Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone Read online

  I bit my bottom lip. He was going to want to help me upstairs because he was surprisingly kind. And I was going to want to invite him in. Which would be bad. Because there was really only one thing I wanted from Grant Caldwell and it wasn’t the hundred bucks that he refused to take back. I was well aware he’d tucked it back in my pocket when he was elevating my ankle.

  He wasn’t my type. I wasn’t his type.

  Wealthy businessmen and admittedly bohemian actresses do not have relationships.

  But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have passion.

  I kind of wanted to make out with Grant, old school, given how teen my crush was.

  I should lie, say I lived on the first floor so he’d walk me to the front door and nothing more. I opened my mouth. My inner flirt won the fight as I told the truth.

  “I live on the fifth floor.”

  “Is there an elevator?”

  “No. It’s a lot of stairs. Like, a lot.” Subtle. Not.

  “Then let me help you upstairs.”

  Okay, then. One last question. “Are you married?” I asked as I hobbled to the front of my building. He didn’t wear a wedding band but I’d learned that really didn’t mean much when it came to men.

  Grant actually snorted. “No. And no plans of it, ever.”

  Aha. We actually did have something in common. I didn’t really see myself getting married either. Who would I marry? Another actor who would be competing with me for attention? No, thanks. I wasn’t going to settle down, have kids, and move to Long Island ever, so that also eliminated a ton of potential candidates. And a rich guy wasn’t going to happen because I’d already spent most of my adult life having an imbalance of power with friends due to being perpetually broke. There was no way I was going to have a sugar daddy talking down to me because he paid for dinner.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked then. So the marriage one hadn’t actually been my last question. Sue me.

  “Nope. Not even dating someone casually. Why?”

  It was obvious he knew why I was asking. His hand was still in mine and he was lightly stroking the inside of my palm with his thumb, the tempting bastard.

  “Because I don’t think it would be cool for you to help me inside if you’re in a relationship. That’s getting a bit too personal. And I want you to help me inside.”

  His nostrils flared. “I totally agree. So that means you’re single too.”

  It wasn’t a question. He seemed confident. I nodded. “Single AF.”

  “I would love to help you inside.”

  Yeah, baby. Dessert before lunch. Could I get any luckier? Aside from the sprained ankle and the lost work shift, that is. But I tried to remember the last time I’d had sex and nothing immediately came to mind.

  Then I recalled with a wave of horror. Halloween the year before. I had been dating a guy for a month and I had been enjoying getting to know him. Until he’d passed out drunk while still inside me, then when I had rolled over, he had roused himself just enough to throw up on my back and shoulder.

  The memory still made me shudder. I needed that to not be where my sexuality died.

  I punched a number into the keypad for the front door. “You know I’ve been flirting with you for six months, right?”

  He nodded, tugging a little on the bottom of his beard. “I suspected something. But for all I know you’re practicing for a rom-com audition.”

  I yanked open the door and tilted my head. “Fair enough.”

  My “Hi, Grant!” bit every week could potentially lead him to believe I was not entirely sincere. “You’ve never seemed really into me though. Which is fine. But you’re kind of hard to read. Give me a cue.”

  “Is this you working on being direct? Like when you were practicing making eye contact?” he asked dryly.

  “It’s not an act. I’m asking as me.”

  Grant stared at me. His eyes were that rare green that something like two percent of humans have and they were narrowed now as he studied me. His hand came up and he cupped my cheek, which startled me.

  The world seemed to recede as he swept his gaze over my lips and back up to my eyes. “Leah.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t even like breakfast food.”

  Huh? “What do you mean?” Oh my God, was that my voice? I could hear the breathy arousal in my words. My heart was racing as I tried to puzzle out what he was saying, fully aware and super excited that we were about to have a moment. One of those “cameras zooms in as they stare into each other’s eyes on a city street” moments. “You eat pancakes every week.”

  “I come to the diner every Wednesday to see you.”

