Читать книгу Fake Fiancé - Jessa James - Страница 8

2

Blake

I rather enjoyed the look on Chloe’s face when I insisted she play the role of my fiancée. She was sexy-as-fuck and the dumb jock had surprised her. Of course, then she’d surprised me right back by agreeing and here I’d just been yanking her chain. She called my bluff and now I had to go along with it. Go with her.

I didn’t like the plan at all, but given that the team owner and the companies with the bucks for endorsements all had their minds set that we needed to create a brand new and improved Blake Collins, I didn’t have much leverage.

At least this Chloe presented a challenge—a lovely, leggy challenge who didn’t seem to fall for my charms in the slightest. In fact, I was pretty sure she didn’t even like me. She looked at me with a thin smile that said You’re just a client, not the millionaire hockey player with expert moves on and off the ice.

Wanting to wipe that smug look from her face had been my half-assed reason for insisting she play the girlfriend. No, fiancée. Now, since the game was on, I’d have time to make her mine. It didn’t seem like a bad plan; guaranteed access to a gorgeous woman that I’d wanted from the moment I first shook her hand.

I didn’t date professional women and damn sure never planned to make one my fiancée, but if I could get her to spread her legs for me I bet I would be in for a wild ride. She’d give as good as I gave her. She’d be passionate, wild. Hell, beneath that prim suit her body curved in luscious directions. And if I had to play this stupid game, then I could use the time to get to her, break down her resistance, strip off that trim pencil skirt and modest blouse. I imagined having her beg me to fuck her. Only then would I.

I shifted, trying to hide my growing hard-on.

She agreed to the job and moved toward the door. “We can start right away.”

“Now?” I hadn’t expected her to be quite such a ball buster. Yeah, she needed to chill the fuck out and a few orgasms would help with that. It would be so much fun to see her all sated and sweaty from my fingers, my mouth. My cock.

“Tonight,” she said, breaking me from my lusty thoughts. “If you have anything planned, cancel it. You’re taking me out to dinner. We’ve met and had an instant rapport. We’ll be seen a few times and then Saturday I’ll be at the game and we’ll go out after.” She frowned. “Next week you’ll buy me a ring and we’ll make an announcement.”

“That fast? I might have you in my bed. That would be believable, but a ring? That quickly?”

I saw her blush and had to wonder how far down beneath her blouse it crept. “We can’t see how well it’s working until after an official announcement, and convincing the suits will take time. And you will not have me in your bed.”

Ralph nodded. “It needs to be quick.”

She shot a look at Ralph. If looks could kill, old Ralphie’d be dead.

“The ring.” Ralph stammered. “Not the bed.”

She handed me a card. “There’s my cell phone number and address. I’ll expect you to pick me up at seven.”

“Where am I taking you?” I figured, fuck it, she’s the pro, let her make the call outside of the sack, but in it, she’d be listening to my commands. No matter how deadly the looks, I will have her. The electricity between us was palpable…and in this area, I was the professional.

“To The Stanley Cup,” she said. “You make the reservation.”

I laughed. Her choice made sense―the restaurant was owned by Johnny Lance, a former Blizzard. As the restaurant name suggested, it was a hangout for hockey players, team owners, and fans.

Ralph approved. “That will get the word out fast.”

She nodded. “To the right crowd.”

I stood and looked at Ralph. “I’ll do my part, Ralphie, and you do yours.” He nodded. “I have some work to do before our date tonight.”

“Seven then,” she said, holding the door to her office open for me. “Dress nice.”

I did have work to do. I went home and called Johnny’s restaurant, made a reservation for two, then watched some videos of Winnipeg playing their last two games. Saturday, we were the home team for game one of the playoffs. I studied the moves of my opposite number, looking for body language cues that would tell me what to expect.

But I struggled with distraction, a certain curvy, long legged blonde distraction.

When I turned off the clips—only able to pay partial attention anyway—I made a call. “I won’t be over tonight,” I told the luscious redhead who answered. “Business problems.”

“When will I see you?”

I sighed, thought about the next three months that loomed before me. “I have no idea, but not for a while.”

“Asshole!” she said and hung up.

She was nothing but a pretty face, a sexy body and a girl who’d slipped me her phone number. There were plenty of those, but I still felt a twinge. She was a sure thing. But that wasn’t part of the plan and I couldn’t afford to risk fucking up this very expensive operation. The only woman I could have right now was Chloe and with her cold professional exterior and she appeared to have better defenses than the Winnipeg’s back line. I sighed, rose from the couch, stretched and smiled.

I did enjoy a challenge.