Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) (6 page)

She put on her most innocent look—which, granted, would have been a lot easier if her nipples weren’t still chafing against the front of her dress. “Fine. A test, then.”

Ethan was suddenly in front of the television, arms crossed as he glared down at her. “A
test
?”

“It has to be convincing, this relationship we’re pretending to have,” she explained, making a big show of looking around his body, rather than at the still-obvious bulge in his pants. “But part of the deal was that we don’t have sex.” She let that sink in before adding, “You’re not going to back out of the deal, are you?”

Because that was a risk, and she knew it. There were many ways a deal could go south—especially when sex was on the line.

“You’re testing
me
?” He took a step to the side, trying to block her view of the screen again.

“I won’t marry just anyone, you know. I have standards.”

She could feel the weight of his glare on her face, but she refused to allow her skin to flush. She leaned the other way. Not that she had any idea of what she was watching. Her every sense was tuned into Ethan.

It’d be so easy to change her mind, to tell him that he’d passed his first test and that she had another test in mind—one that involved less clothing for everyone. She could find out what was behind that bulge and whether or not he knew how to use it.

She could have a few minutes where she wouldn’t have to feel alone and adrift, where she could lose herself in Ethan. But that was all it would be. A few minutes.

And then the sex would be done, and she’d go back to being broke, unemployed Frances who was trading on her good looks even as they began to slip away. And Ethan? Well, he’d probably still marry her and fund her art gallery. But he’d know her in a way that felt too intimate, too personal.

Not that she was a shy, retiring virgin—she wasn’t. But she had to keep her eye on the long game here, which was reestablishing herself and the Beaumont name and inflicting as much collateral damage on the new Brewery owners and operators as possible.

So this was her, inflicting a little collateral damage on Ethan—even if the dull throb that seemed to circle between her legs and up to her nipples felt like a punishment in its own right.

Okay, so it was a lot of collateral damage.

She realized she was holding her breath as she waited. Would he render their deal null and void? She didn’t think so. She might not always be the best judge of men, but she was pretty sure Ethan wasn’t going to claim sex behind tired old lines like “she led me on.” There was something about him that was more honorable than that.

Funny.
She hadn’t thought of him as honorable before this moment.

But he was. He muttered something that sounded like a curse before he stalked out of her line of vision. She heard the bathroom door slam shut and exhaled.

The score was Frances: two and Ethan: one. She was winning.

She shifted on the bed. If only victory wasn’t taking the shape of sexual frustration.

Frances had just stumbled on some sort of sporting event—basketball, maybe?—when Ethan threw the bathroom door open again. He stalked into the room in nothing but his trousers and a plain white T-shirt. He went over to the desk, set against the window, and opened his computer. “How long do you need to be here?” he asked in an almost-mean voice.

“That’s open to discussion.” She looked over at him. He was pointedly glaring at the computer screen. “I obviously didn’t bring a change of clothing.”

That got his attention. “You wouldn’t stay the night, would you?”

Was she wrong, or was there a note of panic in his voice? She pushed herself into a sitting position, tucking her feet under her skirt. “Not yet, I don’t think. But perhaps by next week, yes. For appearances.”

He stared at her for another tight moment and then ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. “This seemed like
such
a good idea in my head,” he groaned.

She almost felt bad for him. “We’ll need to have dinner in public again tomorrow night. In fact, at least four or five nights a week for the next two weeks. Then I’ll start sleeping over and—”

“Here?” He made a show of noticing there was only one bed and a pullout couch. “Shouldn’t I come to your place?”

“Um, no.” The very last thing she needed was to parade her fake intended husband through the Beaumont mansion. God only knew what Chadwick would do if he caught wind of this little scheme of hers. “No, we should stick to a more public setting. The hotel suits nicely.”

“Well.” He sagged back in his chair. “That’s the evenings. And during the day?”

She considered. “I’ll come to the office a couple of times a week. We’ll say that we’re discussing the sale of the antiques. On the days I don’t stop by, you should have Delores order flowers for me.”

