Forty Day Fiancé : A Fake Fiancé Romantic Comedy Standalone Read online

  She tilted her head and gave me a small, but very sexy smile. “Oh, really? I owe you that?”

  I nodded. “I think you do.” I came around the island so I could be closer to her. I glanced at her lips. “You told me you have a policy of always kissing on the first date, remember? Just to test chemistry. I’ll be expecting that as well.”

  “I see. You drive a hard bargain, sir,” she said. “But I’m prepared to make restitution.”

  “Excellent.” She really was gorgeous. She was wearing a red sweater that contrasted with her dark hair and showed off a slim build. I could definitely imagine kissing her and more. “How does Thursday sound?”

  Felicia raised her eyebrows. “You don’t waste time.”

  “No, I don’t. And I don’t have time for games.” I’d already wasted a decade of my life focusing on my career only.

  “Ouch. Duly noted. No more deception, I swear.”

  I wanted a relationship again. I wanted to be married, to wake up next to a woman who wanted to share her life with me. Over the years of being single I’d had a few hookups and a couple of women who had wanted a friends-with-benefits scenario and that had been perfect for me at the time. But now, I wanted more. I wanted to know a woman inside and out, to love every inch of her, to have the luxury of being able to touch her.

  Ironic, really. I couldn’t expect any woman to be on the same page with me. I wanted everything all at once as usual. It was how I’d been successful in my career. Go for it. Grab what I wanted by the balls.

  I reached behind me for my wine. I took a sip and studied her.

  Felicia slowly slid her tongue across her bottom lip under the scrutiny. Her eyes darkened. She leaned almost imperceptibly toward me.

  She wanted me to kiss her. Not Thursday, but now.

  So I did what I always did. I went for it.

  I set my glass down and reached out and took her glass from her and set it next to mine on the island. I slid my hand into her dark, straight hair. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Felicia. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, you little catfisher.”

  “I’ve enjoyed it as well.”

  Her voice was a low murmur, breathy, aroused.

  I bent down and covered her lips with mine.

  Two

  Michael was kissing me. Holy shit, he was kissing me and it was brilliant.

  I had thought telling him the truth would get me bounced from his flat, which would have gutted me, but instead he was kissing me. Very well, I might add.

  He had soft lips and a commanding touch. His hand held my head while he brushed over my mouth over and over.

  I kissed him back, but he was in charge, one hundred percent. My eyes drifted shut as he teased between my lips with his tongue and did all kinds of amazing things to my insides. I pressed my hands on his chest for balance and to feel him. It was a hard plane of muscle that only stoked the fire of my desire even further.

  Curling my fingertips into the fabric of his T-shirt, I sighed, wanting to be closer to him. Wanting to feel every inch of him.

  Michael broke off the kiss and stepped back from me. He gave me a slow, sexy smile.

  “Let me show you that closet.”

  Just like that. Let me show you that closet. Like he hadn’t just destroyed me with his mouth. Like he hadn’t made me ache for more.

  I stood there for a second, struck dumb, breathing hard.

  He turned and sipped his wine.

  That snapped me out of it. “Right. Of course. Let’s get right on that.”

  The reason I was there. To assess his dead wife’s wardrobe. Not to shatter beneath his tongue.

  He didn’t look shattered. He looked as casual as his outfit. Chill. Cool as a damn cucumber.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out my tablet, determined to be professional for the next thirty minutes. “I’ll just snap a few photos for reference. I can usually get you an estimate within three days of what I’ll be able to take to list and target auction prices. If you choose to use my services, I will need to remove the clothing so that photos can be taken on a model with styling. I take forty percent of the sale price and do all the shipping.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m planning to donate the money to breast cancer research.”

  Of course he was. Because that wasn’t going to help my burning desire to shag him. The bastard was a nice guy on top of being attractive, intelligent, and forgiving.

