Chapter 3

three

. . .

Charlie

I flick off the light and sink into the darkness of my living room, the only illumination a sliver of moonlight that slashes across the hardwood floor.

My heart is a trapped bird in a cage of ribs, fluttering wild with every replay of tonight's gala in my head. I should be asleep, but the echo of his voice, deep and persuasive, keeps me awake.

The offer was ludicrous. Play the doting girlfriend to Alexander Bennett, billionaire CEO with a touch that could sear through silk.

But desperation has a funny way of painting lies in shades of necessary evil. Debt doesn't care about morals.

So, I agreed—against the screaming protests of my conscience.

But why me? The question nags at me. There were women at that gala who dripped diamonds and sophistication, yet Alex's blue gaze, sharp as cut glass, fixed on me . His choice feels like a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, and I'm without a cipher.

Do I scream desperate?

I pull the throw blanket tighter around my shoulders, seeking warmth against the chill thought. I've tried so hard to craft a veneer of confidence. I certainly hope I don't look like a desperate little girl. Because I am a confident, successful woman.

I have to keep telling myself that.

No matter how absurd or reckless Alex's proposal was, I have to admire it. That's the kind of confidence money breeds. And Alex Bennett reeks of it—the power, the potency.

But there's something else, too, an undercurrent I can't quite name. His eyes had held mine a beat too long, a stormy sea trying to pull me under. He wants this charade, sure. Yet, why do I get the feeling he's grasping at something more?

"Damn it," I mutter, dragging a hand through my dark hair. It's crazy. Men like him don't fall for women like me—they use them as arm candy, as a means to an end.

But even as I think it, I remember the possessive curl of his fingers around my wrist, branding me with unspoken claims.

A shiver goes through me, and I feel my panties get wet.

I scowl.

No! No, no, no, no, no! No, you don't! I scream at my body. Don't you dare go getting all hot over the sexy billionaire. This is just business. That's it!

I'm in over my head. I've agreed to lie, to parade around on the arm of a man who probably doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive.

And I will not allow myself to fall for him.

Because it's all a sham.

I have to remember that.

Alex

I can't sleep.

Every time I close my eyes I see her .

Her green eyes framed by thick lashes.

That dark hair cascading down her back.

Those curves.

Fucking hell, those curves.

My fingers twitch even now, yearning to feel her waist in between them.

I imagine cupping the globes of her breasts, that sweet fucking ass.

My cock is rock hard and leaking at the thought.

I know I fucked up. Offering her this fake relationship—it was a panic move.

I want her—fucking hell, I want her in every way a man can want a woman.

The intensity of this desire feels like a betrayal to my usual control, a break in the armor I've spent years fortifying.

What the hell did she do to me? Her professional demeanor, the way she carries herself, it's like she's untouchable.

And that just makes me want to touch her more.

I roll over in bed, punching my pillow in frustration. Every time I think of her agreeing so reluctantly, something twists inside me.

I don't want her to think this is fake.

Because it's real dammit. These feelings I have for you, they're realer than anything I've ever felt.

I know it's fast, but I also know that I don't give a flying fuck.

I'm not one to sit and overanalyze the fuck out of something. If something feels right, I go with it.

And sticking my dick so far up Charlie's cunt that she'll never remember another man's name let alone his face is what's going to feel right.

My cock twitches thinking about her pussy.

What it looks like…

What is tastes like…

I bet she's sweet as hell.

Dammit!

A jet of precum shoots from my tip, and I can't take it anymore.

I fist my hard cock and start stroking it up and down as I imagine Charlie naked.

Under me, writhing in ecstasy. Her eyes locked onto mine, heavy with lust, whispering my name like a sacred mantra.

The fantasy alone is enough to drive me wild, the thrill of conquest mingling with an unfamiliar urge to protect and possess.

I keep her image at the forefront of my thoughts. Every stroke is punctuated with the memory of her smile, the way she bit her lip when something amused her, the husky sound of her laughter.

It's maddening how vividly I can recall her every detail after just one night.

Maybe that's what genuine desire does to a man—brands every glance and gesture into his brain, making it impossible for him to think of anything else.

I groan as my climax builds, the culmination of all these pent-up desires about to explode.

With every pulse and throb, I imagine it's Charlie underneath me, not just my own hand.

I picture plunging into her depths, feeling her clench around me, hearing her gasp out my name in a mix of shock and pleasure.

"Fuck!" The word rips from my throat as I come hard, my seed spilling over my fingers in hot, white streaks.

I fall back onto my bed, panting heavily.

A surge of emptiness washes over me. It's hollowness, a craving unsatisfied, because it wasn't her wrapped around me.

It wasn't her breath hot on my skin.

The room feels colder suddenly, the sheets too smooth, too empty. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, resting my head in my hands.

The idea of using her as a decoy to satisfy the press and my ever-interfering family fills me with shame.

How the fuck could I even suggest that when all I want is to hold her in my arms and cherish her forever?

I've got to make this right.

But I don't even know where to begin to start.