At that, Ethan cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I like flowers, and you want to look thoughtful and attentive, don’t you?” she snapped. “Fake marriage or not, I expect to be courted.”

“And what do I get out of this again?”

“A wife.” A vein stood out on his forehead, and she swore she could see the pulse in his massive neck even at this distance. “And an art gallery.” She smiled widely.

The look he shot her was hard enough that she shrank back.

“So,” she said, unwilling to let the conversation drift back to sex just quite yet. “Tell me about this successful long-distance relationship that we’re modeling our marriage upon.”

“What?”

“You said at dinner that you’ve seen long-distance relationships work quite well. Personally, I’ve never seen any relationship work well, regardless of distance.”

The silence between them grew. In the background, she heard the whistles and buzzers of the game on the TV.

“It’s not important,” he finally said. “So, fine. We won’t exactly be long-distance for the next two weeks. Then we get married. Then what?”

“Oh, I imagine we’ll have to keep up appearances for a month or so.”

“A
month
?”

“Or so. Ethan,” she said patiently. “Do you want this to be convincing or not? If we stop being seen together the day after we tie the knot, no one will believe it wasn’t a publicity stunt.”

He jumped out of his chair and began to pace. “See—when I said long-distance, I didn’t actually anticipate being in your company constantly.”

“Is that a bad thing?” She batted her eyes when he shot her an incredulous look.

“Only if you keep kissing me like you did in the elevator.”

“I can kiss you less, but we have to spend time together.” She shifted so she was cross-legged on the bed. “Can you do that? At the very least, we have to be friends.”

The look he gave her was many things—perhaps angry, horny—but “friendly” was not on the list.

“If you can’t, we can still call it off. A night of wild indiscretion, we’ll both ‘no comment’ to the press—it’s not a big deal.” She shrugged.

“It’s a huge deal. If I roll into the Brewery after everyone thinks I had a one-night stand with you and then threw you to the curb, they’ll hang me up by my toenails.”

“I am rather well liked by the employees,” she said, not a little smugly. “Which is why you thought up this plan in the first place, is it not?”

He looked to the ceiling and let out another muttered curse. “Such a good idea,” he said again.

“Best laid plans of mice and men and all that,” she agreed. “Well?”

He did a little more unproductive pacing, and she let him think. Honestly, she didn’t know which way she wanted him to go.

There’d been the heat that had arced between them, heat that had melted her in places that hadn’t been properly melted in a very long time. She’d kissed before, but Ethan’s mouth against hers—his body against hers—

She needed the money. She needed the fresh start that an angel investor could provide. She needed to feel the power and prestige that went with the Beaumont name—or had, before Ethan had taken over. She needed her life back. And if she got to take the one man who embodied her fall from grace down a couple of pegs, all the better.

It was all at her fingertips. All she had to do was get married to a man she’d promised not to love. How hard could that be? She could probably even have sex with him—and it would be
so
good—without love ever entering into the equation.

“No more kissing in the elevator.”

“Agreed.” At least, that’s what she said. She would be lying if she didn’t admit she was enjoying the way she’d so clearly brought him to his knees with desire.

“What do people do in this town on a Sunday afternoon?”

That was a yes. She’d get her funding and make a few headlines and be back on top of the world for a while.

“I’ll take it easy on you tomorrow—we need to give the gossip time to develop.”

He shot her a look and, for the first time since dinner, smiled. It appeared to be a genuine smile even. It set off his strong chin and deep eyes nicely. Not that she wanted him to know that. “Should I be worried that you know this much about manipulating the press?”

She brushed that comment aside. “It comes with the territory of being a Beaumont. I’ll leave after this game is over, and then I’ll stop by the office on Monday. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They didn’t shake on it. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to tempt fate by touching again.

Seven

“B
ecky? You’re not going to believe this,” Frances said as she stood in front of her closet, weighing the red evening gown versus something more...restrained. She hated being restrained, but on her current budget, it was a necessary concession.

