Pretending He's Mine (10 page)

“Please.”

“Because you get so wet for me. I love how wet you get.”

“It’s you. You do this to me.”

“I love doing this to you. And you’d want me to bury my face between your legs?”

“God yes.”

“And you can grab my hair and pull me deeper and do whatever you fucking want to me because I won’t stop until you come.”

She licked her lips, opened her eyes, and looked into his face. He was as turned on as she was. He looked like he wanted to pounce on her. She wanted to be pounced on. She wanted to be taken.

“Please take me home right now and make me come.”

He threw a twenty on the table and did as she requested.

Reeve stopped by Jill’s apartment in the morning. He was nervous about tonight’s dinner. But he wasn’t sure why. Then he figured that he always got a little nervous before he went on stage, and that was probably the case here. Nerves were a good thing, right? When he was acting, he used those nerves to fuel his performance. Nerves made him sharp, they made him go deeper into the character. The more nerves he felt, the easier it was to let go of himself when he stepped on stage and immerse himself in the role he was playing.

Jill’s roommate Kat had just returned from Paris and was a wreck, Jill had told him. Reeve remembered the night he met Kat at the club in Soho. They’d chatted after the Les Mis performance and had talked about movies and their shared love of Joss Whedon. He’d even asked her out for a drink, but she’d said no and he’d had a feeling she was into someone else. Jill had confirmed as much a few days later. But right now, Reeve didn’t care. Because he was kinda into someone else too.

Jill buzzed him in and he bounded up the steps to the second floor apartment, the soles of his combat boots smacking the concrete in the stairwell. Jill flung the door open for him.

“How’s my favorite boy toy?” she said with a knowing grin.

He held out his hands, a satisfied smile on his face. Truth be told, he was kind of a wreck too. But he needed to get in character. He needed to play the part. After last night, he wasn’t sure where things stood. He’d taken Sutton back to her place, and done everything he promised he’d do to her. And she’d screamed and cried and thrashed and moaned in a way that made him want to spend the entire night deep inside her body, and then do it again, and make her beg for it. He had a feeling Sutton would be into that. That she’d like those kind of games. He’d tie her up somewhere, maybe the bedroom, maybe the kitchen, and he’d work her into such a frenzy with his tongue and his mouth, always pulling back right before she came. Until she slapped him across the cheek and said, “Fuck me now, please fuck me now, I’m begging you.”

Yeah, he could picture that for sure. The problem was the damn image was turning him on, especially because that’s not what happened last night. After he made her sing his praises to the heavens—“oh my god Reeve, that feels so good, no one has ever made me feel this good before, this feels so abso-fucking-lutely amazing”—in a chorus she repeated many times, she’d curled her up with her dog, said thanks, and then sent him on his way.

“You ready to go get some pancakes?” Jill said to Reeve since they were planning on grabbing a late breakfast at a nearby cheap diner.

“Yup.”

Then, there was a flurry of activity in the hall. Both Jill and Reeve glanced in the direction of the sound. Jill’s roommate Kat had just rushed out of her room, and was jamming her arms into a coat. She had on jeans and boots and a frazzled look on her face. Her long brown hair was loose.

“Hey. I have to go see my professor now.”

“You going to go sweet talk him into giving you an A?” Jill said in a teasing voice.

But Kat looked deadly serious. She shook her head. “No,” she said heavily. “I’m going to tell him that I’m totally madly in love with my mentor for the class.”

“Whoa.”

Then, Kat noticed Reeve. “Oh, hey. How’s it going?”

“Good. And good luck with that chat with your professor.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Jill asked Kat.

Kat nodded. “I have to. I can’t keep playing games and sneaking around. After what happened in Paris…” Kat let her voice trail off and Reeve noticed something pass between the girls. A secret. Something about what had happened in Paris between Kat and, presumably, the mentor dude she was in love with.

Jill nodded, her blond ponytail bouncing once as if in agreement. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. We’re rooting for you.”

Kat grabbed Jill in a hug, then rushed off.

Jill turned to Reeve as she shut and locked the door. “Love is in the air, I suppose. I wonder if I’ll get my turn.”

“You’re too in love with Broadway. I can’t imagine there’d be any room for a dude.”