  I followed him down the hallway to the second door on the right. It was clearly intended to be the second bedroom but it was set up like a walk-in closet. It was all women’s clothing. Hundreds of pieces. There was a rack of shoes that even at first glance showed designer taste. The shelves filled with handbags displayed a very obvious Chanel and a Hermès courchevel Birkin with gold hardware. Becca had a Birkin. I wondered if Michael had any idea how much just that one bag alone was worth.

  “There are a lot of quality pieces here,” I said, running my fingers down the sleeve of a Prada jacket. “How many are you willing to part with?”

  “All of it.”

  My heart almost stopped. Turning in a circle I at first guess thought there was at least fifty thousand worth of designer pieces in the room. More likely even more. The Birkin alone was worth five grand gently used. This would be quite the padding for my bank account.

  “This is thousands and thousands of dollars in fashion, do you realize that?”

  He nodded, leaning on the doorway frame. “I bought most of it. Trust me, I’m well aware of how much it cost. That’s why I figured I would have someone sell it and I’ll donate the proceeds.”

  “Thank God you didn’t throw all of this in the bin.” The thought made my stomach hurt. “That would be a crime against fashion.” The beauty of so much fabulous clothing was really the only thing that could have distracted me from my attraction to Michael and the fact that he’d kissed me.

  There was still an awareness on my part of him filling the doorway, of our obvious easy chemistry, but the clothes were to die for. I shifted through the hanging dresses, jackets, and skirts. I pulled a few that I wanted to start with, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my head that was telling me going on a date with Michael was falling back into an old pattern I’d consciously tried to break.

  The older man with money.

  Been there, done that, and I had always wound up feeling less than. The power balance had always been off, and particularly back when I’d been modeling, it was clear my role was to be eye candy.

  I’d known Michael was a doctor but I wouldn’t have thought he was capable of buying a wardrobe like this one. Besides, I’d thought I was talking to him for Savannah, not me. It was obvious now given this flat and room full of fashion, orthopedic surgeons pocketed more money than I’d expected. Or maybe he came from money. Either way, warning bells were going off, but I resolutely ignored them. I’d already agreed to go to dinner with him. I couldn’t be a complete idiot and cancel on him now.

  “How long have you lived in New York?” Michael asked as I laid several dresses on the ottoman in the center of the room and took pictures so I could do some research.

  “Off and on for eight years. I’ve spent stints in Vancouver, London, Berlin, and Milan.” Every year or so I had to leave temporarily to meet the pesky terms of my visa.

  “Wow, quite the international woman. Here I thought you were from Pennsylvania.”

  I turned and make a face. I had to be prepared for him to tease me about being Savannah, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. “I’ve never been to Pennsylvania but I’m sure it’s delightful.”

  “What were you doing in Milan? I love Italy. I spent a month there two years ago.”

  “In my younger years, I did some modeling. I was a showroom model for Versace for fashion week.” Becca was clearly not a Versace woman. I hadn’t spotted any pieces from the iconic house. She was more of a conservative dresser. I, on the other hand, loved the glamorous sexuality of Versace. I just didn’t have anywhere t
o wear it anymore.

  “I’m not surprised you were a model, but you’re saying ‘younger years’ to the wrong person.” He gave me a grin. “That sounds ridiculous to me. What is a showroom model? I’m visualizing you lying on the hood of a car and, trust me, it’s a good visual.”

  That made me stand up straight and give him an appalled glare. “What? Bite your tongue! It’s where you stand in an outfit, perfectly still, for hours, while international buyers come in with the label and go through all the pieces. They want to see how the garments lie on a real body, not a mannequin. There is usually a half dozen models or so in a showroom and the buyers have appointments to view.”

  “That’s not at all what I was picturing.”

  I laughed. “Clearly not. No, I was not lying on cars in a Union Jack bikini, sorry to disappoint.”

  “That is actually very disappointing. Did you enjoy showroom modeling?”

  “God no, are you bonkers? It’s boring as hell to stand there immobile, not speaking while they touch and prod the clothes you’re wearing while saying things like ‘I love the affordability of this’ when it’s a ten-thousand-euro jacket.”

