Fake It Baby One More Time: A Fake Romance Collection Read online

  He grins, and it’s the type of lopsided grin that I’m sure has lowered many panties. “Definitely not,” he answers before glancing at an approaching man in a gray baseball cap and a black hoodie.

  The stranger stops in front of Vin. “Anyone follow you?” he asks in a deep, foreboding voice.

  “No, how about you?” Vin asks.

  The man’s eyes dart around the bar. “Nah, man, I’m cool.” He nods to me and steps closer. “There’s a back room with a pool table where we can talk.”

  Vin peers over his shoulder in the direction of the back room, and then takes my hand, ignoring my questioning stare about all the cloak and dagger mystery, to lead me into the small empty space with an oversized pool table.

  I set my wine on a high topped table and wait for answers.

  “This is Buckley, my partner on this assignment,” Vin says, introducing me.

  Coffee colored eyes assess me. “Name’s Cooley.”

  “Talk,” Vin tells him.

  “Leo, Matteo’s cousin and right hand man, drives up to the Highland’s every month. He switches out the money, and then comes back.”

  Ah, Cooley is deep undercover with Matteo’s mob. I knew I’d heard the name before. “You can’t go with him?” I ask.

  His thin lips turn up in a half-grin. “I’m not that trusted yet.”

  “Could you follow him?” I ask, trying another tactic. “It would really help if we knew what the people we’re trying to catch look like.”

  “I can’t,” Cooley tells me. “But, I can tell you guys the make and model, and when he leaves, so you can follow him when he gets to the Highlands.”

  Vin nods. “That’ll be a big help.” He takes a sip of his beer. “But, only if it doesn’t jeopardize your cover.”

  Cooley pulls the brim of his hat down when two boisterous bar patrons enter. “Time to go. Don’t worry about me.” And then he leaves.

  I take another small sip of my wine, watching the two men rack the balls on the pool table, wondering now that the meeting is over how much longer we plan on staying here. “Are we leaving too?” I ask Vin.

  “Come on, Bucks. Let’s just try to pretend we like each other.”

  Ouch. “You don’t like me?” I don’t know why hearing that he dislikes me hurts.

  He tilts his head toward the ceiling and blows out a breath, then peers back at me. “That’s not what I meant. I was thinking we could pretend…get ready to pretend…” he stumbles over his words, “Ok, I guess we can go now.”

  “I think we can finally agree on something.”

  He pays the tab and together we leave the bar.

  We don’t speak on the drive back. It’s officially our first ‘couples’ spat. Once we’re back at headquarters, I say goodbye, and find my car in the lot. It’s good he doesn’t like me, I don’t need him to like me. Because I certainly don’t like him.

  The next day, I’m met by Vin—the man who doesn’t like me—dressed in dark slacks and a button-down dress shirt, at the entrance of the FBI building. “We’re moving in this weekend,” he states, handing me a cup of coffee from the local shop. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I guessed.”

  I raise the lid and take a sniff. “Pumpkin spice?” I raise a brow.

  “Yeah, most chicks dig it this time of the year.”

  I take another whiff of the pungent drink. “Good guess. I do love it.” I point at him. “And don’t ever call me a chick.” Babe yes, chick no.

  He winks. “Noted.”

  I give him a faint smile as we enter the building. “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “Listen,” he says, as we go into Grubb’s office to run over everything we have for the investigation into this case, “I don’t hate you.” He leans down to whisper in my ear, “That’s not what I meant.”

  I nod in his direction and take a seat as Ben begins briefing us.

  “Ok, Vin,” Ben directs at him, “you’ll only be gone during the days from nine a.m. to three. So, during that time you can look into getting a suspect so we can get a warrant to start bugging these people’s houses.”

  “Buckley, you’ll be more hands on. The women of the neighborhood like to get together in the mornings for walks. Maybe you can join in with them.”

  I nod. “I’m sure I can handle a gaggle of women.”