“If that dude was Patrick Carlson, maybe,” Jill mused as they walked down the stairs. “My audition with him for Crash the Moon is in four days and counting.”

“Not that you’re ticking off every minute.”

“No. Not at all.”

“You should just go right up to him and tell him you’ve only been madly in love with him since you were in high school.”

“Speaking of madly in love, how’s it going as man-for-hire?” Jill asked as they reached the sidewalk and headed to the diner.

Reeve shrugged, then gave Jill the latest update. “Maybe she’s the player. Maybe she’s just playing me for sex.”

“And that bothers you because?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Reeve said, but his voice trailed off.

Jill’s eyes went wide and she stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “You have fallen for Sutton Brenner.”

He scoffed. “Hardly. Now, c’mon. Let’s go,” he said, feeling pretty proud of himself for pulling off that convincing performance.

Then he remembered what Kat did for a living. She was a jewelry designer. “Hey, Jill. Think your roommate can do me a favor?”

♦ ♦ ♦

Sutton sent a car to pick up Reeve. She knew if she saw his apartment, she’d start to feel more for him, and she couldn’t allow that. The week was nearly up and they could soon return to passing acquaintances. Fine, he was an acquaintance who hit notes on her body that had never been played before. He’d gone down on her the night before and delivered two out-of-this-world orgasms that made her feel as if the sun and moon and solar system were rotating around her, that the sheer wattage of pleasure he’d given her with his mouth and tongue and lips could power the universe.

Still, she’d simply have to tuck him into the faraway corner of her brain after tonight. But his prowess with her body wasn’t the most unjust part of this whole week. The real rub was this—he was sweet, and he was good, and he could keep up with her. He was his own man, with his own opinions, and he wasn’t afraid of a thing. There were times when he seemed to genuinely care for her, and there were times when he touched her in a way that went beyond the intense charge between them. The way he’d kissed her on the library steps with a kind of reverence, as if he’d missed her. And the way he’d laid her down on her bed and spread her legs as if he were hungry for her, not just her body, but her.

She waved her hand in front of her face, as if she could rid herself of these ludicrous notions, then she appraised herself one last time in the mirror. She had on a pretty dove gray dress with long sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knees. Then her black leather boots, and a single silver bracelet on her right wrist. She’d pinned her hair up as usual, and she wore her glasses, her twin efforts to look twenty-eight, rather than the twenty-one she was often mistaken for. She looked sophisticated and sharp, and when the town car arrived with Reeve already in the back seat, so handsome in his charcoal slacks, green button down, and a tie, she felt a surge of happiness at seeing her boyfriend.

Then she remembered he was only her pretend boyfriend, so she tamped it down. “You look very nice,” she said to him.

“As do you. And look,” he said tipping his forehead to a plate on the seat next to him, full of chocolate chip cookies covered in saran wrap. “Remember I told her in your office I made great chocolate chip cookies?”

Sutton beamed. “You are the perfect boyfriend.”

“And I have something for you,” he added.

She raised an eyebrow curiously, as he removed from his pocket a small velvet pouch, then reached inside. Something sparkled in his hand, and it looked almost like a diamond. Her eyes widened, and she let that joyful feeling return. She did love shiny objects.

“It’s just a little something. It’s not a real diamond, and I’m not trying to claim it’s real, but I thought we could pretend it’s a placeholder ring while you get yours resized.” He held the ring in his palm and with his other hand, he reached for her.

Her heart skipped a beat as he slid the ring onto her finger. “Oh, Reeve. I love it. How did you get it? It fits perfectly.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m actually pretty good with sizes. It’s this strange hidden talent of mine. And my friend Jill’s roommate is a jewelry designer, so she knocked this out for us.”

“This is ridiculously perfect,” she said, and placed her bejeweled hand on the back of his head and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

A fake kiss, of course. It was only a fake kiss to get her in the right mindset. But the way he lingered softly, the way he sighed happily, made it feel real.

Then she settled back in the leather seat and they said little more on the short drive to the penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. They didn’t say much on the elevator either. She knocked on the door, and Janelle answered.

