Pretend to Be Mine Read online

  “Okay,” she says breathlessly.

  I open the limo door and curse under my breath when I find my father is waiting for us on the other side.

  “Son.” He nods at me with the cold, distant aloofness that defines our relationship.

  I help Brooklyn out of the car. “Brooklyn, this is my father, John White.”

  Brooklyn has been working for me for six months and dad has never met her. I never meet him in my office. In fact, I avoid most contact with him. We hardly speak anymore, now that mom’s no longer around.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. White,” Brooklyn says, her cheeks still flushed from our moment in the limo.

  “The pleasure is all mine. But you can call me John.” He smiles, with that billionaire charm that he waltzes around in.

  “John,” she says with a small blush.

  Jealousy stirs in my chest, because she doesn’t even call me by my first name. That will change tonight. Feeling a sudden urge of protectiveness, I put my arm around Brooklyn’s waist.

  She blinks up at me, eyes wide.

  Yes, sweetheart, you’re all mine. So don’t forget it.

  “Thank you both for coming,” my father says, motioning for us to enter the convention center with him.

  The hall is already crowded, filled with the most affluent people in New York City.

  Soon after we enter, my father is pulled away in conversation with the current mayor.

  One glance at Brooklyn, and I know she’s overwhelmed.

  “One hour,” I growl in her ear. “Then I’m taking you home.”

  “Oh.” She frowns and looks down at the floor.

  Maybe she’s having second thoughts.

  I need a drink. Taking Brooklyn’s arm, I guide us to the bar.

  “Bourbon neat and champagne.”

  The bartender nods, and scurries off to fill the order.

  I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes when I notice my father’s photo, encased in a gold frame, situated next to a billboard of tonight’s chosen charity.

  “He’s such a compassionate man,” says a woman, wearing more jewels than the Queen of England, to her female counterpart as they walk by it.

  Bullshit. The man may have half the city fooled, but I know the truth. John White is as ruthless as they come.

  “Your dad seems nice,” Brooklyn says, when I hand her the flute of champagne.

  More jealousy.

  I hiss under my breath, “Stay away from him.”

  Her face pales, and she sucks in a breath.

  Fuck. I’m such an asshole.

  This is turning into a disaster. My father always brings out the worst in me.

  Across the room, my dad is smiling. The fucking lights look as if it's reflecting off his teeth. The man of perfection, looking like he’s running for Presidency, not public office.

  Shit, is that his plan?

  I wouldn’t put it past him. My dad has always been too ambitious for his own good, always wanting more.

  More is never enough.

  That’s our family motto, which is probably why I am a workaholic.

  “Ross, you made it.” A familiar female voice carries across the room, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Ella Sinclaire. My ex. The woman who refuses to let go, despite how many times I’ve told her it’s over.

  My jaw clenches as I watch her saunter seductively towards me, wearing a red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

  Heads turn to watch her. She has that type of charisma. The kind that makes everyone stop and stare.

  Her mouth is on mine before I have time to protest. It’s just a quick kiss, but when I catch Brooklyn’s stunned expression, I know the damage is already done.

  Fuck.

  “Ella,” I say darkly, gripping her wrist to remove her hand from my chest. I feel as if she’s trying to be a second skin. I just want her away. Not even another state would be far enough. Another planet maybe.

  I don't understand how my father can tell me to bring a respectable date and then allow Ella to work on his campaign. What’s wrong with the man?

  “I’ve always loved you in a tux.” Ella licks her lips, running one manicured finger up the length of my arm.

  Brooklyn moves away slightly, but I catch her around her waist, drawing her to my side.

  “Brooklyn, I’d like you to meet Ella Sinclaire.”

  Ella’s eyes cut at Brooklyn and her top lip curls just slightly, but she gives a polite nod before turning her hawk-like gaze back on me.

  I should have gotten out of here when I could.

  Chapter Ten

  Brooklyn

  I’ve seen the woman a few times when she has come to the office, but it’s clear she doesn’t recognize me. The only emotion that flickers in her eyes is disdain and maybe a hint of jealousy.

  The claim she’s put on him is like a bright red flashing light, and it’s clear she’ll stop at nothing to remove me from the picture.

  There’s no doubt she thinks he’s hers. Maybe he is.

  I know they used to be an item, but it wasn’t long after I started working with Ross that he broke it off.

  Yet, the way she’s pouring herself all over him, it’s clear she wants him back.

  How can I compete with that?

  She’s stunning. Tall and lean, with elegant features that could put her on the cover of Vogue. But there’s also a sexuality about her, one that reeks of experience. The complete opposite of me.

  This is ridiculous. He should be here with her, not me. It’s clear they are suited for each other. Next to her, I look like I should be waiting tables, not dressed in a gown, pretending to be Ross’ date.

  Pretending. That was the key word. The one I can’t afford to forget.

  I don’t know what that was in the limo. The kiss. His fingers. Oh, God, his fingers. But I know it can’t happen again.

  I saw his expression when I told him I was still a virgin.

