Pretend to Be Mine Read online

  “When I collect your laundry, and deliver it to your penthouse, I would like a thank you.”

  “You don’t feel I appreciate you.” It’s a statement, and there’s a hint of mirth in his tone, as if he’s not taking me serious.

  Standing, he moves around his desk, sitting on the edge.

  We’re so close. Too close.

  “When I…” I swallow past the golf ball sized lump in my throat. “When I take your car to the valet…”

  “You want me to say, thank you?” He nods carefully as his eyes fixate on me. He draws close as he says, “Anything else?”

  Yes, I want your hands all over my body. I want you to caress me as you do one of those women that are on your list. The secret list that no one knows about. The one that you pretend doesn’t exist, but I accidentally came across when you forgot your iPad at home, and I just happen to stumble on it.

  “No,” I whisper.

  His lips curve up and those eyes, the color of sapphires, never leave mine. “Thank you, Miss Walsh.”

  “For what?” My voice cracks, betraying my nerves, and I wonder if he can tell how much he affects me.

  “For your help.” His eyes bore into mine, and I swear for a moment he’s going to kiss me.

  Do it, I beg silently.

  Instead, he stands and moves across the room, stopping when he gets to the door. “Oh and Miss Walsh…”

  “Yes?”

  “You have the rest of the day off. The car will be waiting outside the building in fifteen minutes to take you to Adeline’s Boutique. Don’t keep the driver waiting.”

  The door shuts behind him.

  “Great,” I mumble under my breath, wondering what the hell I’ve just got myself into.

  Chapter Five

  Brooklyn

  I walk into the boutique, feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Because the more I think about it, that’s what I am tonight – a paid escort. Well, not exactly paid, but the new dress, the hair and make-up artists Ross hired. It all just seems a bit much.

  I’ve never been pampered. We never had the money for anything frivolous or excessive.

  “You’re Miss Walsh?” A middle-aged woman, with dark hair, and friendly brown eyes approaches.

  I stand by the door still contemplating whether to bolt. This is not a good idea.

  But I can’t lose this job. And even though I hate to admit it, there’s a small part of me that’s excited about dressing up, pretending, even for one night, to be something more than I am.

  “Brooklyn,” I say with a forced smile.

  “I’m Jessica, and this is Wendy.” A younger woman with strawberry blonde hair steps forward. “Mr. White told us that you were on your way. We’re happy to help you get ready for tonight.”

  I look around the shop and notice that no one’s here apart from me, Jessica and Wendy.

  “You’re lucky, we’re booked up two weeks in advance, but we had a last minute cancellation,” Jessica says.

  I glance around at the expensive items that are displayed so elegantly around the boutique.

  There’s nothing in this store that I can afford. It’s way out of my league.

  “Come in, Darling. Relax and let us take care of everything.” Jessica smiles, and ushers me to a cushioned seat, then hands me a flute of champagne. “It’s our job to pamper you, so just sit back and enjoy it.”

  I start sipping on the champagne, thinking that I’ll need something to settle the nerves. I don’t know why I'm so nervous, maybe it's the date or just being here in a territory that's completely different to my world.

  The women move around me like busy bees, taking my measurements, and chatting excessively about the current fashion trends. I just smile and nod, because I know nothing about those things.

  On my second glass of champagne, I begin to relax, and it starts to hit home that this is an experience to enjoy. Because this will probably be the only time in my life I’ll ever be pampered like this.

  “What’s your favorite color?” Wendy asks, a broad smile wrinkling her face.

  I haven’t been asked that question since I was a kid. Back then, it was yellow. The color of sunshine and happiness. Something I didn’t have much of during my childhood.

  “Yellow,” I say with a little too much excitement.

  Both women chuckle.

  “You’ve never done this before have you?”

  I whisper, “No.”

  “No worries,” Jessica says. “You need a gown for the evening, and yellow in the midst of autumn isn't an option. You’ve got beautiful green eyes. A dark, pine green would look lovely on you. What do you think Wendy?”

  Wendy shakes her head, “You know what I think she’ll look beautiful in?”

  “Cerulean,” they say in unison.

  “I have no idea what that is.” I shake my head with a small chuckle. “But I trust you.”

  They start racing around the boutique, gathering items and placing them in the dressing room to my left. There’s a little stage in front of me, and I wonder if they expect me to try on what they pick out. Do a mini catwalk show on top of it.

  I take another sip of champagne and smile at the thought. It would be embarrassing, but then again it's only us in the boutique. No one can see from outside with the tinted windows.

  “The make-up artist will be here in twenty minutes,” Jessica says.

  “Oh, and the stylist in fifteen. So we don’t have long,” Wendy replies, as both women hold up dresses that I would never dream of wearing in a million years.

  “What do you think?” Wendy asks, displaying a beautiful blue silk gown that looks like it’s worth more than my annual salary.

  I sigh, feeling like Cinderella with her Fairy Godmother giving her a once in a lifetime opportunity.

  Because that’s what this is.

  The only difference is there’s no Prince Charming waiting for me. Only Ross White, CEO and bad boy millionaire, ready to break my heart in a thousand pieces if I give him even the slightest chance.