  “Oh. You do?” I was legit going to swoon. Because, what? I had no idea. None. Zero. “But… you don’t flirt back.”

  “Because I am trying to resist temptation.” His thumb ran over my bottom lip. “Or, I was anyway.”

  He was very close to me. I could count his beard hairs if I wanted to. Which I didn’t. I wanted to kiss him.

  He beat me to it.

  Grant lowered his head and kissed me first.

  I’ve kissed men for plays. I’ve kissed men on impulse. I’ve waited for kisses, trying to be mature. I’ve had mediocre kisses and meh kisses and great kisses.

  This kiss was phenomenal.

  It started off strong, and only got better. It was chocolate martinis and crepes in Paris. It was decadent and rich and had my eyes falling closed and my mouth drifting open.

  Grant’s tongue swept inside to tease at mine, his fingers caressing my cheeks. I could smell his cologne, feel the press of his chest against mine, hear the crush of our clothes. My body felt like liquid, oozing into him, nipples hardening, a sharp ache blooming between my thighs.

  I raised my arms, entwining them around the back of his neck, and went on tiptoes to better align my lips with his. The kiss deepened, went on and on, soft breath and questing tongues. Grant made a sound in the back of his throat, a groan of both arousal and frustration.

  He broke away and I dropped back down to my heels, panting, staring up at him.

  What the hell was that?

  “Am I still taking you upstairs?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  I could feel his hard cock brushing against my stomach. His seemingly large cock, thick, like his shoulders.

  Um, the answer would be yes.

  I knew what he was asking. This would probably go further than a kiss if he went into my apartment. I had absolutely zero hesitation. “Yes.”

  The tension in his shoulders released and the corner of his mouth turned up in a naughty, sly smile. “I can’t wait to hear your definition of filthy.”

  Whoa. I just might be in over my head. I liked it. No, I loved it.

  Now this was spicing up a day. This was drama. This was an entrance, stage left.

  “I can’t wait to hear my definition of filthy either,” I said.

  Without warning, he bent over and picked me up in his arms, my poodle skirt bunching up in front of my chest, the unexpected movement making me dizzy. He started toward the stairs and the front door he’d been propping open with his foot slammed shut with a heavy thud.

  Grant Caldwell the third was taking me upstairs. Grant Caldwell the third hated pancakes and had been coming to the diner just to see me. I might think it was a load of complete bullshit except I had seen him eat. It was like the pancakes had personally insulted him.

  Even if he hadn’t been coming to the diner just to see me, what difference did it make? He clearly wanted me now and I wanted him.

  He took the stairs like Rocky without the jabs. He didn’t even slow down as he climbed flight after flight. Someone did Crossfit and it wasn’t me.

  “That was impressive,” I said when we finally got to my floor and I pointed to my apartment door. “503.”

  Grant was slightly winded, which was reassuring. Otherwise I might have had to default to Theresa’s cyborg theory, because the stairs were narrow and steep. Though beyond the ma
rginally increased breathing, he didn’t appear to be struggling. I fished my apartment key out of my skirt pocket and held it up for him to see.

  “Can you set me down so I can open the door?” I would have liked to have just hung out in his arms forever but I figured his biceps deserved a break.

  He did set me down but he took the key from my hand and put it into the lock and turned. He pushed the door open and gestured for me to enter first.

  Which was good, because you had to enter the apartment single file. There was a theme to our apartment and it was “slim.” Everything about it was very narrow. It was a bit like living in a tunnel, given there were only two windows at the front and both were behind the closed doors of my roommates.

  “Welcome to the glamorous life of a wannabe actress,” I said, gesturing to my kitchenette, which was a baby stove, a dorm fridge, a sink the size of a bird bath, and exactly no countertops. There were two shelves on the wall that held our glassware and plates. Immediately to the right of the kitchenette and the front door was the bathroom, which had an odd step up. It reminded me of the bathroom on the cruise I took with my parents at eighteen to Cozumel.

