She tried to say it back, but she was too close to climax. She made a little sobbing sound and came. He came right after her, and she didn’t find her voice again until she’d collapsed on top of him.
“I love you too,” she whispered. “So much.”
He stroked her hair. “Good.”
It didn’t seem to matter that they were hot and sweaty now and the bed and their bodies were wet with their fluids. They lay tangled together until they both drifted off to sleep.
Ruth didn’t sleep long. Barely half an hour. She was relaxed and sated and just as happy as before when she woke up again.
She giggled in the quiet room.
Carter laughed. “You’re never going to stop doing that, are you?”
“No. Probably not. Do you want me to?” She lifted her head to check his face.
There was no way not to see the adoration in his eyes. “Never stop.”
She promised him she wouldn’t, and that was a promise she never broke.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you haven’t yet read them, be sure to check out A Wedded Arrangement (about Lance and Savannah) and Wrong Wedding (about Lincoln and Summer). My next release will be another fake marriage/relationship romance, Purchased Husband. You can read an excerpt from it on the following pages.
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Excerpt from Purchased Husband
WHEN I WALK INTO AN Atlanta coffee shop the following day and see the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, I figure that’s got to be Damian.
Aurora from Companions for Hire showed me pictures of him when we discussed my needs. Tall and well-built with broad shoulders, long legs, and lean hips. Dark hair. Striking blue-green eyes. The perfectly chiseled features of a model for upscale cologne or luxury cars. The pictures were great, but also rather unreal. I could aesthetically see the man is handsome, but he didn’t really do it for me.
And that’s fine. I’m not looking for a guy who does it for me. I just want a man who will suit my practical needs. The truth is, until this moment, I was taking some comfort in the fact that this man is attractive but not likely to attract me.
I was wrong. Holy hell, I was wrong.
He looks like a real person as he’s sitting there in a corner table. (Despite the fact that the place is crowded on a Sunday afternoon, he’s somehow managed to snag the best seat.) He’s dressed simply in jeans and a black crewneck, and he’s focused down on his phone. He’s relaxed. Reading. He lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, and the move highlights the well-defined muscles in his arm.
And my whole body wakes up. My eyes. My mouth. My lungs. The blood in my veins. The female parts between my legs that really shouldn’t be this awake in the middle of a coffee shop.
Shit.
What the hell?
I wouldn’t have picked out this guy if I’d known he could make a girl feel like this from nothing more than an initial glance across a crowded room. I thought he was too perfect to be sexy to me.
I’m standing there like a dope, clutching the strap to my leather bag, when he glances up and sees me. I’m not sure why he knows I’m the person he’s supposed to meet. Yes, I’m staring at him dazedly, but a guy this hot must get that regularly.
He knows it’s me though. He stands up with a smile.
It takes a couple of seconds for my body to obey my mind, but I manage to walk over to his table.
“Melody Clarke?” he says in a pleasantly husky baritone.
“Yep. That’s me.” I gesture away the hand he’s extended. I’m not a hand-shaker, and I’m definitely not going to risk touching this guy. I give him a little wave instead as I take the chair opposite his. “You’re Damian Winters?”
“Yes.” He’s sitting down too. Some men think it’s rude that I won’t shake their hands, but his eyebrows are arched, and one corner of his mouth gives a little twitch, like he might be amused. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I feel breathless and flushed, which isn’t at all like me. I’m well-known for being straightforward and unflappable. So I jump past preliminaries and get right down to business. “Aurora told me all about you. She said you would suit my needs perfectly.”
“I hope so. I’m more than willing to give it a try.” His eyes are scanning my face and occasionally dropping down to my body. I can’t tell from his expression what he thinks of my appearance.
Everything about me is medium. It always has been. I didn’t dress up for this meeting, so I’m wearing black yoga pants, a fitted T-shirt, and a gray zip-up hoodie, which is the kind of outfit I pretty much live in. My brown hair (medium length) is pulled back in a low ponytail. I’m not wearing any makeup.
If he was hoping for a beauty queen or a sex goddess, he’s going to be disappointed.
I remind myself he’s probably not hoping for anything but to get paid at the end of his job, and I press on. “Okay. Here’s what I need.”
His eyebrows are dark and just a little thicker than they should be. I notice it because it’s one of the few parts of his body I can see that aren’t perfect. They arch up again, as if my no-nonsense style surprises and amuses him. “I’m listening.”
“I need someone to act like my husband for six months. I’m sure Aurora has told you. We don’t actually have to get married. It’s not going to matter, since no one is likely to check into marriage registrations. You just need to pretend to be my husband on the weekends when we go up to Charleston, West Virginia and visit my mom and her new husband’s family. She’s got a bunch of events planned—showers and parties and such. And sometimes we’ll just go to visit. Then the wedding of course. That’s in four months. And I figure we better keep it up for a couple of months after that, although once they’re married there won’t be any more events."
Damian nods. “Okay. That sounds easy enough. Aurora said you had a tricky family issue. Do you mind if I ask what it is? Why do you need a husband so much you’re willing to pay for one?”
It’s a perfectly natural question. Anyone would ask it. And there’s nothing rude or intrusive about his tone or expression. But I feel my defenses rising anyway. I’m a private person, and this man is a stranger. “It’s complicated.”
His eyebrows lifted even higher, and his eyes drop. “Okay.”
I’m not sure why, but his mild response makes me feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him. It’s very annoying, and the discomfort is not like me at all. “It’s just that my mom’s new husband is very... traditional. Opinionated. And kind of manipulative, I guess. His granddaughters told me that he’s got a bad habit of putting pressure on people. To get married.”
“I’d guess there are a lot of people out there still like that. Why does it matter?”
“It matters because my mom is happy. Really happy. And she’s never really been happy before. If there’s conflict between me and Pop—that’s what everyone calls her fiancé—then she’s not going to stay happy. So I thought...” I shake my head and stare down at the table. “Maybe it’s stupid. It probably is. But I thought if I was already married, then it wouldn’t be an issue at all. He wouldn’t try to pressure me. My mom wouldn’t be caught in the middle. It would fix things. I need her to be happy.”