Page 6 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
He has no idea what I'm capable of.
"Besides, it's only for a few days, and I'm making it worth your while, aren't I?"
Yeah, and I'm paying a big enough price for it. But I don't say that aloud.
In a daze, I turn toward the door, making to leave when his voice calls out, "You'll need the right clothes, won't you? I'll arrange for a credit card."
Right. Credit card. I half turn, sure this time I look plain baffled.
"You'll be fine, Sienna," he says in a gruff voice.
The sound of my name on his lips feels strangely intimate.
What have I gotten myself into?
3
Jace
* * *
Later that evening
"Fuck." Jace swears as the barbell almost slips from his hands. His muscles are tired after an hour of intense exercise. Yet, the workout session has not cleared his mind. Gleaming amber eyes haunt him, along with images of lush auburn hair rippling down her back, making him want to curl the thick strands around his palm.
The photographs the PI had shown Jace had not done Sienna justice.
For one thing, they hadn't hinted at that black coffee and vanilla scent of her. Or that curvy waist, or the hips that flared so seductively that his attention had gone right there and stayed. Part angry, part innocent, she was all liquid fire. An intense urge to lean in and taste the skin at the hollow of her neck had gripped him. The force of his desire taking him by surprise.
And when his eyes had traveled back to her face, he'd found her cheeks flushed. The rapid rise and fall of her chest showing that he'd been affecting her, too.
The force of the attraction was so strong; he'd almost withdrawn his proposition. If he spent time with her, he'd end up sleeping with her. It's inevitable. Perhaps that's all it is. Lust. He must take her to bed and get it over with. Jace plans to do that at the first possible opportunity.
His mind made up, Jace places the barbell with the weights back on the rack, and then sits up.
Reaching for the towel, he wipes away the sweat running down his forehead. As he glugs down water from his bottle, his eyes take in the men around him in the small, sweaty gym not far from The 99.
A few blocks away from his penthouse and it's a different reality. A slightly rundown area of the city. Jace had specifically chosen this gym for its no-frills feel. An honest-to-goodness workout space, with a boxing ring at the center where two of his friends are going a few rounds. He winces when Eric gets in a punch at Damian.
Damian's upper body snaps back from the force of the blow. He springs right back, holding up his fists to guard his face. Damian takes the hammering, but Jace knows it's unwise to underestimate him. Damian's as mean in the ring as on stage, able to hold his own against his fighting opponent as ably as he holds the attention of crowds at his concert.
"Ouch, that must hurt."
Jace looks up as his friend Arpad walks up to him, wearing a cut off T-shirt with blotches of sweat on the chest.
"Nice color," Jace smirks. "Brings out the blue of your eyes."
"Oh." Arpad looks down at the light blue of his shirt. "One of my team-members may have gifted it to me."
"Do they always do that? Give you little tokens in the hope of winning your affection?"
Arpad's name had recently appeared on the top 40-under-40 list of bankers in the country. He's no less famous than Damian in his own field.
"Girls," Arpad cuts the air with the underside of his palm. The gesture's elegant, and would have looked feminine coming from anyone else. From Arpad it seems eloquent, and as European as the country he comes from.
“Those two don't like each other, do they?" asks a husky voice as Karina swaggers over to join them.
She wears stretch pants and a low cut sports-bra that shows off her sculpted abs. The sweat on her forehead makes her skin glow.