  Grant was glancing around to take it all in. That took about two seconds. “Where is the living room?”

  “We don’t have one. My room was probably originally the living room but they put this wall up and now it’s a three bedroom instead of just two. More economical. For everyone.”

  “I applaud the concept of keeping rent affordable.”

  Grant looked crowded in the hallway, to my amusement. I opened my bedroom door and hobbled in. The pain in my ankle was bad but not intolerable. I figured I would just pop some ibuprofen, rest a few days, and I’d be good to go. It didn’t feel odd to lead him straight to my room because there was nowhere else to go. Besides, that’s where my makeshift medicine cabinet was under my loft-style bed.

  For the most part I didn’t even think about what my room was lacking. It was a place to lay my head, nothing more. But taking Grant into my windowless cave made me aware of how much of a dorm room feel it had. It was what it was. I was proud of the fact that I had managed to survive the city as long as I had. It had chewed up and spit out a lot of my peers back in the day.

  Except for the Fab Five. Five of us who had met at an audition at eighteen were all still besties and all still living in the city. Most of the others had disappeared over the years.

  “It’s cozy,” Grant said.

  He sounded a little concerned, I’m not going to lie. He was trying to be brave, but at the same time he looked scandalized. He put his arms out like a wing span. “I can touch both walls. Reminds me of my time on the ship.”

  That gave me pause in reaching into my top drawer of the slender chest of drawers hugging the base of my bed. “The ship?”

  He nodded. “I was deployed for nine months.”

  “You were in the navy?” I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  Grant was removing his suit jacket and he paused to give me a grin. “Don’t sound so surprised. I wanted discipline and focus. I grew up with lots of material advantages but no guidance. I needed to figure myself out. And I did.”

  “I’m impressed.” I was. How many kids raised with wealth just went off to college and partied with their parents’ money? He smiled and it was a charming, slow, seductive smile that made my nipples harden. Damn it, he was so good looking and it had been ages since I’d been with a guy, and Grant had layers. He was successful, hot, kind, and now I knew he’d served his country.

  I so wanted to have sex with him. But my mother’s lessons on being a proper host sprung up out of pure habit. “I’m glad to hear you’re comfortable in small spaces. Can I get you anything to drink?” I pulled out a pill bottle.

  Grant shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you. Let me go get you a water so you can take that ibuprofen you’re clutching.” He hung his jacket on the doorknob.

  I had a water bottle on a shelf that acted as a nightstand. “I’ll just use this.” I picked it up and took a sip and swallowed the pills I shook into my hand.

  “Then you should get off your feet and onto the bed. It looks like you need a boost up.”

  In order to have storage underneath, it was a platform bed and it did require I launch myself up. I wouldn’t mind having Grant do the honors. “Thanks. You should probably retrieve your very crumpled tie.”

  Grant stepped in front of me. No, he stalked in front of me. He owned the space and his movements. Without his jacket on I could see even further how muscular his arms and shoulders were and I swallowed hard. He put his hands on my waist. His giant man hands practically spanned the width of my body.

  He startled me by closing the distance between us and brushing a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and then the other. A shiver rolled through me. He shook his head as he stared into my eyes, looking amused. “I don’t give a fuck about my tie right now.”

  Good. Because I didn’t really either.

  Before I could formulate a response, he lifted me up and dropped my ass down onto my mattress. Then he bent over, the upper half of his body disappearing over the volume of my work uniform. Oh my God, was he just diving under my skirt? I hoped it was a deep dive.

  My heart started to race but he picked up my foot, removed my shoe and sock, then went to the injured ankle. His touch was gentle as he removed that shoe and sock, then unwound his tie from around my joint.

  Grant straightened up and tossed his tie onto my floor. Then he said, “Make room for me,” and jumped up onto the mattress next to me. He invaded my space entirely.