  “That doesn’t sound enjoyable at all.”

  “No.” I snapped a pic of the Chanel Classic quilted single-flap in a caviar color. I put my hand on a drawer. “May I look inside?”

  “Of course.” He just watched me.

  Inside there were velvet boxes with necklaces, bracelets, and earrings laid out.

  I would be jealous of his wife except the poor woman had barely had time to enjoy her beautiful things. It made me feel instantly sad for her. What a hard knock, getting breast cancer at thirty.

  Quickly, I took a few pictures then closed the drawer again. “I’m done,” I said, wanting out of there. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head and it made me uncomfortable.

  Besides, what if Becca’s ghost had just seen me snog her husband and now I was picking through her clothes to sell them? I did not want to be haunted by a jealous ex. That was all I needed in my life.

  “I’ll have a quote in a few days and you can let me know if you want to proceed.”

  “Oh, I want to proceed,” he said.

  His voice was whisky smooth and dripping with innuendo. Presumably sexual. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.

  But I had to get out of there before I asked him to bend me over the ottoman. It had been far too long since I’d had sex and I really, really wanted to call him daddy.

  Bye, Felicia.

  As much as I hated the expression it had its appropriate moments and this was one of them.

  Gripping my tablet against my chest, I eased past him out of the closet. For a second I didn’t think he was going to move, that he was going to kiss me again, but then he shifted to allow me to exit.

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I set my tablet down so I could stuff my feet into my boots and threw my coat over my arm. I’d put it on in the lobby.

  “I’ll call you about Thursday,” he said. “Do you have a cuisine preference?”

  “I’m fond of sushi. Speak to you soon.” I opened the door to his flat and bolted for the lift.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he called after me. “I’m looking forward to a lot of things.”

  His words might as well have been his tongue sliding over my clit. My puffer slid out of my hands to the floor. Damn it. I wasn’t being smooth at all. I bent over and scooped it up.

  As I took the lift down I typed into my group text thread with my girlfriends NEED TO CHAT, asap.

  Current status required a cocktail and a girls’ night.

  “How’s the search for a surrogate going?” Sean asked me, eyeing me over his glass.

  I knew exactly what my brother thought about me paying a woman to carry my baby. He thought it was insane. And part of me thought it was insane as well. But I wanted to be a father and I didn’t want to spend the next five years trying to find and/or force a relationship to work just so I could have a child.

  “I’m taking my time, doing a lot of research.” I sipped my bourbon as we relaxed in my living room, take-out food spread on the coffee table in front of us. “I know you think this is crazy, but trust me, I know what I’m doing and I’m weighing all my options.”

  Sean was almost seven years younger than me and far more happy-go-lucky. He shook his head and gave me a grin. “Oh, I know you’ll do that. You’re the planner man. But I also know that you want what you want when you want it and sometimes that’s not a good thing. This is a kid, not an impulsive trip to Bali.”

  “I’m well aware of the responsibility of being a parent. I told you if I do this, I’m taking a year off of work.”

  “Dr. Dad. I can’t really picture it. I mean, I can picture you as a father, just not as a stay-at-home dad.” He drained his bourbon. “What is this stuff? It’s very smooth.”

  “It’s like two hundred bucks a bottle. That’s what it is. You’re supposed to sip it, not shoot it.” I demonstrated. “See? Sip. And why can’t you see me staying home with a kid? I’m highly offended.”

  He snorted. “Have you thought about how you’re supposed to date when you’re raising a baby?”

  I shrugged. “Speaking of dating, remember that woman I went to dinner with a month ago, Savannah? Turns out I was catfished.”

  “I remember her. The redhead. Why and how were you catfished if you met her and it was really her?”

  “Her friend was the one who was actually messaging me.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had looked up Felicia after she had left and found her social media, including some of her old modeling shots. I pulled up a more recent photo, where she was modeling some of the clothes she had listed for sale. Her dark hair was in loose curls and she had on bright red lipstick and fake glasses. “This is her.” I handed the phone to Sean. “We’re going out Thursday.”

