Chapter Three
What the fuck did I just do?
Hawke shoved his hand through his hair before opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. Sure he had a strict rule about not drinking before five.
He also had a strict rule against getting married.
And yet he’d just asked the ballerina to marry him after knowing her for all of five minutes. Dumbest thing he’d ever done. She probably thought her mom had married into insanity.
She had.
Without asking him anything, she’d pointed to her door. Once he was through, she’d clicked the lock. Couldn’t blame her.
How could I even think she would agree to this?
It was that red hair. She had it so tight in that bun, all he could think about was ripping those pins from the tight knot and fucking her from behind while holding on to it.
But he wasn’t only thinking with his dick. He needed control of the damn company he’d helped build. Yeah, that was the other reason.
He could play his father’s game. Marry the redheaded ballerina. Give her the money she needed to bail herself out of whatever bind she was in, and then he’d get control of Motorhead. It was win-win.
And you want to fuck her.
He definitely was not going to make sex a part of the deal. As much as he wanted to, it would screw everything up. And she might see it as him paying for sex, and that was another one of his rules. He didn’t pay for what was given to him freely.
There had been a lot of slamming drawers and doors. She was packing to leave—had probably already called his dad and told him that his son was bat-shit crazy.
That would alert the old man to his plan, which would really mess things up.
He chugged down the beer and then grabbed another, remembering the stink-eye she’d tossed his way at his impromptu proposal.
She’d had the strangest reaction to him. She’d backed away, muttering something about the hot ones always being insane. Once he was out in the hall, trying to give her some space, she slammed the door in his face.
If they married, the company could be his in six months. The controlling shares his mom left in her will would come to him. He’d never have to worry again about some money-hungry chick marrying his dad and getting any control over the family business and fortune. Then he’d just have to stay married for the required twenty-four months. He’d been a kid when his mom died and still didn’t understand why she’d put that in her will. Back then, the company hadn’t been worth much, but the shares had been his dad’s wedding gift to her, and she’d passed them on to Hawke in her will.
He’d be able to protect those he cared about. He had five more siblings to put through college, and two more through grad school. Cannon was the only one who had graduated and was working full-time. The rest still relied on him.
And it was okay. He was proud of all of them. Sherilynn had two more years of residency, then she’d be a doctor. Motorhead had helped make that happen. It was the least he could do for the kids his dad had left behind. His stepbrothers and sisters. Even if none of them were blood relatives, as the oldest, Hawke had always felt responsible for them.
He tried to get them together for the holidays when possible and make sure everyone had a good time. They might be a fucked-up bunch, but they were family. He glanced out the window at the river. The recent rains had the rapids going faster than usual. Most of the time, watching the water soothed him, but not today.
This was a good idea, though. If the ballerina wouldn’t marry him, maybe he’d find someone else. Flipping through his phone, he paused by a few names. Nope. There wasn’t a single woman he could imagine being tied to even for just the summer. And none of them would be running off to Europe to further her career, leaving him alone to do what he wanted.
Crap. He needed the ballerina to say yes.
“Are you an alcoholic?” The ballerina interrupted his thoughts, and he whipped around at the sound of her voice. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and a thin, pink T-shirt that did nothing to hide the black lace bra beneath.
He glanced down at the beer he’d forgotten was there. “Is that a problem?”
When she didn’t reply, he glanced back up at her. She was staring at him, weighing his answer. Finally she shrugged and continued.
“Are you violent when you drink?” Anger passed across her face. Something had happened to her. His protective instincts took over again. Had she been hurt by some abusive asshole? But she was talking to him, and that was a good sign, so he’d wait to interrogate her about that.
“I never get drunk. I do enjoy an occasional beer or three. And I’m never violent. I have a rule about never drinking before five, but I broke it today.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to reassure her, but he did.
From the way her eyes narrowed, he wasn’t sure she believed him.
“I have conditions,” she said. She turned to face the same windows he’d been staring out of. “If we’re going to do this, I need to know why. I’m kind of awesome, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t fall in love with me just because you saw me naked in the pool.”
She was right about the awesome. “This has nothing to do with love. I don’t really believe in that, or in marriage. But to protect what’s mine, and to care for my family the way they deserve, I have to marry. That’s all I can tell you right now. You have your secrets, I have mine.”
“If it’s business, why would you need a wife? And I’m sure”—she waved up at him—“there are a lot of women who would be willing to do this.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need a permanent wife. Something came up, and to be honest, I’d never considered this option. Until today. You need the money, and I need a temporary wife. So it’s a business deal.”
Craziest fucking idea ever. But there it was.
After sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, she folded her arms. For a full minute, she worried her delectable mouth with her teeth. “A business deal. And when it’s over, we both walk away. No strings. And I don’t have to pay the money back.”
“Right,” he said carefully. “As long as we stay together for twenty-four months. I mean, not together. I have to stay married for two years. But that doesn’t mean we have to live together.” Damn, why was he stumbling over his words? There was something about her that made him feel raw and confused. “I figure you hang around this summer, and then no one is going to question that you’re running off to dance somewhere. An ‘I wouldn’t keep you from your career’ kind of thing.”
He leaned back against the kitchen counter, keeping his distance. He didn’t want to spook her. For some reason, one he refused to examine too closely, he wanted her to agree to this. And it was beyond him wanting to ensure the financial future of the family.
“This is really weird. And it doesn’t make any sense. You just met me. How do you know I won’t sell this crazy story to the papers or tell everyone that you’re insane?”
He shrugged. “I don’t. You could walk out the door now and sell the story to the tabloids or the Austin Statesman. My family has been tabloid fodder before. That’s how I found out my dad had married your mom. But you’re in trouble, and I need help with a…my situation. And if we do this, we’re both signing non-disclosure agreements to protect our private lives.”
“Okay.”
She swiveled away from him on the barstool and stared out of the window for so long Hawke started to get nervous. Would she go to the papers? Honestly, he hadn’t considered that. Couldn’t be any worse than his dad marrying for the ninth time.
She finally turned to face him. “I have conditions.”
He held his breath. “Shoot.”
“One”—she ticked off a finger—“I think I should get something out of the deal. I mean, no offense, but being married to you—well, I deserve more than fifty-thousand dollars.”
And here it comes. She was going to ask for a million.
“Name it.” Everyone had a price, especially gold-digging women.
“If I’m going to get married, I don’t want anyone else to know it’s fake. I want my family and yours to think it’s for real. I don’t really believe in marriage or love, either. We have that in common. But if I’m going to do it this once, I want to pretend it’s real. Live the fantasy, so to speak. And more importantly, I don’t want my mom to figure out what’s going on. She wouldn’t be happy to know I married for money. That one is a deal-breaker. I’ve been on my own for a long time, so I don’t want her knowing my business.”
Yeah, he understood that. And pretend it was real? He wasn’t sure how that would work, but he’d go along with whatever if it got him what he wanted.
“Okay. No one but us knows it isn’t real. That works for me, as well. My dad will know if we don’t play it the right way, and that’s the last thing I need.”
She turned back to face him and pursed her lips. Then she frowned before taking a deep breath. “I’ve been working my ass off for the last fifteen years, doing very little beyond dancing, rehearsing, and performing. I haven’t had time to breathe. So this summer, it’s about me. I want to have fun. And I want sex. Crazy monkey sex.”
He coughed and set his beer on the counter. “What?” As much as his dick cheered, he hadn’t been expecting her to say that. And no way in hell was he fucking her. But that she wanted it did worry him a bit. Sex might complicate everything. She could get attached to him, and he couldn’t risk that.
She shrugged. “Unless you have a problem or something?” She glanced down at his crotch, which hardened.
“No. But sex might complicate things.” He couldn’t fathom why he was arguing with her. Wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it a few dozen times since he’d first seen her. But this had bad idea written all over it. She didn’t seem like the type to leave her feelings at the door, and he might be an asshole, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Hadn’t he just swooped her off the floor in tears a couple of hours ago?
He regarded her carefully and pulled himself up to sit on the counter, still keeping a safe distance.
“You ever have a one-night stand?” she asked. “I’m guessing you’ve had a lot of them. So just think about it as a string of those—only with me. That’s another thing. We’re monogamous while we’re married. I don’t want you coming home with some kind of skank disease.”
Skank disease? The ballerina was on a roll. She wanted sex? Hell, he’d been thinking of nothing else since he’d met her.
But it was still a very bad idea. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
“So your conditions are you want to pretend we’re really married—and have sex.” It would be his job to show her why he was the last person she wanted to have—what was it she said?—hot monkey sex with. He’d make sure it was in the paperwork that at the end of their marriage, that was it. And for now, he’d let the sex thing go. No way in hell that was going in the paperwork. But why wasn’t she asking him for more money? She definitely had another angle she was playing here. Something didn’t add up.
“Yes, and if I’m only going to do this once, I want the stuff that goes with it.”
“Stuff?”
“The wedding dress, the cake, and a reception. Doesn’t have to be big or fancy. Just…I want that stuff.”
