Penthouse Prince (2 page)

“I put that in. Page three. No sex, minimal physical contact, and only when it’s needed to reinforce the illusion. I get it, not a prostitute, we went over that.”

“You’re rushing me.” She flipped to the third page.

“I don’t need to know you. You don’t need to know me. It’s a lie, a short-term lie, until I come up with another solution. You’re perfect for the job. Just sign, we’ll take you shopping and maybe get our picture taken…easy.” He tried to force the pen on her again. Obviously, he wasn’t used to people who didn’t just blindly obey him.

She took the pen and pitched it across the room. “Not until you tell me the catch. What’s this all about?”

He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “My father came for a visit. He’s sick of my…God, my ‘playboy ways’ in his words. He still owns a large portion of shares in the company and threatened to make things a bit uncomfortable for me if I didn’t settle down and get married. It’s so old-school, but it’s what he wants. I agreed…and upon me performing a double ring ceremony, he agreed to hand over his shares, making me the controlling shareholder.”

“What about your real fiancée?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “It’ll be all over the news tomorrow. Suffice it to say, she’s not my fiancée anymore. He met her, so that complicates this, but if I offer him a viable substitution and claim her story of our engagement was a farce, I can buy my lawyers a bit more time to find a loophole. Simple as that.”

“Still not getting what the hitch is for me. Why are you rushing me? What don’t you want me to think through? Like I said, you don’t know me and—”

“I don’t need to know you. We’re not really getting engaged, it’s fake. I need a female, and I’m offering you money to be that woman. Besides, my father will hate you. It’s perfect.” Seeming pleased with himself, he finally moved out of her personal space, which made her realize how much his presence jarred her nerves.

She wasn’t sure what annoyed her more, how alpha he was, assuming he could get whatever he wanted…or how attractive she found him to be. “Why would your father hate me? You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know you’re sexy—though you could maybe use a day at the beauty spa—you’re here, and your timing was perfect. Sign, please.”

The cocky sonofabitch…
It wasn’t just that he assumed he was in any position to make this offer to her. It was that he assumed she’d so readily accept.

She’d had a lot of things assumed about her, and by people who mattered more than one egotistical rich kid. Oh, no, he didn’t know her, nor did he even slightly comprehend how much one woman could rattle his chains, given a bit of time.

But the offer itself?

She would get much needed money, a car, a chance to knock an overconfident asshole down a peg or two, and then walk…taking everything per his own contract.

Yeah. It was a pretty damn good offer.

“Fine,” she said. “Give me another pen.”

“You gonna throw this one?”

She turned to leave.

“Hey! Hey, I was kidding. Here, use my pen. Maybe I should have written a clause about you having a sense of humor.”

When she took the pen, it nearly slipped from her sweaty hands. The shake of her fingertips made her name look a little wobbly as she scribbled on the pages.

“Here, and here.” Camden pointed, as if she couldn’t see the lines that read, “Signature.”

“Done.” She turned to face him. “Not going to get down on one knee?”

His smile was fast and polished. “Darling, if I’m on my knees, I’m not going to be asking you favors. You’ll be begging me.”

She swallowed. He might have been riling her, but something about him caused her nipples to harden. She shook off the comment and set the pen down. “So, when do I start?”

The office door opened, and she caught a glimpse of his father waiting for them.

“Now,” Camden said.

With that, he cupped her neck and took her lips.

Chapter Two

Camden understood the value of a gamble. Risk verses potential gain was math he calculated daily, and this wasn’t any different. Seeing her, face pale with worry, one hand clenching a white and green paper coffee cup, the other pressed to the table, something in him had clicked, and the plan had snapped into view.

Pretend fiancée.

His father wanted him married. Faking it wasn’t exactly a breakthrough idea. Since the sanctity of marriage was proven a farce a long, long time ago by his dad, who was Camden to break the mold?

Love? It didn’t matter, and after seeing his father’s example of a “loving” marriage, Camden had never believed in the fairy tale. He believed in dollars and sense, and money could make just about anyone see sense—or at least pretend in whichever way he wanted.

Which had everything to do with why he couldn’t marry his former fiancée, Tasha. Her failure to fulfill her role meant he needed to install someone else in her position and spin the breakup in his favor—fast.

