Holiday Hoax: A Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (The Cartwright Family Book 1)
Holiday Hoax: Chapter 12

Georgia’s sugary-rose scent flares in my nostrils, taunting me to break my promise to her.

I’m trying to be good. I don’t want her pissed at me again, and her body is finally relaxed against mine.

Still, my cock is hard as steel. My palm hasn’t left her upper thigh, and I’m surprised she’s let me keep it there. I glance at the digital clock.

Ten minutes.

Six hundred seconds of holding myself back from disturbing her.

I cave, questioning, ‘What did you decide for the wedding?’

Her body stiffens, then she slowly rolls farther into me, lifting her head off my chest. Her blues are barely visible against the darkness, and her hot breath hits my chest. She answers, ‘We got off track.’

The conversation about my ex-fiancées hits me again. I grunt. ‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

She asks, ‘What do you want for the wedding?’

I admit the only thing I truly care about. ‘That you show up and say ‘I do.”

She tilts her head, a smile playing on her lips. ‘Done deal. I signed the prenup, remember?’

The sting of too many failed attempts down the aisle reappears. I try to ignore it and inquire, ‘So what do you want for it?’

‘Something simple,’ she states.

‘Simple?’ I ask, unable to comprehend it or hide my shock. All the women I asked to marry me wanted lavish, over-the-top events.

Her voice turns offended. ‘What’s wrong with simple?’

I can’t help myself and slide my hand along her cheek, dragging my thumb over her lips. I murmur, ‘Nothing is wrong with it, Sunshine.’

She pins her eyebrows together, asking, ‘No?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Then why did you sound like it was?’ she inquires.

My heart beats faster. I’ve already told Georgia way more than I ever thought I would. All I want to do is bury my past in the graveyard and never visit it again. Yet I should have known it would be impossible here. I have too many ghosts that everyone in town will be talking about, never mind my family, as they’ve already proven. I confess, ‘Everyone I’ve dated has wanted something extravagant enough for the front page of Dallas High Society.’

Even in the dark, I see her roll her eyes. She says, ‘Well, that sounds like a very impersonal wedding to me.’

I nod. ‘Yeah, I agree.’

A moment passes, and she asks, ‘So… Is it okay if we keep it simple? Or does Sebastian Cartwright need a super-fancy wedding?’

I ponder her question. If I have an extravagant wedding of the century, it’ll shut everyone up more. But if we keep it simple, at least it’ll stop them from gossiping about how we went over the top. It’ll shock the town for it to not be what they expect.

Yet something about Georgia wanting a simple wedding makes me want to give it to her, even if it’s fake.

I answer, ‘If you show me how you’re going to kiss me in front of everyone, I’ll agree to simple.’

Her cheek heats under my palm. A tiny laugh escapes her, and she states, ‘The groom kisses the bride, not the other way around.’

‘You have to fool everyone into thinking you’re in love with me,’ I point out.

‘Isn’t that why we’re getting married?’

Nerves flare in my belly. I’ve not felt anything of the sort since high school. ‘Yes, but you’re going to have to kiss me like you can’t get enough of me.’

She takes several small breaths.

I flip her onto her back, then cage my body over hers.

She gasps but doesn’t object.

I demand, ‘We need to practice.’

‘Do we?’ she whispers.

I lean closer so my mouth is an inch from hers. My cock twitches against her, and I swear she pushes just a touch closer to me. She swallows hard, and I insist, ‘Practice makes perfect.’

Her hands glide into my hair, and in a barely audible tone, she orders, ‘Then show me what you got, Sebastian Allen Cartwright.’

Every time she says my name, my blood heats. Something about her saying my full name makes it boil. I don’t hesitate, but instead of going right for her lips, I take my time. I dip to her neck, kissing her collarbone, then make my way up to her lobe.

Her breath hitches in my ear, her legs widen beneath me, and she arches her back, pushing her hard nipples into my pecs.

I kiss her forehead, then nose and cheeks. When I finally get to her lips, her fingers grip my skull, and a tremor runs through her body.

Her lips part as if welcoming me home, and everything I thought about our first kiss was wrong.

It’s nothing compared to the fire she stokes inside me. She uses her tongue like a rolling pin, gently gliding it against mine, then pressing harder with every stroke until I’m dizzy with my little peach’s ability to make me forget about anything but her.

My hand moves to her leg, and I tug on it. She bends it, slings it around my waist, then does the same with the other, and I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Her grip intensifies, holding me closer. Her tongue massages mine with more fervor.

My fingers slide between us, grazing her nipple.

She whimpers, a sound so sweet I wish I had my phone recording it.

I trace the hard ridge, then move into a pinching motion, gliding my tongue around hers faster. My erection’s so stiff, it pops out of my boxers.

I need to get these flannel pants off her.

I break our kiss, leaning into her ear, murmuring, ‘I want my mouth on your pussy.’

She freezes, except for her hard breathing.

I move my hand to her pants and tug at the drawstring, ordering, ‘Lift your hips.’

She takes a deep breath, then releases my hair, pressing her palms against my chest. She says, ‘Get off me, Sebastian.’

‘Why, Sunshine?’ I question, not sure why she’s stopping me.

‘This isn’t right,’ she claims.

My past haunts me again. I object, ‘Why? Because I said pussy?’

‘No.’

Surprised, I inquire, ‘Then what is it?’

She turns her face toward the wall.

I move it so she’s facing me again. ‘Tell me why, Georgia. What makes it wrong? We’re two consenting adults, are we not?’

Her bottom lip quivers.

A new thought hits me. I ask, ‘You don’t like sex?’

‘Of course I like sex,’ she replies.

Relief fills me. I continue, ‘Then if it’s not because I said pussy, and it’s not because you don’t like sex, what’s it about?’

