Page 5 of Fake Fiancée Bear's Enemies-to-Lovers
That is, of course, if I can get him to play along still. And that’s the whole reason I need to talk to him. Sure, he deserves an explanation but to tell the truth, I don’t really care all that much about that. He’s a thorn in my side on a pretty damned regular basis and if he never gets an explanation, I’m not going to lose sleep.
But I still need his help, so this meeting is sensible.
The thing that isn’t sensible at all is how desperately I want Lucas Adams to make love to me. Hell, I’ll be satisfied with him bypassing anything resembling making love and simply screwing the ever-loving Hell out of me!
Actually, I think I prefer the screwing the ever-loving Hell out of me option.
And that’s the part that just doesn’t measure up at all. That’s the part that fails completely in the sensibility test. I don’t understand how I can be this turned on by this man, this totally and completely unable to clear my mind (and some of my body) of desire when the desire is contrary to all of my thoughts.
Okay. All right, if this were pornography, it would be okay to be horny for Lucas. I mean, pornography is all about looks, right? It’s all about the guy’s body and his face and his penis and…
I let out a moan imagining Lucas’s penis.
Damn it all!
My face grows so hot, and I imagine I must look like a boiled lobster.
What am I, a thirteen-year-old girl, for Pete’s sake?
I sit here at my house waiting, and I swear it’s like torture. I feel like my arousal is just painted on me, if that makes any sense. I feel like I’m going to just… aw hell, how do I explain it? I feel like it’s going to be utterly obvious when he arrives that I’m totally turned on and desperate for him. I feel like there’s just no way for me to hide it.
Of course, that’s all bullshit.
I mean, I realize I’m just playing games with myself.
This is still the asshole who arrogantly dismisses everything I say during his inspections. He’s still the man who calls me a spoiled brat. He’s still the asshole who stands between me and a working community ranch for single parents that will help people become self-sufficient who otherwise never would.
And, damn it all, he’s also the asshole who might be standing between me and the loss of my inheritance.
And then the doorbell rings and all of my anxiety and arousal comingles and goes through the roof. How is it even possible to have such fucking conflicting feelings about someone? I try to pull myself together as I go to open the door.
He’s standing there looking at my rose bushes, something my Gran taught me to love and nurture. I don’t know how to feel about seeing this man who creates such storms in me admiring my roses. “Uh, hi Lucas, thank you for coming over.”
He startles like I woke him out of a dream. “Oh, yeah, um, nice roses. I can’t believe you have the Firebird. It’s really beautiful.”
I suddenly feel like I’m on planet nine. “You, uh, know roses?”
“My dad and his mom, they both loved gardening, and Grams, well, she could touch anything and make it grow, but roses were her absolute favorite.”
“Yeah, my Gran was like that. She taught me everything I know.”
We stand there for a moment and it’s like the tension between us evaporates. It only lasts a short while, but it makes me want him even more. “Well, come on in.”
I usher him in and I suddenly feel incredibly self-conscious. The place is not considered exorbitant in my world, but I know it’s way beyond the neighborhood where my charities are building. The furniture is very expensive but with some pieces that are family antiques. I have a huge kitchen and the art on my walls is made up of all gallery originals.
I remember what he said about me being a spoiled brat who doesn’t care about other people, and I flushed with anger and, maybe, a bit of shame.
But that isn’t going to help anyone, so I force myself to suck it up.
Yeah, suck it up, Buttercup!
I bring him to the parlor and start talking. I explain about the inheritance and how it’s set up to have me be married, well, at least engaged, in order to gain full control of the family fortune. I take a break and go to get us some drinks from the bar in the kitchen. When I come back, he’s studying a small sculpture on my table. I hand him his drink. “Thank you. And thank you for letting me see this private museum.”
I can’t determine if he’s being sarcastic or sincere, so I continue my explanation, but a small angry knot sits in my stomach. “Yeah, well, anyway, if I’m not engaged, the money will go to a cousin, very distant, who is only nine, which means that the lawyers will have the money for the next twelve years. It will sit there and do nothing or do something very selfish and stupid that just benefits them.”
“Lucas, I want to use that money to do some great things. I’ve always wanted that. I’m trying to get all of my charities funded enough so I can let go of the money without them losing out. I hate that things are set up that way, and I hate that I dragged youinto it earlier this morning, but I really could use some help with this.”
“You think a year is the time you need?”