His father just wanted the rings, and he wasn’t picky about who Camden gave them to. After the way the press had framed his son—the Penthouse Prince, a playboy who’d sooner bring shame to the family than a wife and an heir—his father hoped that marriage would bring a sense of respectability back to his son and the family.

So what if it was an illusion? Illusions were Camden’s specialty.

Seeing her, so out of place in the room full of suits, and having her notice he was tired when absolutely no one in his life seemed to see—or perhaps dared to mention—his exhaustion? Her instant of perceptiveness gave him a gut feeling, and he trusted his gut. After all, it’d always been right, even when his logical mind disagreed.

Her clothes screamed working class—a run in cheap nylons, uncomfortable, but functional. But her black heels. Hair fluffy with untamed curls. And her bottom lip…

He’d kill to taste her bottom lip just once.

But he knew what they’d agreed to. As much as he wanted to kiss her, touch her…he’d have to control himself.

He needed to get her agreement—preferably on paper that looked at least a little legal. The chances of her digging too deeply into the legalese were slim to none, but if she did… Nothing he could type up that fast would hold up in court for a minute.

But he’d been in a hurry. Enough that a quick agreement from her was all he needed. They could finalize their agreement later. Make it official. And legal.

Her questions had surprised him. Usually, if he threw enough money and perks at someone, they agreed without thinking it through. It made him feel a bit like the devil, signing deals which leaned heavily in his favor, painted with perks to blind his unwary competitors. But she’d seen right through him. He’d always ended up with women who fell for his games. What a shame that the one woman who might be his match was only his
fake
fiancée.

Now, as Camden pulled her in for a kiss, the shock on his father’s face was priceless. The man was used to determining value at a glance, and he surely saw all that Camden did in this woman. Working class, average, not the fiancée of one of the richest men on this coast.

If not the country.

What surprised Camden was Jeanie’s reaction.

Apparently quick enough on the uptake to realize she couldn’t pull away or she’d blow his story, her hands lay only a little awkwardly on his chest, and her mouth gave under his. Her tempting bottom lip moved, and he couldn’t resist a little nibble to test the feel of it.

The kiss felt more real from one breath to the next, and his hold on her tightened. The round firmness of her breasts pressed into his chest through her clothes, hard points signaling her reaction. When his tongue darted out, seeking entry, she opened her mouth, allowing the angle of the kiss to slant into something more.

Just the flavor of her was enough to leave his body hard and hot, tempting him to lengthen the embrace and enjoy the sweet nuances of her mouth.

His father cleared his throat, and Camden pulled back enough to meet her eyes.
Green.

A verdant emerald, like the hills of Ireland, captured in her gaze.

He licked his lips and waited, expecting to see something on her face. Some sign of her feelings or her reaction to the kiss. But she didn’t move.

He wasn’t willing to release her entirely, not yet, so he pulled her forward. He leaned on his desk and placed her between his braced legs so he could twine his arms around her waist in the illusion of comfortable touching. “Dad? You didn’t knock.”

“Camden, could we have a moment alone?” His father adjusted his tie, his most obvious tell. He was pissed. So be it. He’d named the game. Camden only played it out.

“Sorry, Dad. Maybe later? Jeanie just got in, like I said, and I’ve missed her. We’re headed out, maybe to do a little shopping and get some dinner. I’ll contact Rachel, get her to cancel my appointments for the day. Didn’t have much anyway, so I’m sure you can cover.”

“Camden—” his father began, but the old man had spent years grooming his son for just this sort of situation.

Never let them get a word in. Keep them on edge. Don’t let them see the chinks in your armor.

“Sorry, Dad, but I promised Jeanie. Maybe later? I’ll call you, and you can come to dinner and get to know her, okay?” He caught her hand, spun her to his side, and led the way to the elevator. He pressed the button and didn’t bother to look behind him. If he showed a moment of insecurity, the old man would swoop in and pick at it until he revealed the lie.

The doors opened, and he guided his new fiancée inside before he punched the button and gave his father a little wave. The moment the doors closed, he released her and slumped into the wall.

“So, you and your dad…not the best of relationships?” Her cool tone didn’t reveal even a little of her response to his kiss.

It grated on his nerves that he couldn’t tell what she thought. She couldn’t have felt nothing. There was something there. Not that he should care, but…

“No, not the best. So, shopping sound okay to you? I can’t guarantee the press won’t get wind and come looking for us, but—I forgot to ask, do you have family or anything you need to let know about this whole thing? To keep them from spilling the proverbial beans and all that.”

