Chapter 18
Megan
“Hello.” My voice shakes slightly.
I stand in the middle of Jameson’s grand foyer, feeling small as I try to discreetly wipe my damp palms on my dress.
Jameson is walking toward me, backlit by the evening sun that pours through the open living room walls to his backyard. He’s come in from the back patio, after his big bodyguard with the neck tattoos and the iron jaw went to tell him that I’m here.
He’s tousling his wet hair with a towel, his sleek, muscled body damp. He wears nothing but a pair of light-blue swim trunks that match his striking eyes and cling to him wetly.
I’m not sure what to do with my eyes, which are desperately trying to fuck him.
“Megan.” His gaze slides from my face to my chest, to the backpack and two suitcases by my feet. One secured with red bungees, one with the Gucci logo all over it.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening. I should’ve called first.”
I’m not sure why I didn’t.
Maybe I was just too nervous, too uncomfortable with the idea of him knowing I was on my way over, and having time to prepare.
To prepare what?
Maybe I just wanted us to be on slightly more even ground.
But standing here, staring at him with his thin swim trunks glued to his obviously more-than-ample package, it hits me that there’s really nothing I can do to even the playing field with this man. Jameson Vance has the entire upper hand in pretty much everything, from his beauty to his wealth. He could show up wearing a garbage bag and I’d still feel intimidated.
“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.” He brushes the towel up and down his arms, then swipes it across his chest and down his abs as I try not to gawk. Jesus, though, the man is eye candy. “Do you mind if I have a quick shower? I feel underdressed.” His gaze wanders down my sundress again.
It’s the cutest one I own, a pale terra-cotta color that goes well with my eyes, with a fitted bodice and a ruffled skirt. The one I was wearing when I met him.
I realize belatedly that he’s complimented me.
“Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry. I really should’ve?—”
“It’s fine. Just wait here. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll have Clara get you a drink.”
“Uh, I really can’t go anywhere.” While we’ve been talking, his tattooed bodyguard whisked my bags away. Maybe he has standing orders to seize them on sight. “One of your ninjas kinda took my bags, so…”
It’s not like I can’t go get them; I know where my guest room is.
But I came here for a reason, and I’m not planning to go anywhere.
* * *
Clara ushers me along the hallway that leads into what she calls “Mr. Vance’s private wing.” At the end of the long hall, there’s a foyer, smaller than the house’s main foyer, with a grand staircase leading up.
On the far side of the foyer, beyond the staircase, is a set of wide double doors.
Jameson’s office.
I’ve only been here once. When I tossed mud around and quit the job he’d hired me to do.
I cringe a little at the memory of how Clara had to chase me in here because I was so upset about Romeo being fired that I ignored her when she asked me to stop.
Now, Clara shows no sign of holding a grudge. She simply opens the doors to the office and leads me through to a sitting room that’s off to the right side, through a grand archway. I politely decline her offer of a beverage, and she leaves me there to wait for Jameson.
While I wait, I pace around the room, peeking at the few framed photographs on the mantel over the fireplace. Jameson and his family. There are a few of him and his siblings, casual photos taken at black-tie events. And there’s one of all five of them as children, with a couple who must be their parents. Their father in the photograph looks a lot like Jameson’s brother Graysen does now.
Jameson looks more like their mom, with similar light-brown, almost blondish, hair.
“I should probably update those.”
I startle a little when Jameson enters the room. I didn’t hear him coming. His hair is still damp, but he’s dressed in linen lounge pants and a white T-shirt, both of which showcase his strong, muscled body. His feet are bare. “Those photos are all a few years old,” he explains.
He does look younger in the images. He’s smiling broadly in all of them.
I wonder if he smiled more back then or if it’s just that he doesn’t smile much around me.
“I hope this is okay.” He gestures at his casual clothes. “I was trying to match your vibe.”
“Oh, god. Are we matching already?” I try to make light of the whole situation to calm my nerves. “Doesn’t that come at least a few years into a relationship?”
His eyes burn into me. “I didn’t realize we were in a relationship.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m here to accept your proposal.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but after the way he pursued me, maybe I thought he’d seem happier?
But all he says is “Have a seat,” and indicates one of the beautifully upholstered chairs.
I take a seat, and he takes the one facing me.
He studies me. “I was beginning to think I’d never win you over.”
“Honestly, everything you’ve done since I quit and walked out of here has won me over.” I pick at the hem of my dress, feeling even more nervous than I expected I would. “I didn’t think I wanted your help. I didn’t want my brother’s money, or yours, or your pity. The truth is I was embarrassed about the way I left Crooks Creek. I ran out in the night and never even told my ex I was going.” I blow out a breath, realizing how tightly I’ve been holding on to that truth.
“You did what you needed to do.”
“Yeah. I needed to start over. And I know I can do this on my own. But the thing is… The more you reached out to me and tried to convince me to give your offer a chance, the more I realized that I really have no good reason to say no.”
“You want a choice,” he says simply, “and you want to feel safe in the choice you make.”
I nod, feeling exposed and raw.
“It’s understandable that you wanted time to think it over.”