  Chapter Six

  Ross

  I arrive at the boutique, the one where I used to sit and squirm for hours while my mom spent what seemed like an eternity being pampered and prodded. I hated coming here, but now the place is a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Of the things I’ve lost.

  Back then, there were always events for her to go to, some with dad and some of them just by herself. Anything to keep her occupied. Something to take her mind of her loveless marriage.

  “You’re right on time, Mr. White.” An older woman, who I can’t put a name to, greets me at the door. “Brooklyn is nearly ready. The stylist is just making a few finishing touches. She’s quite the beauty, you’re a lucky man.”

  I almost correct her, but then stop myself. She doesn’t need to know that this is just a business arrangement. That Brooklyn is merely my assistant.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you again,” the woman chatters on. “You’re mother was such a wonderful lady. She had the most impeccable taste, and…”

  The woman goes on, clearly unaware of the agitation building inside of me. There are too many memories here. Too many ghosts. I should have chosen another boutique. But this was the first one that came to mind.

  Even the smell of the place, the scent of women’s perfume, new clothing, and something I can’t quite grasp are like a punch to the gut.

  Emotions I’ve tried to push down all these years bubble inside of me and I start to feel like I’m spiraling down a dark rabbit hole of memories, where there’s no escape from.

  I want to leave. Get the fuck out of here, but then I see her.

  Brooklyn.

  Her hair is in an elegant up do, exposing the length of her long neck. I’ve never seen her wear her hair off her face. It’s flattering, showing off the delicate bone structure, and beautiful green eyes that look at me now. The blue, silk gown she’s chosen fits her curves perfectly and yet elegantly.

  She not only looks like
she is part of my world, but that she was born into it.

  Absolute perfection.

  I want to take her home with me. The thought of sharing her with a room full of gawking strangers stirs a streak of possessiveness within me.

  My cock throbs, mine. But I know it’s a lie. She’s only pretending to be mine because I’m her boss. And as much as I want to change that, I know that it would be in both of our best interests if I kept my hands, and my cock to myself.

  One night. I can get through one night without touching her. Then I may have to reconsider having her transferred to a different department, because I know my limitations, and I’m pretty close to reaching them.

  Brooklyn stands there and I know she’s seeking some sort of approval. One kind word that would ease her discomfort.

  But I just stand there, like a jackass staring at her.

  “Mr. White, do you like it?” the older woman asks, a broad smile stretching her face.

  Like it? She’s fucking breathtaking. And every man at the event tonight is going to want her.

  Jealousy pumps through my veins, hot and heavy.

  “Mr. White?”

  “The dress is fine. Charge it to my account,” I say gruffly, nodding at the woman. “We need to get going, we’re late.”

  Everyone’s mouth drops as the words leave my mouth.

  Shit. Yes, I’m a jackass. But I’ve never claimed to be anything else.

  Brooklyn Walsh may look like Cinderella waiting for her one knight at the ball. But I’m the furthest thing from Prince Charming. Like I said, I’m the Big Bad Wolf, and if my little assistant doesn’t watch herself, I may not be able to stop myself from consuming every fucking inch of her.

  Chapter Seven

  Brooklyn

  Humiliated, I want to crawl under a rock.

  “You look stunning,” Wendy smiles, turning her back on Ross.

  “So beautiful.” Jessica places her hand on my arm and squeezes, then leans in so that only I can hear her. “Like Cinderella.”

  I can’t help but smile at her comment, because it’s exactly how I feel.

  “No one has ever made me feel the way you've done tonight,” I say proudly as I catch my reflection in the mirror.

  “And no one should make you feel the way that he just did.” Jessica winks at me.

  I’m tempted to say that this isn’t an official date. I’m going with my boss to an event, because…even that part I’m not sure about. I think it’s because he can’t be bothered to ask anyone else. That must be the only reason, because the way he acted just now, I know that it’s sure as hell not because he’s attracted to me. Not even a little bit.

  The embarrassment of his words a few minutes ago is enough to put me in my place. I don’t want to be humiliated again. If I was smart, I’d strip out of this dress, loosen my hair, which I never tie up because of the ugly scar on my neck, and just get the hell out of here.

  I touch my neck, self-consciously. They’d managed to hide the scar with make-up. It was the reason I allowed them to put my hair up. But if you looked close enough, you could still see the ugly, raised mark that will never go away.

  A shiver races down my spine, and I push the painful memory away.

  Ross is waiting for me outside the limo, his expression unreadable.

  The driver opens the door for me, and smiles.

  “Good evening Miss. May I say that you look beautiful tonight,” he takes off his hat and bows, dark eyes twinkling with appreciation.

  I can’t help but smile, it’s the kind of reaction I was hoping from Ross in the boutique.

  “Thank you, and please call me Brooklyn.”

  “Sure, Miss Brooklyn.”

  I’m about to correct him, but then I hear Ross’ deep voice behind me, “We need to go.”

  I step into the limo and glance at the boutique. I would probably never see the two women again, but one thing was for sure, I would never forget how they made me feel tonight.

