Page 116 of Charming Deception

Most women I date know everything there is to know about my family before we even meet. Though it’s not like she’d find much about my siblings online, even if she looked for it. Just the occasional, unsubstantiated gossip article.

But Megan Hudson isn’t most women. She’s so down-to-earth, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s never read a celebrity gossip article in her life.

“I know you don’t want to get married,” she says, instead of prying about my family. “But have you ever been in a serious, longterm relationship? You already know about my one and only.”

“No. Nothing serious, or longterm.”

“Then I guess I’ll be the first.” She smiles halfway. “I mean, if you consider a fake, one-year engagement serious and longterm.”

“You really don’t know much about me?”

“Just what you’ve told me. I never looked up your relationship history online or anything.” She fiddles with her new ring. “Full disclosure, though, my friend Nicole did. I guess most of what came up were all the salacious headlines about your dating life.”

“That’s unfortunate.” I grimace. “But like I told you, that’s all marketing.”

She sassily raises an eyebrow. “All?”

“Most. And like I told you, much of marketing is an illusion.”

“Hmm.” She presses her soft lips together in exaggerated disbelief, like she’s calling my bullshit.

However, I’m not bullshitting her.

I’ve been with a generous amount of women, sure, but I haven’t screwed ninety percent of the women I’ve been photographed with. I may be a “playboy” and a bachelor, and I do love sex, but I’m not that promiscuous. The social juggling act I’d have to perform to keep that many women on the line is mind bending. I suppose it’s some sort of backhanded compliment that anyone thinks I’m that much of a lothario?

But the way I see it, it’s just good publicity for our brands—our hotels and resorts, our nightclubs, our liquor companies—for me to be seen in the right places with the right people, living a certain kind of life.

At least, usually it’s good publicity.

But tell that to Graysen.

It’s bad enough he buys into all the shit he sees about me online, as soon as he feels it’s a net negative for him. Now my fiancée’s falling for it? And giving me static about it?

No.

That’s not how this rolls.

And I need her to know it.

We may not be fucking, but for the next year, the deal is I’m her man. That means she gets her information about me from me, not the fucking internet.

I drop my voice low. “Do you enjoy spankings, Megan?”

Her response is almost comically delayed. Then her eyes go wide. “Pardon me?”

“Spankings. Do you like it when your lover puts you over his knee and spanks you when you’ve sassed him? Or do you prefer that he gets down on his knees and grovels for your approval like a puppy?”

Her mouth drops open.

Then her eyes narrow, sparking amber fire. “Why, Jameson? Do you like spankings?”

“Giving, yes. Very much, under the right circumstances.”

Her cheeks are turning pink. Much like her ass cheeks will, when I spank them. “And what would those circumstances be?”

“Maybe we’ll find out. In the future.”

Her whole face flushes pink. I can practically feel her pulse racing from here.

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