“What? Something good?”

Frances grinned. Becky was easily excitable. Frances was pretty sure she could hear her friend bouncing up and down. “Something great. I found an investor.”

There was some screaming. Frances held the phone as far away from her face as she could until the noise died down. She flicked through the hangers. She needed something sexy that didn’t look as if she was trying too hard. The red gown would definitely be trying too hard for a Monday at the office. “Still with me?”

“Ohmygosh—this is so exciting! How much were they willing to invest?”

Frances braced herself for more screaming. “Up to five.”

“Thousand?”

“Million.” She immediately jerked the phone away from her head, but there was no sound. She cautiously put it back to her ear. “Becky?”

“I—it—what? I heard you wrong,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I thought you said...”

“Million. Five million,” Frances repeated, her fingers landing on her one good suit—the Escada. It was a conservative cut—at least by her standards—with a formfitting pencil skirt that went below her knee and a close-cropped jacket with only a little peplum at the waist.

It was the color, however—a warm hot pink—that made her impossible to miss.

Oh—this would be perfect. All business but still dramatic. She pulled it out.

“What—how?
How?
” Frances had never heard Becky this speechless before. “Your brothers?”

Frances laughed. “Oh no—you know Chadwick cut me off after the last debacle. This is a new investor.”

There was a pause. “Is he cute?”

Frances scowled—not that Becky could see it, but she did anyway. She did not like being predictable. “No.” And that wasn’t a lie.

Ethan was
not
cute. He existed in the space between handsome and gorgeous. He wasn’t pretty enough to be gorgeous—his features were too rough, too masculine. But handsome—that wasn’t right, either. He exuded too much raw sexuality to be handsome.

“Well?” Becky demanded.

“He’s...nice.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“No, it’s not like that. In fact, sex isn’t even on the table.” Her mind oh so helpfully provided a mental picture that completely contradicted that statement. She could see it now—Ethan bending her over a table, yanking her skirt up and her panties down and—

Becky interrupted that thought. “Frannie, I just don’t want you to do something stupid.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “But I have a meeting with him tomorrow morning. How quickly can you revise the business plan to accommodate a five-million-dollar investment?”

“Uh... Let me call you back,” Becky said.

“Thanks, Becks.” Frances ended the call and fingered the fine wool of her suit. This wasn’t stupid, really. This was...marriage with a purpose. And that purpose went far beyond funding an art gallery, although that was one part of it.

This was about putting the Beaumonts back in control of their own destiny. Okay, this was about putting one Beaumont—Frances—back in control of her destiny. But that still counted for a lot. She needed to get over this slump she was in. She needed her name to mean something again. She needed to feel as if she’d done something for the family honor instead of being a deadweight.

Marrying Ethan was the means to a bunch of different ends. That was all.

Those other men who’d proposed, they’d wanted what she represented, too—the Beaumont name, the Beaumont fortune—but they’d never wanted her. Not the real her. They had wanted the illusion of perfection she projected. They wanted her to look good on their arm.

What was different about Ethan? Well, he got points for being up front about his motivations. Nothing couched in sweet words about how special she was or anything. Just a straight-up negotiation. It was refreshing. Really. She didn’t want anything sweet that was nothing but a lie. She didn’t want him to try and make her love him.

She had not lied. She would not love him.

That was how it had to be.

* * *

“Delores,” Frances said as she swept into the reception area. “Is Ethan—I mean, Mr. Logan—in?” She tried to blush at the calculated name screw-up, but she wasn’t sure she could pull it off.

Delores shot her an unreadable glance over the edge of her glasses. “Had a good weekend, did we?”

Well.
That was all the confirmation Frances needed that the stunt she’d pulled back in the hotel had done exactly as she’d intended. People had noticed, and those people were talking. Of course, there’d been some online chatter, but Delores wasn’t the kind of woman who existed on social media. If she’d heard about the “date,” then it was a safe bet the whole company knew all the gritty details.