  Grubbs and Vin both raise a brow in my direction.

  “What?” I shrug.

  “Now we’re going to stage it like a complete move-in,” Grubbs continues. “It’ll be a moving company, and we’ve worked out some deals to have it furnished. Just be careful with things.”

  I imagine myself so wealthy I don’t know what to do with it all. It’s a nice dream, even if the dream turns to a nightmare at the thought of being married to Vin.

  I stare at him for a moment too long, the chiseled features, the planes and perfections of his face, how his nose lines up perfectly. This assignment is going to suck. Suck like being stuck in a place with no air conditioning in Florida.

  Grubbs sets two small black boxes on his desk. “The final touch—rings.”

  Vin leans forward and opens the first box to reveal a princess cut diamond set in platinum with a matching band. “This must be yours,” he says, sticking it on the top of his pinky. “Will you marry me?”

  I take the rings and slide them on. “If I must.”

  The facets of the chunk on my finger blind me while he slides a matching band on his left ring finger.

  “It’s official,” Grubbs says, with a grin. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  This feels very real to be fake. The rings choke my finger and it’s so hot in here. This is really happening. I’m fake married.

  Six

  Vin

  It’s move-in day and Addison looks like she’s just been handed a life sentence as she slides into the passenger seat of our new status symbol SUV.

  “Here goes nothing. You ready to be married, babe?”

  She fastens her seatbelt. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Try to pretend like we once loved each other.” I give her a little wink.

  “I promise, I’ll be fine. And sweet, like this car.”

  I can’t help but crack a grin at her reference to my words when we were given the keys to our top of the line Range Rover this morning. I meant it when I said it was sweet. It felt like listening to Q explain to James Bond all the new gadgets and gizmos with all this thing can do.

  “I think today we should just assess the neighbors. I want to jump on profiling, and get surveillance going.”

  “I completely agree. If we’re lucky, someone will out themselves on the first day,” she says as I leave headquarters behind and drive us toward our new home.

  “Yeah, that would be perfect. But, highly unlikely.” I steer up the hill, passing by town. “What did you want to do for dinner? We can’t be ordering takeout every day.”

  “Think Steele will spring for a personal chef?”

  “Let’s hope the kitchen is fully stocked. I guess we’ll need to go shopping.”

  “Guess so.” She gazes out the window as I drive out of our city, heading deeper into the hills, and climbing higher in elevation and income status.

  When I reach the Highlands, and the massive gate to the community, Addison sucks in a little breath. “Ever been up here?” she asks.

  “No, I never have. You?”

  “No.”

  It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Wealth is all the same, really. This will be an adjustment, though, because most of my undercover work is stakeouts where I sit inside a grungy hotel, ordering takeout, and mingling with the seedy locals for info.

  I ease the Rover up to the security guard, sitting inside the brick hut. A man in a moss-green uniform steps out, pushing his sunglasses down on his face. “Hello, how can I help you?”

  Game on. “We’re the Davenports, moving in.” I hand him our fake id’s.

  He studies the clipboard in his hands. “Welco
me to the neighborhood.” He passes back over the id’s, and waves me through as Buckley releases a breath.

  “Did you not think we’d get in?” I ask, once we’re safely away from the guard.

  “Maybe I was hoping we wouldn’t.” She glances down at the huge rock of a ring sitting on her finger. “In real life I’d never want something this big. It’s too gaudy. I’m sure it’s going to catch on everything.”

  That surprises me, because I would’ve thought she’d love having a statement on her finger. I realize I don’t know a lot about what the woman I’m fake married to likes, so I decide to find out. “What kind of ring would you choose?”

  “Something dainty. This makes me look like I’m trying to make a statement.”

  Her voicing what I was thinking throws me off for a minute. “Well, you are.” I drive past perfectly manicured lawns. “You’re trying to showcase that your husband is one rich as fuck dude.”

  She laughs a little. “Well, maybe it’s my money. I could be from wealth.”