“None I can call, no.”

“Should we stop and see them?” Suddenly more curious about her, he tried to see her face, but she hid under the veil of her now-loosened hair.

“I have a daughter,” she blurted out. Those emerald eyes finally tilted up, and he gazed into them. “She’s only five, though, so I doubt she’ll pose a threat to your little lie.”

“A kid?”
Shit.
A kid. “Are you married already? That would be a huge breach—”

He didn’t expect the flat-handed slap to his chest or the fire in her gaze. “You really are arrogant, do you know that? If I were married, I wouldn’t have signed a contract to pretend to be engaged to you. Who would do that? For money? Really?”

In his world, there weren’t a lot people wouldn’t do for money. “But you have a kid? Deadbeat dad or something?”

“Her father is not your concern. You signed the deal with me, not him.” When the elevator opened to the parking garage, she turned away from him again.

“I may have signed the deal with you,” he said, “but if there are people who might endanger the situation—”

“I can handle your lie. I have a kid, yes. You keep her out of this, though. Do you hear me? No one finds out about her. You’re not fucking with my kid’s mind just so you can screw your dad out of some shares in a stupid company.”

She stomped away from him, and he waited, jiggling the keys in his hand. After a moment, she stopped, stomped her foot, and marched back to him.

“It’s not a stupid company.” He breathed slowly and held her gaze. “It’s a multibillion dollar corporation.”

“Whatever. Where’s your car?”

He held his smile back with iron control. “It’s
not
a stupid company. It’s a very important company. The kid won’t be a problem. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of for the duration.”

She snorted and tapped her foot.

“My car is over there.” He nodded in the direction of his Bugatti and watched as she walked away.

She had a nice ass, rounded.

Not that he should check it out. She was an employee.

Coincidentally, she was an employee he got to kiss.

They could pull this off. She had spunk.

“So, shopping?” He unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel.

“Works for me, Richie Rich.” She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “This day is officially the weirdest ever.”

He laughed and glanced at his watch. “It’s still lunchtime, Jeanie. Besides, I have the feeling this is going to get more interesting the better we get to know one another.”

From seeing her and having the idea plop into his mind, fully formed, to her so near and intimate in the confines of his car, he realized he was having fun for the first time in a long time.

Not that he was going to tell her that.

Chapter Three

Shopping with a black credit card should have been a decadent pleasure, especially since Jeanie practiced budgeting more than splurging. But it was hard to enjoy herself when the card’s owner loomed over her like some overzealous mother hen, approving or rejecting her selections.

She said, “Are you going to be this picky about everything? Because I don’t think that was in your contract.”

“You didn’t read the whole contract. Never sign something you only skimmed, rule number one. That said…” He glanced up from the pile of purses the shopkeeper had collected for him and smiled a cockeyed grin. “It’s rather amusing, actually. When I was a kid, I had dreams of becoming an artist. Color, balance…all of it fascinated me. It’s amazing how much better we can make you look with softer fabrics and more vibrant color choices.”

“Isn’t it like putting lipstick on a pig?” She looked at herself in the mirror as she inserted the earrings he’d picked for this outfit. “I mean, because I’m in such desperate need for a day at the spa and all.”

He came up behind her, closer than she’d expected. He seemed to do that a lot. The man really needed a lesson or two in boundaries, even if she had to admit it was nice to have a sexy man this close to her. She hadn’t been on a date in God knew how long. Certainly hadn’t kissed a man, and forget about anything else.

“Sure, you could fix yourself up a little. But I didn’t say you’re hideous.”

She snorted—okay, the guy could make her laugh, she’d give him that—and spun so he could see the whole look. “Thanks for that. Not being hideous has always been an aspiration of mine.”

“Not bad. So, the kid…why can’t we discuss her?”

“Because it’s none of your damned business.” She slid back into the dressing room, pulled off the dress, and yanked back on her skirt.

“Come on, I’m curious.”

She fought off a smile. “Obviously. You’ve asked ten times already. I’m not talking to you while I’m naked. Go away. Go buy some of this stuff or something. Buy the store. Just go away for a minute while you do it.”

He wasn’t charming, more of an ass, but his face… It never matched the whiplash of words. When he looked at her, he seemed almost hungry. Like he wanted to gobble her up in one fast bite. Then why had he made that crack about her not being “hideous?” Contradictions—he seemed full of them.