“Thank you.”
“So, your answer is yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s have a drink.”
I laugh nervously as he gets up and pours us both a glass of something over ice at the small bar in the corner. He hands me a glass and touches his to mine. “To our engagement.”
Shit.That really brings it home. This is getting very real.
Even though it’s fake.
“Yeah. To us,” I force out, and sip the drink. “Is this rye?”
“It is.” He settles back into his seat again, appearing totally comfortable with the situation, while I’m perched on the edge of my seat, tense as hell. “Do you like it?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been a whiskey drinker.”
“We just acquired the distillery. This is a new product.” He sips his, watching me over the rim of his glass. “I think there’s some room for improvement. But it might be nice to have my fiancée’s opinion on these things.”
I have no idea what to say to that. Or to him, now that it’s all settled. What the hell do I know about whiskey, or any of his business endeavors?
“So… that’s it? A one-year engagement, starting now?”
“That’s it. All I ask of you, other than playing the part of my devoted fiancée, is that you respect my family’s desire for privacy.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m not a gossip.”
“Good. My brother wants our happy relationship to be highly publicized. But other than that and the work I do with celebrities and the hockey team, my family prefers to stay completely out of the media.”
“I understand.”
“And what about you? Do you have any requests of me?”
Oh god. I can think of a few.
Most of them involve a lot less clothing than we’re currently wearing.
“Well… I guess it’s the same for me. I’m pretty introverted, and I value my privacy. But I’m not worried. I believe that you want me safe and secure. You know… like Cole does.”
I don’t know why I slip that in.
Maybe I’m taking his temperature.
He nods and sips his drink. “Well, the best way for me to ensure that you’re safe and secure is to keep you here, engaged to me.”
Yeah. A small, hot bubble within me bursts.
I brought it up. But maybe I’d hoped his response would be different.
Different, how?
He’s doing this for my brother, and for his.
It’s not personal.
I need to remember that, and make sure it doesn’t get personal for me. No catching feelings or romanticizing him, or getting swept away by all his Prince-Charming-to-the-rescue vibes. My heart needs to remain intact at the end of the year. He’s not looking for a wife, and I’m not looking for another broken heart.
For him, this is about his family’s expectations and his public image. For me, it’s about getting my new life on track.
That’s all.
However, I don’t want to lie to him. And I won’t lie to myself either. I won’t try to convince myself that things I know to be true are false.
I did that with Troy for so many years, and maybe it was a survival mechanism. But I don’t need to survive him anymore. I learned a long and painful lesson from those mistakes, but I learned.
I’d considered not bringing this up at all, but I don’t want this hot, unsettling thing in the room between us, unacknowledged. That seems not only dishonest but dangerous. I’ve definitely never experienced this kind of molten, magnetic attraction to a man I barely know. And now I’m about to suddenly be living with him, and fake dating him. Honesty, not to mention mutual respect, should be part of the arrangement.
So I scrape my courage together. “There is one thing that I’m fairly concerned about.”
“Then let’s talk about it. I want you be comfortable here, Megan. This is your home now.”
I struggle to swallow that. It’s still hard to digest.
“I find you very attractive,” I blurt. And then I just keep rambling. “That’s very weird to say out loud since you’re not my boyfriend, I’m not trying to pick you up or anything, you’re my brother’s best friend, and we just agreed to get engaged with no strings attached. But it’s the truth. And I thought you should know. Also, I have no game. I haven’t been single since I was seventeen. I’ve been with one guy in my whole life. He’s the only guy I’ve ever kissed, had sex with, lived with. This is going to be a steep learning curve for me. And I’m aware that you could’ve asked another woman who’s at least had more experience with relationships than I have to pretend to be your girl. You’re asking me to act like we’re dating and we’re in love, when I don’t even know what that is. It was so long ago that I felt… that I experienced…” I press my hands to my flushed, hot face. “God. I’m so uncool. Are you sure you want to tell everyone I’m your fiancée?”
I have no idea what he’s thinking, and it’s just making me more nervous. But at least he doesn’t seem revolted by everything I just said.
His blue eyes burn steadily into mine when he says, “Megan. Did it ever occur to you that’s why I chose you?”
I frown, confused. “You knew when you asked me to be your fiancée that I’ve only been with one guy?”
“Not exactly. Cole mentioned that you met him when you were seventeen. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“That,” he says gently, nodding at me. “That sweetness in you. That honesty. You’re a good person, and anyone can see that.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. Wait. But I thought your brother chose me.”
He sips his drink, then goes silent for a long, heated moment, as the muscle along his jaw dances.
Then he says, “He did,” with such distaste, it’s pretty clear he resents his brother telling him what to do.
And yet, he did it.
So maybe in a way… he did choose me?
We stare at each other.
As usual, I can feel his raw, potent male energy, his masculine ease and command of everything around him, his dominance choking out the air until I’m almost forgetting how to breathe. He’s elegant and alpha, so exquisitely male, my whole body hums when he’s near.
I feel way out of my depth, just sitting here, alone with him in this room.
No guy cares that much about his best friend’s sister unless he wants to rail her.