  One hour, that’s what he said, then he’d take me home, and this fairytale night would just be a memory.

  But how in hell am I supposed to go back to work Monday morning after the way he touched me? To work beside him, day after day, wanting his hands on me and knowing I can never have them.

  And it’s not like he’s easy to work for. Aside from the constant temptation, he’s a slave driver, who sets out impossible tasks.

  Who knows what temperature their damn coffee is?

  Ross does.

  Who knows if their pants were pressed on a certain machine and who exactly pressed their pants?

  Ross does.

  He’d drive a perfectionist insane because he’s not even that. He’s worse than a perfectionist. He's a control freak. Sometimes, I have to check my phone to see if he’s following me, checking my every movement, making sure I do everything exactly how he demands.

  When does being a personal assistant entail being a coffee expert? Wine expert? Laundry expert and every other kind of expert that no other job would entail.

  When you work for Ross White. That’s when.

  This was such a bad idea.

  I should never have agreed to this.

  Ross and the woman are still talking, but I’ve tuned them out. His fingers are tight around my waist, almost possessively. But that’s ridiculous.

  He’s your boss.

  A boss you just kissed, among other things.

  My head is spinning and I down what’s left of my champagne, knowing I’ll need some liquid courage if I’m going to get through the rest of the evening.

  “I’ll find you later,” Ella says, pressing another kiss on Ross’ cheek.

  It’s as if I don’t exist.

  I'm dying to leave, but there’s one little problem. The purse that I'm holding has nothing of value in it. My phone is in the limo. My house keys, again in the limo. I put my life in his hands from the moment I came to the party, and I hate myself for agreeing to come here. I start to worry that
if I walk out not only will I be completely lost and not able to get home, but I’ll be out of a job too.

  “It was nice seeing you, Ella. But we won’t be staying long.”

  “Your father will expect you to stay until after the silent auction. I’m sure your date”–the word is like a curse on her lips– “can spare you for a moment or two.”

  With a small smirk directed at me, she turns on her four-inch heels and saunters off towards a group of older men, who happily pull her into their little congregation.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Ross’ gaze is on me, dark and intense.

  “She’s your…” I swallow hard.

  “Ex,” he says roughly.

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?” I regret the question the moment I ask it.

  “Jealous?” He leans in, blue eyes locked on mine, a small smirk twisting his lips.

  “No. Of course not. It’s just that she seems to think…” I’m sticking my foot in my mouth again. I shake my head and look away.

  He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’m here with you.”

  “As your pretend date.”

  His nostrils flare, and I see a spark of anger behind his eyes.

  “There was nothing pretend about that kiss.” He leans closer so that I can feel his warm breath against me ear. “Or the way I made you come all over my hand.”

  I shiver, both mortified and turned on at the same time.

  What is he trying to do to me?

  The moment is broken when a hand slaps down on Ross’ shoulder.

  “There you are son.”

  Ross gives a crisp nod, and I swear a low growl rumbles from his throat. His expression is severe when he looks at his father. “Dad.”

  “I hope you’re both going to join me at the Hamptons this weekend?”

  “That’s not possible.” Ross dismisses him with a quick shake of his head, turning back to the bar and ordering two more drinks.

  His grip on me tightens.

  “Stevan Holdgates will be there,” his father says, gaze trained on Ross.

  I can’t quite read the body language between the two of them.

  A long tension-filled silence stretches between them, until Ross finally nods. “We’ll be there.”

  “What?” I can’t help the small gasp that nearly chokes me.

  “You’ll join me, right?” Ross smiles at me and I swear every bone in my body turns to mush. He takes my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles, and I all but melt in his arms.

  “I don’t…I can’t…” I shake my head. All I can think about is being in the same room with him. Letting him touch my body and never saying no. The last word comes out in an embarrassing sigh, “Okay.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Again, another kiss. It’s as if he knows that every time he kisses me, I’m growing weaker at the knees. “We’re going to the Hamptons.”

  I blink up at him, not sure I actually accepted the offer, but unable to say no.

  “Perfect.” Another slap on the back, and his father turns and disappears into the crowd.

  Run. My head screams. Run as fast as these three inches will allow me to. Otherwise, I may do something that I’ll regret, something that means not only will my secret fantasies come true, but I may just be out of a job come Monday.

  Because I know Ross White, and he never mixes business with pleasure.

  Once he has me, I’ll be flat out on the streets. Jobless and broke.

  I can’t do that again. I’m only starting to get my life together.

  But then, if I say no, maybe he’ll fire me anyways.

  I bite my lip hard, not knowing what to do.

  Run.

  Stay.

  I hear my roommate, Dana’s voice in my head – for once in your life have some fun. Worry about the consequences tomorrow.

  “Come with me.” He takes my hand, and drags me from the main hall, away from prying eyes.

  He pulls me into a small room filled with stacked chairs, and shuts the door behind us. Then his lips are on mine.

  Hard.

  Demanding.

  Possessive.

