Page 19 of Undercover Billionaire

"Wait a second." Kaitlyn strained to look back at the shop. "Why did she call youMr. Drake?"

"Oh, you know, that’s just how she talks. Adding Mr. or Miss to everyone’s name. Don’t you call her Miss Ida?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Makes perfect sense. So anyways, where to now? Want to practice some more?"

"No! I mean, no, it's not necessary." Yet even as she protested, her body countered it was quite necessary, not to mention desirable, delicious and– She cleared her throat. Deep down, a small part recognized he had once again manipulated the conversation to his liking, but the rest was too caught up in the thought ofpracticeto even notice.

"What about your apartment?" He changed the subject as they reached the Porsche. He opened the door for her, then folded his oversized body into the driver’s seat. "Won't Cynthia find it odd it doesn't contain one picture of the two of us?"

Yes, they would. "I can’t believe I didn’t think of that," she admitted. "I told Cynthia about all our activities, and she’s going to want the pictures to prove it. How are we going to get years of pictures in one afternoon?"

"Do you have a camera and a decent photo printer?" Drake turned the key in the ignition, revving the luxury car to life. He backed out of the spot.

"Yes, but how is that going to help?" she replied. "What do you want to do? Recreate every moment of our fictitious affair in photogenic glory?"

"Exactly."

Not exactly.“Greenfield is a small town. If we visit the local businesses, we’ll run into dozens of people I know.”

“That is a problem.” He deftly maneuvered the car. “But there are lots of little towns not too far from here. Cynthia won’t know if we took pictures at a local restaurant or one twenty miles away. We’ll drive outside of Greenbeancasserole, far enough you shouldn’t run into anyone you know. Will that work?”

Probably not, however he did not wait for a response before merging onto the main street. After reminding him the name of the town wasnotGreenbeancasserole, she protested the entire way, but he countered every single one. She even tried to convince him to stop at a quick photo studio to get professional photos, but he refused. Cynthia would be expecting photos of them actually doing things, he argued, not just one set of studio photos.

She gave up after they stopped at home to pick up the camera. They grabbed a quick meal of croissant sandwiches from her shop and several changes of clothing, which were neatly folded in the back seat. Once again they were on the road, in search of locales for their impromptu photo shoot. "So what do we do together?” Drake inquired. “Where to, boss?"

She rolled her eyes at the ironic term. This man liked being the boss, not following one. "You are my personal assistant.” She thumped her chin. “Why don’t we film you shining my shoes, dusting my perfume bottles, polishing the silverware, massaging my feet, stuff like that?"

He winced in feigned horror. "I do not shine shoes or dust perfume bottles, and I positively, absolutely do not polish silverware."

She couldn’t stop a giggle, and his expression darkened further, although he wasn’t truly angry. Suddenly he lightened, a devious expression replacing the horror.

Uh-oh.

"However–" He moved in. "I do massage feet. In addition, I have never gotten any complaints about my skills in massaging…"

"Don't you dare say it!" Kaitlyn hissed. Yet her body was already responding to the subtle hint his words promised. Unwanted images flooded her mind, of his hands on her body, blazing trails down her arms, her legs, her chest,otherplaces. She closed her eyes against the visions, willed them to retreat. They remained in vivid glory.

"Backs," he finished gracefully. "I give great back massages. They are very good for relieving tension." He smiled wickedly. "You look a little flushed. What did you think I meant?”

"Absolutely nothing." The man was absolutely infuriating. "No pictures of you giving me a massage. Anywhere."

He didn't have the decency to appear the slightest bit abashed. "All right, although I must tell you, I have been rated as one of the top masseuses in–"

"Can we just drop the massage thing?" She didn't care how terse she sounded or how obvious his effect on her. "Can't we talk about something like colors or the weather or mud or something?”

The amusement in his eyes deepened, and she pressed on, "As for our activities, I told Cynthia you take me to romantic dinners, the movies, carnivals, parties, dancing, mini-golf…"

"Mini-golf?" He smiled and shook his head. "Only in Greengoat."

"Greenfield," she growled. “And remember, we’re not in Greenfield anymore.”

"Mini-golf it is." He winked. "Then to the movies, the carnival, the dancing clubs and all the romantic restaurants in town. Sound good?"

"Sounds impossible."

He grinned wider. “My dear, we are just getting started.”

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