Damn. Nicole’s in my head, and I know there’s one more thing I have to ask.
“Um, about that other thing,” I say breathlessly. “You said we wouldn’t be having sex…?”
His eyes darken as he regards me. Is that his pupils enlarging? Like a predator sinking into the shadows on a hunt?
“We won’t be.” His voice is low and smoldering, or maybe it’s just my neglected lady parts hearing things. “For now.”
Okay, I heard that for sure. With my ears. “For now?”
“Why don’t we get to know each other a bit first?”
“That’s a good idea,” I choke out.
Wow. He really is a gentleman.
He reaches to set his empty glass on the table between us.
I sip my whiskey, my thoughts flying in so many directions at once, I can’t grab hold of a single one of them. My heart is racing and my core is warm. This is at once the most perplexing, thrilling, and unbelievable conversation I’ve ever had in my life.
“Something is still bothering you,” he points out, in that annoyingly delicious, bossy way of his. “What is it?”
I take a breath, and ask. “Are you being honest with me?”
“Of course.”
“That’s important to me.”
“It is for me, too. Relationships, of any kind, should be built on trust. It’s absolutely essential.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” I say hesitantly. “Because the last man I trusted really betrayed that trust, and it’s a big deal for me to go out on a limb here with you.”
“I’ll do everything I can to ensure that you feel the ground is solid beneath your feet. I’m a stable man. I won’t be throwing you any curveballs.”
I swirl the liquid in my glass, the melting ice. “He cheated on me,” I confess.
In the ensuing silence, I force myself to meet Jameson’s eyes. I should’ve done that when I said it, to gauge his reaction. How else will I know what kind of man he is when it comes to the subject of being unfaithful?
The eyes that meet mine burn with a restrained fury that takes my breath away. He leans toward me. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That I would do something like that to you?”
The tension in my chest loosens somewhat. The fact that he put it that way, acknowledged that to cheat on me is to do something to me, gives me hope that he understands. That Troy’s infidelity wasn’t just an act of betrayal and disloyalty, but aggression. He did it to hurt me as much as he did it to make himself feel good.
“I don’t want to be cheated on,” I confess. “I know this is a fake relationship, but that’s unfair. It would still humiliate me. It would still… hurt me.”
“I respect you too much for that. I know you have no way of knowing this is true, but I’m a man of my word. I’ve never cheated on a woman in my life, and I have no reason to do that to you.” His words feel sincere.
“Even though we’re not having sex?”
“Yes.”
“Which means… you won’t be having sex… at all.”
He clears his throat. “Yes. For now.”
Those two words again.
I down the last of my drink, then place the glass on the table next to his.
“You’re nervous,” he says. Reading me, once again.
“It’s not the engagement that makes me nervous, exactly. It’s just… having to fake it.”
“I understand. I don’t like lying either. Just think of it as a private arrangement between us. A lot of marketing is an illusion, but what’s true, what matters, is what’s in private, between us. If we’re both committed to this arrangement, invested, honest with each other… We won’t have to fake much.”
My throat pulls tight. It’s like he’s still talking business, on the surface, but there’s undeniable heat coming off him that makes the conversation feel overtly sexual.
Maybe this is just his natural vibe at all times? And I’ll have to get used to it?
“We’ll be a couple,” he goes on. “No cheating, and no need for lies. If we decide to have sex with each other, or have sex with other people, we’ll discuss it first. Come to an agreement about it.”
He studies me until I know I’m blushing as I absorb those words. So clear, so fair, so sensible, given our arrangement.
I don’t even know why the mention of “other people” doesn’t bother me more. Maybe because he also mentioned having sex with me, and honesty, in the same breath?
Whatever the reason, there’s a meteor shower going off in my chest, and my panties are wet.
When did my panties get so wet?
“Right,” I say faintly.
“It’s getting late,” he points out as my mind reels like a kaleidoscope; a thousand pretty pictures, and Jameson stars in every one of them. “What time do you usually go to bed?”
“Oh.” I blink. “Now?”
He chuckles softly, though I’m serious. “I’ll walk you there.”
He gets to his feet and escorts me out of his office. Which is good, because I’m keen to get some alone time after that whole revelation about us possibly having sex. So I can breathe.
And maybe touch myself while trying to recall his exact expression when he said those words.
If we decide to have sex with each other…
I really thought he meant we were never having sex, ever. This revelation is a lot to swallow.
As I imagine his cock would be.
I see the way he bounces around in those linen pants. Whether he’s wearing underwear or not, clearly whatever he’s packing is too heavy to be conservatively contained by mere fabric.
We stop at the foot of the grand staircase outside his office, and I manage a hoarse “Thank you, for, you know, talking it through with me.”
“Anytime, Megan.” His low, velvety voice brushes over my senses. “Come on. I’ll show you the way.”
Then he starts up the stairs.
I stare at his fantastic backside. Those linen pants aren’t so loose when he’s climbing the stairs, his muscled ass flexing, the taut globes defined through the thin fabric. “Uh, what way?” I ask, dazed.
He pauses. “The way to my bedroom. Well, our bedroom, now.”