  I raise a brow. “No, I’m the breadwinner.”

  She tilts her head at me like she’s just discovered something important. “Oh, I see you’re one of those.”

  “One of those?”

  “Yeah, the kind of man who can’t be with a woman who makes more money than you.”

  “Babe, that’s not the case at all. Around this neighborhood, I need to be the breadwinner.”

  She examines the ring once more. “And why’s that?”

  “Because these are the type of men who base everything on who has what. There’s a hierarchy, and where you fall is determined on who is most valuable.” I point to a smaller mini mansion on the right. “Sure, Paul over there might work hard, be fucking loyal, but he’s going to be ignored by these men because he’s the worker, doing things for the right reason.” I point to a more lavish mini mansion a few houses down. “Sam over here, he’s a shady motherfucker, cheating his way to the top, but he’s got lots of important friends, because he appears more successful. Paul doesn’t stand a chance til he comes to the dark side, and well, Paul won't ever do that. Even though he could outearn all these assholes.” She listens intently to what I’m saying. “You get me? To make friends with these men, I need to be part of the club. And to earn their trust, I need to have earned my position in said club.”

  “Well, if this were real, I wouldn’t want to be friends with those types of people.” She earns a few points by saying, “I’d rather be friends with Paul. Loyalty is priceless.” She tilts her head at me. “But I get your point.”

  I point to my temple, tapping it with my forefinger. “Not all muscle and good looks. I’ve got the brains, too.”

  “Yeah, you’re really the total package.”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm.” I laugh.

  Before she can answer, I pull beside the moving truck parked in the driveway of our temporary house.

  “Oh wow,” she says in one breath, gawking at the imposing structure. “Looks bigger in person. Is that all for us?”

  “I guess so.” We both step from the Rover. “Should I carry you across the threshold?” I ask her.

  She playfully swats at my shoulder. “We’re not that newly married.”

  I stride over to the first mover I see, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you. How’s it going?”

  The balding man updates us on the progress, and together Addison and I make our way inside the two-story structure.

  “I love being rich,” she says under her breath in the foyer. “Let’s check it out.”

  We navigate across the tiled floor into the living room where sunlight streams into the room from an abundance of tall windows. Addison marvels at all the detail work and cathedral ceilings, and then, like Goldilocks, she plops down on each piece of leather furniture—sofa, loveseat, chair—positioned throughout the large living room, stretching out, testing the comfort.

  I’ll admit, this house is one gorgeous set up. Mainly, the flat screen TV hanging on the wall.

  “You going to take a nap?” I ask as she lies on the sofa, darting her eyes around the room.

  “Just getting a feel for it,” she says, throwing her legs off the side and standing. “You can’t really know till you lie on it.”

  It’s hard not to grin at her enthusiasm.

  In the kitchen, she rushes around like a little girl in a candy store, opening the abundant cherry cabinets, checking out the stainless steel appliances, and I lean back against the granite island and stare at her for a second.

  She’s different than the girls I usually meet. Those girls would’ve picked Sam.

  “Would you look at this,” she says stepping into a room off the kitchen. I peek my head in to see her staring in awe in front of a jumbo washer and dryer.

  “Laundry porn, huh?”

  She opens the door of each machine, peering inside. “Pretty much.” I chuckle and she breezes past me. “Let’s check out the upstairs.”

  We backtrack to the iron and wood grand staircase and I follow her up the stairs, trying not to admire her ass. It’s a very nice ass, enough to grab hold of, but absolutely off limits. Four bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom later, we make it to the master suite.

  “It has a window seat,” she says in awe when we step through the double doors. The movers have already set up a king-sized bed against the taupe colored wall and she crosses the thick carpet to hop up on it. She lies back, appearing very angelic against the black paneled headboard and footboard. “Oh this is like a dream.”

  Yeah, it’s a dream, alright. I can see right up her sundress as she moves her legs around. Red fucking panties. And now I can’t stop thinking what it would be like to have her under me.