  “I hate you,” Sean said. “Seriously, what the fuck, man? You got catfished by a woman who is actually attractive? That’s unprecedented.”

  I knew he was right. I grinned and leaned forward and snagged a piece of shrimp. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Her name’s Felicia and she has a very cute British accent.”

  “She’s more my age than yours. You’re swimming in my pool, fucker. Go wade in your own.”

  “No way. Age is just a number.”

  “You’re a douchebag.”

  “And you’re a dick who is at least five years older than her anyway,” I said good-naturedly. Sean and I got along great, always had. We had a sister, Maeve, who was in between us in age, but she lived in California now. Sean was a chef in Brooklyn and worked as many hours as I did, if not more, so we didn’t get to hang out a lot but when we did we fell back on the old habit of giving each other shit. “How’s your love life?”

  He made a face. “Let’s put it this way. If I ever get the urge to have children, I’ll probably be calling your surrogate.”

  “We are not using the same surrogate. Our kids would be cousins and half-siblings. That’s bizarre as hell. Why don’t you jump on a dating app?”

  “I’m on all of them. Easily six apps. It’s like Wheel of Fucking. You spin, pick someone, and have sex. Then you ghost each other and move on to the next one.”

  “You could try conversation.”

  He made a sound. “What, like you? All that got you was a brunette pretending to be a redhead. Twenty bucks says she’s flat-out crazy.”

  “It’s entirely possible.” I hoped not. But it was possible. A chirping sound occurred again for about the fifth time from somewhere in the apartment. “Do you hear that?” I said, distracted. “I keep hearing something beep, like a notification. Is that your phone?”

  “No, mine are on silent.” But he pulled his phone out and looked. “Definitely not me. Is it your phone?”

  He’d set my phone on the coffee table after looking at Felicia’s photo. “No. It’s coming from over there somewhere.” I gestured toward the door.r />
  I stood up. It was driving me crazy. It was irregular. It would do it multiple times rapidly, then nothing for ten minutes. “It’s not the smoke detector.”

  Then I spotted it. “Oh, Felicia left her tablet here. She must have forgotten it when she put her boots on.” I picked it up, intending to turn it off or stick it in a drawer until I could return it so I didn’t have to listen to the notifications pinging.

  Only I realized that her texts were popping up in the right-hand corner and one included my name. Unless Felicia knew more than one Michael.

  It would be wrong to shag Michael after one dinner, right? Tell me not to shag him.

  Hell, yeah. The words went straight to my cock and I pictured Felicia naked in my bed, her dark hair spread across my white linen sheets.

  “Look at this,” I said to my brother. “She wants to have sex with me.”

  “You shouldn’t be reading that.” But Sean took the tablet anyway and said, “Damn. She’s definitely DTF. Down to fuck. Plan accordingly.”

  I reached down and picked up my glass. I couldn’t sit back down. I had a hard-on now. “She’s crazy, isn’t she? That has to be the catch.” It seemed too good to be true.

  “For wanting to have sex with you? Definitely.”

  “Shut up, dick. You know what I mean.”

  “Oh, for sure,” he said, cheerfully. “Beautiful, single, lies easily. You could definitely wind up with a stalker.”

  That made me roll my eyes. “That seems like an overreaction.”

  “Crazy women are great in bed. Just enjoy the ride before she starts slowly and methodically ruining your life.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” I wasn’t actually worried about anything. I was excited. Intrigued.

  “Her friends are mostly telling her not to have sex except the one is saying she can’t really give advice on restraint since she had sex with her fiancé after he gave her a ride home.” Sean looked up at me. “My kind of girl.”

  I gave a soft laugh. “Someday you’re going to fall head over ass for a woman and I’m going to love watching you squirm and resist.” I reached out for the tablet. “And you’re right—we shouldn’t be reading those.”