His low laugh from the other side of the door sent jitters of electricity skittering over her flesh.
Proceed with caution, Jeanie-girl
. The man possessed a lethal dose of masculine confidence and oozed sensuality. His ease in touching her, his smile, his wit—all might prove a dangerous cocktail if she didn’t remember exactly who and what he was.

She stuck her tongue out at herself in the mirror, and then she opened the door, only to find him leaning on the frame. “Ever heard of the concept of personal space?”

“Am I making you nervous?” He wiggled his eyebrows, as if they were flirting or something.

“No.”
Liar.

“Good. There’s a photographer outside the window. How about a little love peck for the press?” His eyes, at this proximity, might still give the impression he needed a power nap or ten, but it didn’t detract in the slightest from the raw power of his general hotness. He puckered up, quirked a brow, and she barely resisted laughing at him.

“Where?” She stood on her tiptoes and tried to peer over his shoulder.

“Look, kiss me or don’t, but peeking over my shoulder might give away that we’re aware of them.”

She breathed out a gusty sigh, dropped back to flat feet, and placed a hand on his chest. “I’m just supposed to trust you?”

“In this case, yeah, let me lead. That’ll work.” He cupped her neck again, and she braced herself for the onslaught.

The man could kiss—she’d recognized his skill at making out in his office. He’d gone from casual to electric in less time than it took her to shudder out a sigh. So long as she remembered how fake both his kiss and his fiancé act were, she could do this.

This time, he paused, waiting for her to submit to his touch, before ducking his head closer. Their breath mingled, and she recognized this would be different from his first fake smooch. He’d rushed before. Now, he took his time.

His lips on hers, smooth and cool, shouldn’t have been so distracting, but she found herself relaxing into his light touch as he teased the corner of her mouth.

Acting. I’m just acting.

Yeah, right.

Keep telling yourself that, girl.

The feel of his shirt, soft under her fingertips, held the warmth of his skin beneath. A brief temptation to undo those buttons, rumple his rich boy façade, and slide her hand across his flesh tempted her while his mouth eased her lips open so his tongue could dance against her own.

Kissing a stranger shouldn’t be this fun.

And in the kiss, it seemed the playboy faded away. Instead he was again the tired-eyed man who’d first approached her in the penthouse. The way he kissed her, it was almost as though he was asking her permission with his lips.

Was this another illusion?

But then his hand shook, just a little, when he changed the angle of her head. A catch of his breath, like he wanted her, and her heart raced in answer. She moved into his embrace, not sure if she was fighting for dominance or control…

The feel of the wall against her back awakened her from his touch, and she braced her hand against him. He stopped kissing her immediately, and she gestured at the door, unable to form words just yet.

He glanced back before shooting her a questioning look.

“The door. It swung closed. They can’t see us. Wasted photo op.” Proud her voice didn’t quaver, she straightened her shirt.

“Yeah, well, me kissing you into the dressing room will make it look like I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

Is he breathless? Or am I projecting?

Since his fingers toyed with the ends of her shirt, as if he was about to tug it up and claim her flesh, she quirked a brow at him. “Apparently, you can’t. Wanna back down, lover boy?”

He stepped away from her quickly, taking the warmth of his body with him. She fought down the urge to pull him back.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled. “You know, fake kissing you isn’t entirely horrible.”

She snorted and snagged her purse. “Look, Romeo, you’re really starting to turn my head with all these compliments. I’m shocked you’re single, considering.”

She’d intended the last as a jest, but his expression closed down, shutting her out. “Yep, shocker. Do you need an hour or two before dinner? You’re going to have to tell me something about the kid, too, or I can’t help you hide it.”

“You really have to lay off that. I’m not telling you about my child. And, yeah, I could use an hour before dinner. You know, do the hair and makeup thing. Put on the fancy clothes, sharpen my talons.”

He ran a hand through his dark, curly hair, and she envied his hand in a sick and twisted way. “I will send someone over to do the hair and makeup thing, as you so elegantly put it.”

“I can do my own hair and makeup.”

He scanned her, head to toe. “I’m sure you can. Probably. Maybe. Not that there’s any evidence to support the supposition at this time, but who knows? You seem like a clever girl; you might pull it off. But if you’re pretending to be my fiancée, you wouldn’t have to, so I’ll send someone over.”