“Good to see you,” Janelle said, letting the tiniest sliver of a smile slip across her slick red lips. Janelle wore a maroon dress with a high neck and for moment Sutton wondered if Janelle was hiding hickeys. Then, she remembered that Janelle had supposedly cut Frederick off til he proved he could keep it in his pants. But rather than ruminate on the sleeping arrangements of this woman, Sutton handed her the bottle of Cakebread Chardonnay she’d selected from the local wine shop on her block.

“It’s a 2011. It’s supposed to be wonderful, so I very much hope you enjoy it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Janelle said, waving them inside the penthouse.

“And here are the cookies as promised,” Reeve said, handing her the plate of baked goods.

“I can not wait to eat them.” Then she plucked one from under the saran wrap and popped it into her mouth. She rolled her eyes in pleasure, then whispered. “Best. Ever.”

Reeve smiled.

“Let me just put this wine in the wine cellar,” Janelle added. “Though, it’s not really a cellar. It’s more of a closet. But I still call it a cellar. Come with me. I’ll show it to you.”

Janelle escorted them to the spacious kitchen, which itself was the size of Sutton’s whole apartment. There was an island, a massive Viking stove, and a huge Sub-Zero built-in refrigerator. As Janelle placed the cookies on the island, the Siamese cat sashayed by.

“Hello, Archibald,” Sutton said to the feline. As felines do, he ignored her and wandered into another room.

Janelle led them to an oak door that opened into a long narrow hallway full of bottles of wine. The lights were low in the wine cellar-slash-closet and the temperature was cooler. Sutton shivered, and Reeve placed an arm around her. His touch was warm, and she leaned briefly into it.

Janelle placed the wine in a rack, and then gestured as if she were presenting winning letters on a game show. “Voila. And here it is. In case you should need to find it later.” Then she whispered, as if they were in on something. “It’s fun for all sorts of things.”

Sutton wasn’t sure how to respond, so she kept her reply on the level. “Lovely. Great. We’ll know exactly where it is.”

“Oh, by the way, I keep meaning to ask. How was Renaissance Astrology?”

Sutton looked quickly at Reeve, who smirked knowingly.

“I think it’s going to work out just fine for that scene. Just fine indeed,” Sutton said.

“Really? Are you sure?” Janelle pressed.

“Yes. I’m quite sure.”

Janelle grinned, and pointed from Reeve to Sutton. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me. You two didn’t test it out, did you?”

There was something strangely salacious in Janelle’s question and Sutton was flummoxed. She couldn’t tell if Janelle was a prude or a pervert. Reeve tightened his grip on Sutton’s shoulder in a possessive way, then he spoke. “Let’s just say, we are one hundred percent positive that it’s the perfect location.” He winked at Janelle, and leaned into Sutton, dusting a kiss on her cheek. “Aren’t we, babe?” he said to her.

He knew how to handle Janelle. How to play her, so Sutton made a choice to trust him. “Yes, we are.”

They left the wine closet and as Janelle headed toward the living room, Reeve pulled Sutton aside and spoke in a low voice.

“I think she might be a bit like the woman who runs the escort agency in Escorted Lives.”

“No. Really?”

He nodded. “I’m betting she’s kind of a voyeur herself.”

“Oh, that’s totally not the case,” Sutton said, but then found herself wondering if perhaps life was imitating art in some bizarre way with Janelle.

Reeve and Sutton joined the Pinkertons in the living room, where Nicholas and Frederick sat like puffy buffoons on an antique-looking couch. They made small talk for the next hour as a caterer circled by offering hamachi, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus and stuffed mushrooms. Then it was time for dinner and they moved to the dining room, which boasted a gorgeous view of Central Park, wide and expansive from the tenth floor of the penthouse. Once again, Janelle stationed herself next to Reeve, much as she had at the theater. Did Janelle have a crush on Reeve? Well, if she did Sutton couldn’t blame her. But if that woman tried to steal her boyfriend, she’d claw her eyes out.

Wait. Fake boyfriend. If Janelle tried to steal her fake boyfriend…Oh, nevermind.

At the table, they chatted about movies and golf and the pending wedding and once again Reeve rose to the occasion answering all sorts of questions without a moment’s hesitation.

“And how did you know, Reeve? How did you know that Sutton was the one for you?” The question came from Nicholas’ wife across the table.