  In that kiss, I see a prelude of what is to come. It’s as intense and intoxicating as the man himself.

  His tongue explores my mouth greedily, darting and teasing, while his fingers prowl along my shoulders, my back, and the nape of my neck.

  I feel like a shell on the beach, struggling not to be swept in by the tide. He's so powerful, determined, and my body acts as if it's boneless in his hands. It's an expression of passion, of possession, and it feels sinfully good knowing that any moment someone might walk in on us.

  “Be mine,” he growls against my lips. “For the weekend.”

  I can feel a throbbing hardness building against my stomach as he pushes himself against me. An intense pang of desire rushes through me.

  And I answer him with the only three words that will form in my mouth, “Yes, Mr. White.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ross

  I break our kiss, knowing that if I don’t stop now, I’ll take her right here, where anyone can walk in on us.

  “So fucking beautiful.”

  She’s the type of woman that could proudly stand by my side and make me feel as if I’m on top of the world.

  I’m not a good man. Never claimed to be. I’ve dumped more women than I’ve had blowjobs. But there's something vulnerable about Brooklyn that makes me want to protect her.

  “Ross,” I say, breathlessly. “This weekend, you call me Ross.”

  She licks her lips and nods, but I see the hesitation flash in her green eyes.

  Sliding a finger under her chin, I tilt her head back and wait for her to meet my gaze.

  Her breathing quickens. I love that I have that effect on her with just one look.

  I pull her close, kissing her gently. There's an urge building inside of me to tear off her dress. I part her mouth with my tongue and start teasing her. She tastes so fucking sweet, as if she bathed in honey and flower.

  Brooklyn moans as I draw one of her lips into mine while sucking on it gently. I don't want to just hear her moan, I want to hear her scream my name while I’m buried eight inches inside of her.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” She blinks up at me.

  “There’s a hotel next door. I’m taking you there. Now.”

  “What about my clothes?” Her brows turn down and she frowns.

  “You won’t need any. Not tonight. I’ll get the boutique to sort you out some clothes for the weekend. They already have your measurements.”

  She touches her lips, and says softly, “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “I always do.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Brooklyn

  It’s supposed to be one date. That’s all. We're crossing the line. I keep telling myself to say no, to take me home, but no words leave my mouth.

  Ross takes my hand firmly as we cross through the overpass that leads from the convention center to the hotel. He doesn’t let me go as we head straight to the check-in desk.

  “Will that be one night or two?” the pretty blonde receptionist asks as her eyes flutter from Ross to me.

  I bet she thinks that I’m some booty call. I want to tell her that I’m his assistant, that I work for him, but the idea of it sounds so wrong, besides it’s none of her business.

  “Okay, Mr. White. you’ll be in the penthouse. Here’s the key card. You’ll take the elevator at the back, and the doorman will accompany you to the suite.”

  He shakes his head, “That won’t be necessary. I’ve stayed here before.”

  “Of course you have,” I mumble.

  He ignores me and takes the card.

  I feel as if I’m in quicksand and the only way to move forward is for his hand to guide me.

  “Yes, I’ve stayed here a few times when there have been business events, and I've had one too many and didn't feel like going home,” he explains, ev
en though he doesn’t owe me an explanation.

  Nerves make it difficult to swallow as the elevator doors shut behind us.

  I’m really doing this.

  One night. No. One weekend with Ross White.

  I’ve spent nights touching myself, fantasizing about this moment. Thinking that he’d never look at me with anything but cold reservation.

  There are women like Ella who are at his beck and call.

  He could have any woman he wants tonight, and he chose me.

  That’s something. Isn’t it?

  He’s a man that gets everything he wants. Tonight will be just one of many for him. But for me, it’ll be so much more, and that’s the part that scares me the most. Knowing that after I’ve crossed the line, I’ll be left wanting more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ross

  “Brooklyn,” I growl, as the elevator takes us up to the top floor. I press my body against her, holding her tight against me, and I crush her lips against mine. “I’m going to do things that you never thought possible. Tell me you want it.”

  This is her one chance to back out, to turn around and never look back.

  She responds breathlessly, “I want it.”

  Thank fucking, God.

  My heart's hammering in my chest as the elevator doors open, and I pull her down the corridor towards the penthouse.

  I can’t get the damn card in fast enough.

  As soon as we’re in the suite I have her pinned against the wall, my body pressed against her, palms flat against the wall, trapping her. Because now that I have her, there’s no chance I’m letting her go.

  “Sweet, innocent Brooklyn. You’re mine tonight. And you have no idea the pleasure I’m going to give you.” My voice is thick, heavy with need.

  She shivers in response.

  “Then tell me,” she whispers. Her gaze slides down to my mouth as if begging for my kiss.

  “I’d rather show you.” I dip my head, running my lips down her neck, nipping and licking until she moans.

  I’d barely touched her and yet her entire body trembled with need.

  My fingers slide into her hair, tugging her head back, so I can rake my tongue along her jaw and down her neck, across her collarbone.