She shrugged. His money to waste. More money than brains—a catch phrase barely remembered from her grandmother—came to mind.

He pushed open the door to the dressing room—

And flashes from a camera going off blinded them.

He yanking the door closed and leaned on the wall. “Shit. Well, hmm.”

“There really was a photographer.” She didn’t quite manage to hide the surprise in her tone.

“Of course there was. I told you, you can trust me.” He pulled out a cell phone and made a call. He spoke fast, apparently his normal way, then hung up and dialed again. Within moments, the sounds of a scuffle filtered through the door, and he straightened away from the wall and held a hand out to her. “All clear.”

“You managed to clear the shop with a phone call?” She followed him out of the dressing room.

“Two, but yes. Perks of being wealthy.” He nodded and held out his business card to the shopkeeper, who looked a bit awed. “I want everything we selected sent to my penthouse immediately. Make sure it’s freshly pressed and ready to wear, understand?”

A brisk nod and pleased smile was all the answer Camden got before he swept her out of the shop.

“You didn’t pay for that stuff,” she said.

“Another perk of being rich. They know where to find me. There are lots of perks to being rich. It almost makes up for the downfalls.” He shoved a pair of sunglasses on his regal Roman nose and continued to tug her along. “Change of plans…you’re staying with me.”

“I can’t stay with you!” She dug in her heels and locked her knees, grinding him to a halt. His brows popped up over the shades in askance, and her heart raced. She needed to get home to Kaycee, set up the neighbor to keep an eye on her for a few days, and try to figure out how to explain this mess to a five-year-old.

Someone holding a camera rushed down the sidewalk in their direction. Okay, time for her to get moving again.

Camden seemed to have the same idea. He didn’t release his hold, kept their fingers twined together, and glided back into his power walk as if she’d never broken his stride. “See, we’re going to have to talk about the kid. I mentioned that would happen. Actually, we should pick her up. Give me the address. Save me a Google search.”

As he deposited her into the car, flashes of a distant camera caught her eye. She thumped her hand on the dash. “Dammit.”

He slid into the driver’s seat and popped the car in gear. “So where do we pick the kid up?”

“That’s a terrible idea. I didn’t agree to it.”

“Would you rather the press discover the kid and get to it before we do? They’re scrambling, as we speak, trying to figure out who you are, I’d bet money on it. How long do you think you have before they’ve solved the mystery and, because of you, find her?”

Like it would hurt him to lose a bet? The man probably bathed in money like that rich duck in the cartoon. However, he made a valid point. She couldn’t let the press find Kaycee. If they picked too hard at that nugget of her past…

“Seventy-sixth and West.”

He gunned it out of the parking spot, his smile only a little victorious.

“Doesn’t this mess with your engagement story? Living in sin with your fake fiancée, now adding a kid they may or may not realize is hidden in your house? Wouldn’t it be easier to back out now?”

“Nope. Hey, Dad wanted me to settle down, start a family. He probably didn’t plan on me fast forwarding to the children bit before I got hitched but, hell, I’ve never done things the way he planned.” In and out of traffic he slid, not bothering to glance her way.

She sighed and flopped back into the seat. “Maybe I should tell you a little about her. Just so you know what not to say, that sort of thing.”

He nodded, and his eyes still didn’t leave the road. “Deadbeat dad? I shouldn’t mention him because it hurts the kid to realize Daddy doesn’t care enough to pay his bit, see the kid, all that sob story stuff? Oh, wait, you got pregnant too young. He didn’t want the kid, but you kept it? Now you’re doing it all on your own, blah blah, cue the powerful yet moving soundtrack? I hear that happens a lot.”

“No, Mr. Know-it-all. Her dad died serving our country in Afghanistan when she was only a baby. He was a hero.”

His foot eased off the gas a bit, and he seemed to reconsider what he’d said.

“You’re a widow,” he said. “To a soldier. I’m so sorry.”

She snorted. “You really must stop assuming.”

“Tell me I’m wrong?” The challenge in his voice irked her. “I didn’t nail any of it?”

“She’s my sister. I’ve been raising her since our dad died. So there, smart ass.”

He hit the brakes hard, and they snapped forward against their seatbelts. She recovered herself, then realized he’d stopped the car and was staring at her.