  “You can have this room.” We never discussed sleeping arrangements, so I’m trying to be the gentleman here, even though that’s the last thing I want to be. “The guest room is just fine for me.” She props up on her elbows to look at me. “Also,” I try to keep my eyes on her face and not her panty-covered pussy, “I’m going to set up a room in the basement as our ‘work’ room. I’ll be able to set up some surveillance there.”

  Thankfully, she gets off the bed. “Smart thinking. We can never let any of the neighbors upstairs into our bedrooms, or downstairs either.”

  I prop my arm against the door jamb. “Babe, we don’t want any of the neighbors in our house.”

  “Hellooo,” a piercing shrill fills the hallway. “New neighbors, where are you?”

  “Oh no,” Addison whispers. “That can’t be…” before she can finish her thought I’m bum rushed by a busty blonde in a blue sundress.

  “Hi, I’m Miffie.” She holds her hand out for me to shake. “I live right next door.”

  “Vin,” I introduce myself. “This is my wife, Addison.”

  Addison performs like a star, prancing over to shake hands with Miffie with a welcoming smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.

  “We’re going to be the best of friends,” Miffie tells her.

  Before Addison can respond, she’s whisked out of the room amid chatter about the light-colored hardwoods we have in the hallway versus the dark in Miffie’s home. The movers summon me for instructions on where to place things, and by the time I make it downstairs, it’s like a tea-party is going on. Kelly Sanders and Helena Fowler have joined the welcoming committee.

  “Hi, everyone,” I say, meeting them in the kitchen.

  “This is my husband, Vin,” Addison informs the new arrivals, without any warmth in her tone.

  Well this just won’t do. We’re newlyweds, so she should at least be assessing me from head-to-toe like Miffie and Kelly. These suspects need a show to feast on if they’re going to believe the lie we’re feeding them. And by show, I mean show.

  I wander over to Addison, plant my hand on the curve of her hip, and dip in close to her lips, breathing her in. “I missed you.”

  The stunned expression on her face is quickly replaced with a blush. “It’s only been...”
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br />   “Too long,” I interrupt, before brushing my lips against hers. Big fucking mistake. Her lips are soft and sweet like cotton candy with just the right amount of give and take. A warmth unfurls and spreads straight through me, ending at my dick, making it pulse. She runs her fingers up my chest, and actual shivers erupt all over my skin. All from a peck.

  What is going on?

  Seven

  Addison

  This kiss proves my point about needing new curse words because Miffie’s ‘damn’ is highly insufficient. There was no tongue involved, so it was chaste by definition, but it was hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced. What is going on?

  He pulls away, and I try to harness my galloping heart as Kelly and Helena introduce themselves.

  “How romantic you already miss her,” Kelly tells him, with hearts in her eyes. “My husband wouldn’t notice if I left for another country.”

  “Well, we just got married,” Vin explains, moving over to grab a bottled water from the stainless steel fridge. He opens it and takes a drink. “Ok, I’m going to finish up with the movers.” He sets the bottle on the island and his eyes glaze over with sexual promise. “I’ll finish up with you later.”

  He is so good at this, I actually believe it. And to my dismay, so does my vagina. He gives me a seductive wink and strolls out of the kitchen like he truly owns the place. I can’t think straight. If my damp panties are anything to go by, this assignment might’ve been a mistake.

  All the chatter and dribble from the ladies is making me nauseous, but I’m a professional, so I muster up the fakest smile known to man, one just like every woman in this community has probably mastered, and laugh at whatever they’re saying.

  “Hello, anyone home? I found your cat,” a voice that sounds like it belongs to a sex phone operator says as a beautiful sandy-blonde enters the kitchen, holding a black and white furball. I recognize the new arrival as June Whithers from the photos.

  “We don’t have a cat,” I say back to her as she drops the fluff on the tiled floor.