  Given my small apartment and twin bed, I didn’t usually bring men home. This was why. I felt like we were two kids sneaking off after a play at summer camp. It was a lot of man on a small bed. The fact that he was wearing a suit made it even more ludicrous. At least I had made my bed that morning though I was regretting the decorative pillow that said “good vibes.” I’d had it for years and now it felt like it was further contributing to the dorm room look.

  While Grant was untying his shoes (I was no expert but hello, Italian leather), I grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room.

  “What was that for?” he asked, amused.

  “Too many pillows for two people.”

  “True. I’m not planning to take a nap.” He kicked his shoes off.

  Unlike me, his feet skimmed the floor. Mine were dangling in the air.

  “You need to elevate your ankle,” he said. “Legs up, Leah.”

  Grant took my knees and hauled my legs up. I automatically turned so I was positioned along the length of the bed and it just felt normal to go onto my back. I wanted to giggle like a teenager.

  A grin must have split my face because as Grant moved in alongside of me, he asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “This. You. Me. This insanely small bed. The fact that it’s eleven in the morning.”

  “It is kind of crazy, isn’t it?” He ran his finger over my bottom lip. “Should we stop?”

  “Oh, hell no. I didn’t mean that.”

  Grant laughed softly. “Good.”

  I just wanted him to take charge. He was being very kind and polite and thank God he was, or I wouldn’t be cool with him being in my apartment. But now I wasn’t sure I could just attack him. Not when the urge to giggle was so strong. I really needed him to just do this thing. Be alpha.

  Maybe he read that in my expression. Or maybe he would have done it anyway. He certainly gave the general impression of being domineering. Whatever the reason, Grant took over. “Take your hair down,” he commanded.

  I reached up and yanked out my hair tie with more power than finesse. I shook it loose and Grant smoothed it down on my right side, running his fingers through it, pulling it out and studying the strands.

  He met my gaze. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that, don’t you? I’ve wanted to see your hair down for months.”

  For being an actress and needing to read people, I had failed miserably
with Grant. I had never once gotten that sense from him. I hadn’t been sure what his deal was but I didn’t think that he’d given any thought to me other than maybe being slightly amused by me.

  “I’ve wanted to see you out of a suit for months,” I said.

  “Really?” Grant shifted his touch from my hair to caressing down the length of my arm.

  He laced his fingers through mine, which surprised me. It was surprisingly intimate. Tender.

  Then he flipped the script by tugging my arm up over my head and pinning it there. Desire shot through me, my nipples hardening. My tight uniform sweater didn’t hide that fact. I realized how ridiculous it was I had my name badge on. He was clearly having the same thought because his free hand skimmed over it.

  “Leah.” He undid the clasp on the back of it. “Leah what?”

  Who cared? He was driving me crazy, hovering over me, like we had all the time in the world, his grip on my hand over my head causing my chest to rise. But I answered him, because I wanted him to stop talking and start touching. “Romano.”

  “Leah Romano. I like it.” Grant pulled the name tag out from the sweater and closed the clasp again. He tucked it into his pants pocket.

  I was about to ask him why the hell he was stealing my name badge when he bent over and kissed me again. I forgot everything I had planned to say, ever, about anything. I forgot I was a waitress, that my room had no window, that I wasn’t sure how I was going to afford a ticket to Buffalo for Christmas to see my parents, or that I needed to discuss with my roommate Javier his irritating habit of using my washcloth to clean up his shaving whiskers.

  I forgot everything.

  All I knew was Grant’s mouth on mine and his fingers entwined with mine. There was nothing but right then and right there, him and me in my cozy bed.

  His arm brushed mine as he swept his tongue between my lips. It was a hot, skilled, confident kiss. The kiss of a man who knows exactly who he is. It was the kiss that a man gave a woman when he wanted her. It was a kiss that showed no doubt as to our chemistry. His grip on my hand tightened and I reached out and skimmed my hand across his chest. His hard, muscular chest.