“It was lovely.” And that part was not calculated at all. Kissing Ethan had, in fact, been quite nice. “He’s not all bad, I don’t think.”

Delores snorted. “Just bad enough?”

“Delores!” This time, her blush was more unplanned. Who knew the older lady had it in her?

“Yes, he’s in.” Delores’s hand hovered near the intercom.

“Oh, don’t—I want to surprise him,” Frances said.

As she swept open the massive oak door, she heard Delores say, “Oh, we’re all surprised,” under her breath.

Ethan was sitting at her father’s desk, his head bent over his computer. He was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loosened. When she flung the door open, his head popped up. But instead of looking surprised, he looked pleased to see her. “Ah, Frances,” he said, rising to his feet.

None of the strain that she’d inflicted on him two days ago showed on his face now. He smiled warmly as he came around the desk to greet her. He did not, she noticed, touch her. Not even a handshake. “I was expecting you at some point today.”

Despite the lack of physical contact, his eyes took in her hot-pink suit. She did a little twirl for him, as if she needed his approval when they both knew she didn’t. Still, when he murmured, “I’m beginning to think the black dress is the most conservative look you have,” she felt her cheeks warm.

For a second, she thought he was going to lean forward and kiss her on the cheek. He didn’t. “You would not be wrong.” She waltzed over to the leather love seats and spread herself out on one. “So? Heard any of the chatter?”

“I’ve been working. Is there chatter?”

Frances laughed. “You can be adorably naive. Of course there’s chatter. Or did Delores not give you the same look she gave me?”

“Well...” He tugged at his shirt collar, as if it’d suddenly grown a half size too small. “She was almost polite to me this morning. But I didn’t know if that was because of us or something else. Maybe she got lucky this weekend.”

Unlike some of us.
It was the unspoken phrase on the end of that statement that was as loud as if he’d pronounced the words.

She grinned and crossed her legs as best she could in a skirt that tight. “Regardless of Delores’s private life, she’s aware that we had an intimate dinner. And if Delores is aware of it, the rest of the company is, as well. There were several mentions on the various social media sites and even a teaser in the
Denver Post
online.”

His eyes widened. “All of that from one dinner, huh? I am impressed.”

She shrugged, as if this were all just another day at the office. Well, for her, it sort of was. “Now we’re here.”

He notched an eyebrow at her. “And we should be doing...what?”

She slipped the computer out of her bag. “You have a choice. We can discuss art or we can discuss art galleries. I’ve worked up a prospectus for potential investors.”

Ethan let out a bark of laughter. “I’ve got to stop being surprised by you, don’t I?”

“You really do,” she agreed demurely. “In all honesty, I’m not that shocking. Not compared to some of my siblings.”

“Tell me about them,” he said, taking a perfectly safe seat to her right—not within touching distance. “Since we’ll be in-laws and all that. Will I get to meet them?”

“It does seem unavoidable.” She hadn’t really considered the scene where the Beaumonts welcomed Ethan into the family fold with open arms. “I have nine half siblings from my father’s four marriages. My older brothers are aware of other illegitimate siblings, but it’s not unreasonable that there are more out there.” She shrugged, as if that were normal.

Well, it was for her, anyway. Marriages, children, more children—and love had nothing to do with it.

Maybe there’d been a time, back when she was still a little girl who’d twirled in this office, when she’d been naive and innocent and had thought that her father loved her—and her brothers, their mother. That they were a family.

But then there’d been the day... She’d known her parents weren’t happy. It was impossible to miss, what with all the screaming, fights, thrown dishes and slammed doors.

And it’d been Donut Friday and she’d been driven to the office with all those boxes and had bounced into the office to see her daddy and found him kissing someone who wasn’t her mommy.

She’d stood there, afraid to yell, afraid to not yell—or cry or scream or do something that gave voice to the angry pain that started in her chest and threatened to leak out of her eyes. In the end, she’d done nothing, just like Owen, the driver who’d brought her and was carrying the donuts. Nothing to let her father know how much it hurt to see his betrayal. Nothing to let her mother know that Frances knew now what the fights were about.