He’d been planning on getting married by a justice of the peace. Or his friend Gray, who was a county judge. He jumped off the counter and moved to her side of the breakfast bar. She didn’t flinch when he neared, which was better than what had happened upstairs. She wanted crazy monkey sex with him? Didn’t fucking make sense. Maybe he could talk her out of that, or show her he was definitely not her type. “Do you have a problem getting married at the courthouse?”
She shook her head. “As long as I get the other stuff, I’m good.”
“Anything else?” He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I don’t know how to drive. So you’re going to have to take me shopping. But other than that, nope.”
She didn’t want more money?
“You okay with signing a prenup?”
“I kind of figured that was part of the business arrangement. I want it all on paper, so we’re both clear. Two years and we’re done. Really, it’s only going to have to be two months of making it look like we’re married. You were right about that. Once my rehabilitation is over, I have to get back to Paris for auditions. We’ll still pretend, so you get whatever you need out of the deal. But two months, and I’m out of here. We never have to see each other again.”
This was a very bad idea. He stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
…
Amy stared at herself in the bathroom mirror of the courthouse. It had been five days since she’d agreed to this insanity. And she hadn’t told a soul. Not a single person in her family knew what she was about to do.
This is crazy. It was, but it was a necessity. When she’d first started her career, her brother had been there for her. No matter how insufferable Hawke might be, she could do this for a few months, and then she’d be back in Paris where she belonged.
She put the last of the pins in her hair. The saleswoman had suggested she wear her long hair down with this dress, but the bun was her thing. Though, this one was a little looser, with some curls softened around her face.
She wiggled her foot in the platforms she picked to wear. It was her first time to wear shoes since the accident. These made her taller than her five feet five inches, which she needed. She wanted to look Hawke in the eye when they said their “I Do”s. Well, at least she didn’t want to have to look up so high. The guy was ginormous, and the shoes gave her at least a few more inches.
Sure, this was a sham of a marriage, one she’d said she’d do to help her brother, but she was going to have fun, dammit. After her mom’s horrible marriages, Amy had decided long ago she would never get hitched. So for her, this was a summer break. A chance to play house with a hot guy and live out a few of her fantasies.
You’re insane.
Yes, she was.
None of this made sense, but she was doing it anyway. There was the promise of hot monkey sex. She held on to that. With all of her hours in the studio, she’d found little time to date the last few years.
She was calling this her sex break. Two months of sex with Hawke. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it. For the last week, he’d steered clear of her, except when he had to take her shopping and when they went to the lawyer’s office to sign the papers.
Grinning, she layered on cherry-red lipstick. He was in for a surprise.
He was expecting her to walk out in the pink princess confection she’d tried on at the bridal shop. She’d seen him cringe when she’d walked out looking like something Bridal Barbie had barfed up.
But secretly, she’d tried on this one. It was simple, form-fitting, strapless, and the beading was exquisite. It was long, but later on at the reception he’d promised, she could step out of the skirt so she could dance. Under the dress was a tight white mini that would definitely make moving easier.
Hawke banged on the door. “You okay in there?” It had only taken her five minutes to get ready. Dancers usually had fifteen seconds to change, so she was a pro. But she was getting married, and she wasn’t about to be rushed—even for a fake wedding.
“Yes. Just a minute.” She gathered the clothing she’d worn and put it in her bag. Then she grabbed the box carrying her dress. She wished she’d called one of her friends to help her out. But most of them were overseas in various dance companies. And the ones in Houston, well, she wasn’t quite ready to go public with her pretend marriage.
She opened the door and handed him the box. “Can you carry this?” Glancing back into the bathroom, she made sure she hadn’t left anything behind.
When she turned around, he was frowning at her. She checked her clothing. Everything was where it should be.
He wore a white button-down shirt with a black tie and dark jeans. She was okay with that. It was his fake wedding, too. There was no reason for either of them to dress up. She’d just wanted to feel like a bride. Once. And then she’d be over it. No way in hell would she end up like her mother.
He took the box from her and then paused.
“That isn’t the dress you said you were buying.” His voice was deep and husky. Obviously, he didn’t approve.
“I changed my mind in the dressing room. Pink isn’t really my color. Is it that bad?” She fluttered a hand down her ribs. “I used my money. You don’t have to worry.”
“It’s not that.” He took her other bag off her shoulder and slung it on his. “They’re waiting for us.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out.
“Okay. But will you tell me what’s wrong with the dress?”
“Nothing,” he said.
Why did she even care what he thought? She rolled her eyes.
He started walking, but she didn’t follow. He paused but didn’t turn around.
Then he tossed a glance back at her. “You’re beautiful, okay? Breathtakingly beautiful and unexpected.”
Well, merde.