class, she might not be accustomed to the so-called finer things, but her pleasure in the meal and her ease of slipping into the role he gave her fascinated him. Almost as much as the speed she’d dropped it…

Licking her fork, her eyes rolled back and her cheeks flushed. He hardened, longing to shove the tablecloth and food onto the floor so he could yank her onto the polished mahogany tabletop and see if her reaction to him could match her response to coffee flavored dessert. The whiplash of desire left him shifting in his seat, tapping the table in conflicted confusion. One part of him wanted to satisfy his physical needs while the other reveled in the unfamiliar sensation of someone comfortable in his presence.

Conflicted. I’m never conflicted over anything.

“I can’t believe you’re not devouring this,” she said. “Then again, you probably eat stuff like this at every meal. On silver platters, of course, with silver forks, all while pretending to be blasé when your chef serves heaven drenched chocolate confections.” She waved the fork, eyes glittering with mirth, her sexy bottom lip pressed into a faux pout.

“Actually, I usually only pretend to be blasé when I’m eating off crystal. That whole silver bit? I think it’s archaic, myself.”

Her laughter bubbled out, surprising him with its unfettered joy. The curl of her red lips drew him further into her spell while the bright sound warmed something inside him, a piece of himself he thought long dead and buried. A twang of regret reverberated through him when she stifled her merriment to sip her wine. “I’m glad it’s just you and me. For tonight, at least, I can enjoy the way the wine makes my head just a little fuzzy and eat like a pig. I think if I really was this disgustingly rich, I’d have a butt the size of Texas in a week. The food? Really amazing. Compliments to the chef.”

“I’ll pass along your compliments.” With a flick of his fingers, he dismissed the wait staff. He’d do more than pass along the compliment. The chef would receive a hell of a bonus for impressing her tonight. He chose not to look too closely at his motivations, even as he leaned forward and steepled his fingertips.

“Thank you.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “You did good today, really rolled with the punches. Not everyone would have followed my lead. Probably, it’s going to get more complicated. We won’t have a lot of moments like this.” He wasn’t sure why he felt like warning her, but his life wasn’t conducive to private and stolen moments. He lived in a spotlight, part and parcel with who he was and what he planned to be.

She twisted her wine glass, some of her ease leeched away by his serious tone. “My dad used to say nothing worth having comes without risk. Do you think people are really going to buy this, though? I mean, you’ve upped the stakes with the bet.”

“I think it could work.” And that was true. He did.

He also calculated the wager before he’d gambled. She’d slip at some point. He could fix a small leak without a lot of work, spin being something he wielded without qualms. He wouldn’t slip, not for a moment.

Pretending to be in love with her wasn’t hard.

He might not believe in love, but he believed in attraction. He wanted her, regretted within hours his own hastily typed no-sex clause, and decided he would have her before the act was done. Sure, they’d agreed to no sex. But if she then agreed to renegotiate? If she decided she wanted him as much as he wanted her? Platonic business arrangement or not, he’d take her like he’d never taken a woman before.

He believed in planning. She’d make a perfect wife. No illusions about romance or need to win her affection—since he’d paid for her to fake adoration—would create balance and order where most relationships dwelled in a constant state of chaos.

He firmly believed marriage to be a social and economic arrangement. If both players understood their roles, it lowered the risk of unhappy surprises rising up and nipping the union in the ass. Her fierce devotion to her sister? Fantastic if he eventually decided to have children. She protected her sibling, so she’d be absolutely brutal in her defense of her own offspring.

If he’d written out a list of characteristics he desired in his bride, she’d earn checkmarks for every item he could think up.

She cleared her throat. “Sorry, woolgathering. Did you say something?”

“Just that I am probably going to head to bed, if that’s okay. Or do you need me to dangle off your arm this evening?” Her smirk revealed her amusement.

“No, I don’t need arm candy tonight. Thanks for asking, though.” Polite. He wasn’t doing too badly at staying polite.

Her snort, as she rose, contrasted with the elegance of her body wrapped in the black silk dress. “Fantastic. Do you have a game plan for tomorrow or is it more flying by the seats of our asses?”

“Flying, always flying. Planning isn’t needed if you think fast enough.” He didn’t need to share his plans. She seemed to react well to impromptu, he didn’t want to rock the boat and have her appear stilted as she tried to fit a scripted set of actions.

“Goodnight, then.” She paused in the doorway, a sensual silhouette. Without looking back, she said, “Strange, isn’t it? This morning, you were a stranger I’d only seen from a distance or in a magazine. Tonight, I’m going to sleep in your home with your ring on my finger after having you repeatedly shove your tongue down my throat. Life—it changes in a heartbeat, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled. She had no idea. His life constantly changed at a rapid pace, leaving him scrabbling to catch up. He lifted his glass, toasting her back. “To more adventures tomorrow.”

Her laugh trailed after her, elusive as the scent of her perfume lingering in the room and blending with the decadent aromas from their meal.

He glanced at the wall and toasted the woman in the large golden frame. “So, Mom, I think I met the future Mrs. James. She’s not like you—she’s stronger, more likely to not be destroyed by this family, but I think you’d like her.”

His mother didn’t answer, smiling eternally in dried oil paint, a ghost of the one person who’d ever loved him, monster that he was.

“She has a kid.” He sipped the water, swirled the glass, listened to the chink of ice on crystal. “I need to find out more about the kid. There’s something there, something she hasn’t told me.”

Secrets, in his world, never stayed secret. Someone would reveal the truth.

He just hoped Jeanie would be the one to reveal whatever she kept hidden rather than her past coming back to haunt her. He understood ghosts, believed in them more readily than the idea of love, and lived with his daily. After all, his father killed his mother as surely as if he’d wielded a weapon and taken her life. Ignoring her depression, practically being disgusted by her weakness—his father might not have killed her in a literal sense, but he’d betrayed her and been a deciding factor in her suicide. Camden wouldn’t risk doing that to a woman.

Not when he knew he’d devoted his life to the company long ago. He would take the power from his father and then destroy the old man.

Another glance at his mother reaffirmed his resolve. He wouldn’t rest—he’d promised her he wouldn’t—until he avenged her.