Pretend It's Love(8)

"No it's not. Don't tell me you're one of those guys who think all girls  are waiting to trap a man into marriage." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm  perfectly happy without the wedding, the white picket fence, and the  commitment."

He chuckled. "Music to my ears."

She sipped her coffee and motioned for Paul to follow her into the  living area. "I can support myself and, so long as other needs are taken  care of, I'm perfectly happy being independent."

"And what other needs might they be?" He dropped down onto the couch, crossing an ankle over one knee.

He seemed to take up all the room, and Libby forced herself not to  admire how damned delectable he looked sprawled out like that. She chose  an armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. Better to keep a  little distance.

"None that you need to worry about," she said, crossing her legs demurely.

"Have you got a rabbit for that?"

"A rabbit?" She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant and then  snapped it shut when the true meaning of his words settled over her.  "What I do in the privacy of my own home is none of your business."

"I need to know my girlfriend isn't left wanting." He grinned at her like a wolf sizing up its prey.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

"So why did your relationship end badly? Some bastard hurt you?" He drummed his fingers on his knee, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes."

Some bastard had used and discarded her like a takeaway coffee  cup … casting her out of the one place where she'd wanted acceptance.  Craved it. Needed it with the desperation of a starving woman reaching  for food because she'd never been able to get it at home. But she'd  failed and had been humiliated for it.         

     



 

That was her punishment for thinking she could change a womanizer into a reliable, committed partner.

The memory still bit into her, sharp and painful. But it had been a  lesson she needed to learn, so Libby did the same as any good student  would do. She copped the failure on the chin and adjusted her behavior  accordingly.

No relationships, no commitment, no emotions. Just a little fun when she  needed it, so long as she was sure she could keep the other person at  arm's length. Flings were better than relationships, anyway-it was the  honeymoon period without any of the crap that followed.

"What did he do?" he asked, the curiosity undisguised in his voice.

"It's not relevant."

Paul nodded. Sunlight shone into the room between the slats of her  blinds, casting a flickering light as the breeze from an open window  pushed them around. He hadn't shaved-the dark stubble made the angle of  his jaw look even sharper and more appealing.

Libby distracted herself by inspecting her freshly manicured nails for imperfections. "What's your family like?"

"They can be a little intense." He raked a hand through his hair, but  the dark waves sprung stubbornly back into place. "But they're good  people. Traditional. My ma will be very excited when you turn up for  dinner."

"You haven't told her I'm coming?" She blinked.

"I thought we'd go with the element of surprise."

She could just imagine how her father would react if she randomly turned  up at his house with a man. Then again, the chances of Paul's family  being anything like her own were slim. Like runway model slim.

"How do you think they'll take it?" She guarded her tone, hoping he  wouldn't pick up on the hint of insecurity that grew inside her like a  weed. But she needed to prepare mentally if he was going to feed her to  the sharks.

"Are you kidding?" He bobbed his head. "They'll think the sun shines out of your ass."

Laughter bubbled in her throat at his choice of metaphor. "Why?"

"Because you're girlie and sweet, but you look like you don't take any  shit from anyone, either." His eyes lingered on her. "Besides, who  wouldn't think you were the perfect girl for their son?"

"I don't know." She sipped her coffee, her hands cradling the colorful  mug. "This is a first for me, too. I don't meet a guy's parents if I can  help it."

"So I'm popping your cherry, then?"

"I'm serious about making my business work, and I'll do whatever it takes," she said, ignoring the innuendo.

"I can see that." Paul's expression was guarded, his dark eyes revealing nothing as he interlaced his fingers behind his head.

The pose made his biceps bulge beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt.  As it pulled across his chest, Libby's eyes drifted to the muscles  there. He was so … defined.

"So how did we meet?" she asked, dragging her eyes up to his face.

Paul smirked. "Can't we go with the truth? I picked you up at a bar."

She shook her head. "No. We met through a friend of a friend, some loose connection no one will ask about."

"Boring."

"Believable. We don't need to be interesting, in fact, the less  interesting the better." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her  ear. "We want to seem as normal and unexciting as possible."

"You're making our relationship sound like wholegrain cereal."

She smirked. "Trust me, the less information you give people the easier lying is."

"You can try that, but my mother puts gossip reporters to shame. Trust me."



Pulling up into his parents' driveway with Libby in the passenger seat  was weird to say the least. For a guy who'd been called so laidback he  could barely stand, he suddenly felt as jittery as a teenager on a first  date. Maybe it was because he remembered the exact moment he'd brought  Sadie home. While she wasn't as vibrant and confident as Libby, she'd  had that same polish about her. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect  smile.

She's not Sadie, and this is not a real relationship. Relax.

In the close confines of the car Libby's delicious scent intoxicated  him. She smelled like roses and those pink musk candies he'd devoured as  a kid. Sweet, heavenly, and utterly addictive.

"Is there anything else you want to ask me before we go in?" She fiddled  with the mirror on the passenger side visor, touching a pink gloss to  her lips.

"I think we're good." He turned, reaching through to the back seat to grab his jacket.         

     



 

Libby's throat was inches from his face as his hand groped along the  back seat. Her breath stuttered in the silence of the car. Was it his  imagination, or did her eyes look a little wider?

"Great." Her voice came out tight, her smile overbright.

He touched his hand to her arm and immediately regretted it. "We'll be fine. You've got nothing to worry about."

The soft cotton of her top was so thin he could feel the heat radiating  from her skin. Her breath hitched before she opened the passenger side  door with a little more force than was necessary.

"I'm not worried. Not even a little bit."

Outside, he shrugged into his jacket. Had he totally lost his mind?  Bringing a fake girlfriend home to meet the family was a low move. His  mother would fall in love with Libby, he knew that for sure. Talk about  giving her false hope.

He swallowed down the desire to turn around and take Libby back to her  house. As much as he loved his family, it was their fault he'd been put  in this situation. If they didn't put so much pressure on him to be like  his brother he wouldn't feel the need to lie … would he?

He forced himself to think of the wedding, of the years of criticism and  scrutiny his aunts and uncles had heaped on him. Of all the things  they'd said to his mother under the guise of being "helpful." He forced  himself to think of Sadie, pregnant with his cousin's child.

The child he'd once dreamed of having.

Bringing a fake girlfriend home might be low, but he wasn't a cheating  son of a bitch like his cousin. Still, he felt like a dick doing this to  his family. Especially his ma.

"Let's go," he said, holding out his arm to Libby. "It's showtime."

She stood taller against him, having changed into a pair of her  signature crazy-high heels. As much as he knew his relationship with  Libby was fake, he couldn't help imagining what she'd look like in only  those heels. Like dessert and heaven and sex rolled into one, he'd bet.

Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her body pushed against him. She  teetered on the unsteady paving of his parents' front steps. Each bump  of her hip sent a shot of heat through him.

He'd spent the afternoon trying not to think about how attractive she  was with that mane of red hair and that perky butt encased in faded  denim. In all likelihood he'd failed but, judging by some of the looks  she'd thrown him, the feeling was mutual.

"You're asking for trouble in those shoes," he said, forcing his attention to something safer than Libby's distracting curves.

"I'm asking for trouble anyway." She offered him a sly smile as he rang the doorbell. "The shoes are just the cherry on top."

Paul was about to ask her what kind of trouble she preferred when a  thumping noise came from the house followed by footsteps. "You're not  scared of dogs, are you?"