  Beautiful.

  Chapter Eight

  Ross

  We sit in the limo in silence.

  I should apologize for being an ass. I saw the hurt in her eyes, which only made the Neanderthal in me want to claim her more.

  She wants me. Needs my approval. And hell if I don’t want to give it to her. But one taste and I know there’s no turning back.

  I’m Ross White, the man that’s in control of everything, and there’s no denying that she’s unravelling that control by the minute.

  Her scent is intoxicating. I close my eyes and inhale deep, even breaths, trying to regain some composure, but the minute I do, images of her splayed out in the back of the limo, ready for me to take her, slam into my brain.

  Fuck. I’ll never be able to get Brooklyn out of my head. Not until I have her.

  But the girl is too damn innocent. Hell, she’s probably a fucking virgin. And I’m far from the gentle lover she needs.

  “Mr. White?” My name on her lips sends a rush of blood to my already swollen cock.

  “What?” I look at her, the thing that I’ve avoided doing since we got into the limo.

  “Did I…” She glances down at her hands and fidgets with her clutch. “Did I do something to upset you?”

  Of course, that’s what she thinks.

  “No,” I bark out, but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. I lean over and press the intercom, and ask the driver, “How long till we get there?”

  “Ten minutes sir.”

  Ten fucking long minutes, but I don’t know if I'll last that long. My cock is rock hard, and I'm fucking sweating under this suit. Her perfume is calling out to me like a siren, begging me to take her here and now.

  My fingers clench and unclench into fists, wanting desperately to touch her.

  “I’m sorry for being an ass back at the boutique.” The words come out sounding more like a growl than an apology.

  She blinks, and her eyes widen. “It’s all right.”

  “No. It wasn’t. You look beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”

  “Thank you,” she says softly, like she doesn’t know how to take my compliment.

  “Miss. Walsh–”

  “Brooklyn.” She bites down on her bottom lip and a heartbeat passes between us before she continues, “For tonight, can you call me Brooklyn?”

  It’s such a simple question, but there’s so much hidden behind it.

  She might as well just asked me straight out, just for tonight, let me be yours.

  The invitation punctures through the last of my self-control. Removing the distance between us, I place my palm on the side of her cheek, and trace the soft curve of her lips with the pad of my thumb.

  “Brooklyn,” I murmur, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. “Beautiful, Brooklyn.”

  The innocence staring back at me pulls at my heart. She has no idea what I’m going to do to her.

  She sucks in a breath and I take full advantage of it, crashing my lips down on hers, and taking the kiss I’ve so desperately needed for the past six months.

  It was worth the wait.

  Fire blisters across my skin, racing to my balls, making me harder than I swear I’ve ever been.

  I'm waiting for her to protest. Tell me to stop. Instead, she moans into my mouth, and her tongue pushes back at mine. Her hands wrap around my neck, fingers burying into my hair, and her sigh pours from her mouth into mine.

  Bloody hell, but I could lose all sense of reality with her.

  I run my hands down the side of the dress, the arch of her back, needing to touch her, to feel every inch of her body.

  Her body jerks in response as I push the fabric of her gown over her knees, dragging my fingers along the inside of her thighs. Pushing past the fabric of her panties, I find her pussy. Wet and hit, and as I push one finger inside her, I know I was right, she’s virgin tight.

  She moans and wiggles against me, and I’m more than happy to give her what she wants.

  I rasp my
thumb against her clit, and she lets out a shuddering sigh.

  “Have you ever been with a man, Brooklyn?” I pull back slightly, watching her expression, pressing one more finger inside of her. “Have you ever had a cock fill this tight pussy?”

  She sucks in a breath, eyes wide, and I can see the concern there. She’s worried about her answer.

  “Tell me the truth, sweetheart.” I flick my thumb across her clit, making her jerk in response.

  She’s so fucking close to coming, but I’m not going to let her until I know the truth.

  A small shake of her head is her only answer.

  I wince, knowing I’m going to have to be extra careful with her, and not knowing if I have the control left in me to do so.

  There’s a knock on the window and I realize the car has stopped.

  Shit.

  We’re here. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting her out of this car until I’ve made her come.

  “One minute,” I growl out.

  My fingers rock inside her, and she gives a soft little moan.

  “Come for me, sweetheart.” I rake my teeth across her jaw, down the delicate line of her neck.

  “But, we’re–”

  I silence her protest with a kiss. Stroking her clit, she moves against my hand desperately, until I feel her muscles grip my fingers, and pulse around them. She cries out against my lips, clutching my hair desperately as she rides the wave of her orgasm.

  I hold her, not moving until her breathing steadies, and her body goes slack against mine.

  One brief kiss, then I pull back, adjusting my pulsing cock, and giving her a moment to compose herself. But one glance at her swollen lips and dialed pupils, there’s no denying what we had just been doing.

  So much for separating business with pleasure. I’d just broken my one and only rule. And I have every intention of breaking it, over and over again tonight.

  Chapter Nine

  Ross

  I whisper against her lips, “Time to go.”