But she knew. She couldn’t un-know it, either. And if she called her daddy on it—asked why he was kissing the secretary who’d always been so nice to Frances—she knew her father might put her aside like he’d put her mother aside.

So she said nothing. She showed nothing. She handed out donuts on that day with the biggest, best smile she could manage. Because that’s what a Beaumont did. They went on, no matter what.

Just like now. So what if Ethan would eventually have to meet the family? So what if her siblings would react to this marriage with the same mix of shock and horror she’d felt when she’d walked in on her father that cold gray morning so long ago? She would go on—head up, shoulders back, a smile on her face. Her business failed? She couldn’t get a job? She’d lost her condo? She’d been reduced to accepting the proposal of a man who only wanted her for her last name?

Didn’t matter. Head up, shoulders back, a smile on her face. Just like right now. She called up the prospectus that Becky had put together yesterday in a flurry of excited phone calls and emails. Becky was the brains of the operation, after all—Frances was the one with the connections. And if she could deliver Ethan gift wrapped...

An image of him in nothing but a strategically placed bow popped before her. Christmas might be long gone, but there’d be something special about unwrapping
him
as a present.

She shook that image from her mind and handed the computer over to Ethan. “Our business plan.”

He scrolled through it, but she got the distinct feeling he was barely looking at it. “Four wives?”

“Indeed. As you can see, my partner, Rebecca Rosenthal, has mocked up the design for the space as well as a cost-benefit analysis.” She leaned over to click on the next tab. “Here’s a sampling of the promotion we have planned.”

“Ten siblings? Where do you fall in that?”

“I’m fifth.” For some reason, she didn’t want to talk about her family.

Detailing her father’s affairs and indiscretions in this, his former office, felt wrong. This was where he’d been a good father to her. Even after she’d walked in on him cheating with his secretary, when she hadn’t thrown a fit and hadn’t tattled on him, he’d still doted on her when she was here. The next Donut Friday, she remembered, he’d had a pretty necklace waiting for her, and once again she’d been Daddy’s girl for a few special minutes each week.

She didn’t want to sully those memories. “Chadwick and Phillip with my father’s first wife, Matthew and then Byron and me—we’re twins—with his second wife.” She hated referring to her mother by that number, as if that’s all Jeannie had contributed. Wife number two, children three, four and five.

“You have a twin?” Ethan cut in.

“Yes.” She gave him humorous look. “He’s very protective of me.” She did not mention that Byron was busy with his new wife and son. Better to let him worry about how her four older brothers would deal with him if he crossed a line.

Ethan’s eyebrows jumped up. “And there were five more?”

“Yup. Lucy and Harry with my father’s third wife. Johnny, Toni and Mark with his fourth. The younger ones are in their early twenties, for the most part. Toni and Mark are still in college and, along with Johnny, they all still live at the Beaumont mansion with Chadwick and his family.” She rattled off her younger siblings’ names as if they were items to be checked off a list.

“That must have been...interesting, growing up in that household.”

“You have no idea.” She made light of it, but
interesting
didn’t begin to cover it.

She and Byron had been in an odd position in the household, straddling the line between the first generation of Hardwick Beaumont’s sons and the last. Being five years older than she and Byron, Matthew was Chadwick and Phillip’s contemporary. And since Matthew was their full brother, Byron and Frances had grown closer to the two older Beaumont brothers.

But then, her first stepmother—May, the not-evil one—had harbored delusional fantasies about how Frances and May’s daughter, Lucy, would be the very best of friends, a period of time that painfully involved matching outfits for ten-year-old Frances and three-year-old Lucy. Which had done the exact opposite of what May intended—Lucy couldn’t stand the sight of Frances. The feeling was mutual.

And the youngest ones—well, they’d been practically babies when Frances was a teenager. She barely knew them.

They were all Beaumonts, and, by default, that meant they were all family.