Page 20 of Faking it with the Billionaire
“I have a list on my desk, but I haven’t narrowed it down. I still need to do background on them.”
“I’ll do that,” she says a little too quickly.
“Good. Oh, also, tonight I’m having a few of the guys from the team over—”
“You want me to get lost. I get it.” She nods. “What time should I plan on coming back?”
I’m surprised that she thinks I want her gone when my teammates come over for drinks. “Actually, I’d like you to be here when they arrive.”
“To watch Bristol?” she guesses. “You remember that I’m not really your daughter’s nanny and—”
“I know,” I say with a heavy sigh and head down the stairs. She’s right on my heels, even though she has to hurry to keep up with me. She’s got little legs compared to mine. It’s cute how tiny she is. “Maybe tonight, we tell the guys the truth—that you’re my girlfriend.”
She’s silent, and I glance at her over my shoulder as I reach the landing in the hallway.
“Is that a problem?” I ask.
Is she having second thoughts about our arrangement? I haven’t deposited the first payment into her bank account. Not until we’re publicly acknowledged will she receive a transfer to her account. I need to know that she’s not backing out.
She smiles, but it’s forced. Anyone can see right through it, which means she’s going to have to work on our fake relationship. “Of course not.”
Her hand grips the banister of the second to last stair, white-knuckled.
She’s having doubts, but I’m not sure if it’s because we’re lying to my daughter or if there’s something else she’s not telling me.
I’m sure this won’t be easy for her, being the center of attention for a while, but that’s why I’m paying her adequately to compensate her for the headaches that go with being in a relationship with me. Not that I’d have to pay someone to really be in a relationship, but this is fake.
She takes one step down, and we’re the same height. My hand grazes her hip, pulling her tight against me, my lips crushing hers, proving to her that we can do this. It’s as much an attempt to prove to myself that I’m not making an even bigger mistake.
Emerson is rigid, and everything with her feels forced. No doubt even Bristol will see through the farce.
Emerson’s lips are sealed. She doesn’t grant me entrance past her mouth. It’s a chaste kiss.
If this is going to work, I need more from her. It’s obvious there’s an attraction. I won’t deny the fact that she’s gorgeous and sexy, and I’m certain she feels something for me. Most women throw themselves at my feet.
But Emerson is different.
What makes her tick?
She does like men, right?
Maybe she’s not into sweet. Some girls like the bad boys. The rough, unrefined ones who they know are bad news. Is that her type? Or something in between?
It shouldn’t matter. This is nothing more than an arrangement. But I want to know what drives Emerson wild. She’s too buttoned up and stuffy.
How the hell was she ever an FBI agent? I certainly don’t see her playing undercover if she can’t even pretend to kiss me like she means it.
Unless it’s me.
She’s just not attracted to me. I don’t rev her engine like other guys.
My heart pounds in my chest. Imagining her with another man makes my blood boil. Who is this other man? Why would she let him kiss her? I tug my fingers into her hair, fisting her long locks, and tilt her neck back, guiding her mouth farther up toward me, taking control.
She gasps, slightly taken aback by my forcefulness, and her lips part.
I take it as an opportunity to explore her mouth, her lips, and her tongue.
This time, she’s not as cold and rigid as the first graze of our lips. She melts into my touch, her fingers fisting my shirt, tightening her hold against me as she succumbs to her desires.