She shuts her eyes for a minute.

I take it that she doesn’t really want me to stop and arrogantly declare, ‘I promise you if you let me lick your pussy, you’ll want me to do it again. In fact, I bet you that you’ll beg for me to do it again.’

Her eyes pop open. She blurts out, ‘This isn’t real, Sebastian.’

‘Last time I looked, you and I were both real people,’ I retort.

She stresses, ‘We aren’t real. Remember the prenup?’

I huff. ‘So? What about it?’

She sternly says, ‘This isn’t love.’

‘So?’ I ask again.

Her face hardens.

I retreat a tad, taunting, ‘Don’t tell me you only have sex with someone when you think you’re in love.’

Offended, she argues, ‘Think?’

‘Yeah. Love isn’t real,’ I claim.

Appalled, she huffs. ‘Is that what you believe?’

‘One hundred percent,’ I answer.

Tense silence fills the air. She finally pushes my chest again and says, ‘Practice is over. Get off me.’

Groaning, I obey, stating, ‘Sex is sex, Sunshine. It’s two people getting each other off. You shouldn’t complicate a basic human need. Maybe you’re just too young and naive to realize this.’

She scoffs. ‘Gosh, you’re sad.’

Irritated, I question, ‘Sad?’

She tugs the covers over her and turns away from me. She mumbles, ‘You do you, Sebastian, and I’ll do me.’

‘Don’t get offended,’ I offer.

‘Goodnight, Sebastian. Stay on your side of the bed,’ she firmly directs.

I sigh, pissed.

We were doing so well.

Am I the only one who felt the fireworks in our kisses?

No way. She did too.

Then why is she acting like a prude?

It’s going to be harder than I thought to get into her pants.

Why did I choose to spend a month with a woman who believes in fairy tales?

My raging hard-on doesn’t go away. I’ve never had a woman turn me down before. Usually, they’ll let me get in their pants as soon as I try. It’s all part of keeping me happy to get their claws in me.

Why doesn’t Georgia play the usual game and dig hers into me?

She doesn’t have to. She already gets a million dollars.

A hundred thousand. She’s definitely not getting a million.

Is she lying or telling the truth that she’s only had sex with someone she thought she loved?

The questions spinning in my mind are endless. Her sugary-rose scent never stops taunting me. I debate about spooning her round ass but decide against it. My cock is tormented enough.

I finally fall asleep around three in the morning, only to wake up at four. I finally give up and sneak into the closet. I grab shorts and a T-shirt, socks, and sneakers. I quietly slip out of the room and go into the gym.

I’m surprised to see Alexander there, although I shouldn’t be. Ever since his wife died, he hasn’t slept well either. Anytime I come home, he’s usually covered in sweat by the time I step foot into the room.

He pushes the stop button on the treadmill and jumps off it. He takes a towel, wipes his face, then downs some water. He asks, ‘Can’t sleep?’

I shrug. ‘Story of my life.’

‘Is Georgia still mad at you?’

I grunt. ‘Don’t get me started.’

He warns, ‘Better fix that before she changes her mind.’

‘What does that mean?’ I snap.

He holds his hands in the air. ‘Bro, chill. I just meant I like her. She seems good for you.’

I relax a bit. ‘How’s that?’

‘Lots of reasons. The first being that she doesn’t kiss your ass. She challenges you,’ he asserts.

‘Her challenges are getting under my skin,’ I mumble, then step on the treadmill and punch the settings.

He chuckles.

‘Why are you laughing?’ I ask.

‘That’s how I know she’s good for you. Right there,’ he claims.

I ignore him.

He continues, ‘Did you ever wonder why none of those other women were right for you?’

The speed on the track moves faster. Hating my past, I accuse, ‘Do you honestly think I haven’t asked myself a thousand times how my personal life became a joke?’

‘Not a joke, bro,’ he declares.

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘Okay, get past your ego for a minute.’

‘Not in the mood for your insults,’ I hurl.

He steps in front of my machine and crosses his arms. He watches me for a few moments and then adds, ‘Those women were all blood-sucking snobs.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know, Alexander,’ I bark, then the incline adjusts, and I move into a slow jog.

He shakes his head. ‘If you knew it, then why did you continue falling for them?’

‘Can we change the subject?’ I ask.

He ignores my request. ‘Georgia isn’t like them.’

‘No shit, Sherlock.’

‘So you finally got it right.’

My little brother’s self-proclaimed relationship expertise gets on my last nerve. I blurt out, ‘You don’t even know her to be able to state that.’

He arches his eyebrows. ‘So she’s not the one for you but you’re marrying her?’

Flustered, I claim, ‘I never said that.’

‘Oh, right. You said I don’t know her enough to say you finally got it right,’ he replies.

‘Congratulations, you can hear,’ I sneer and pick up my pace.

Alexander snorts, adding, ‘I saw enough. You’ve met your match, bro. It’s about time.’

Still unsure how he’s claiming this when he just met Georgia, I say nothing.

‘She’s not a woman who’ll just sit back and let you walk all over her,’ he states.

‘You’re making me rethink marrying her. It sounds like my life will be full of headaches and blue balls,’ I mutter.

He chuckles. ‘A bit. But it’ll also be interesting. She’ll keep you on your toes. That’s the type of woman you want to grow old with.’

‘How would you know?’ I accuse, then regret it the minute his face falls. I quickly apologize. ‘Sorry.’

His face hardens. He grinds his molars, then announces, ‘I’m going to shower. See you at breakfast.’

‘Alexander,’ I call after him, knowing I crossed the line, but the door slams.

‘Shit!’ I shout, then hit the button to run faster, trying to work out my frustration and guilty feelings.

It doesn’t work. My thoughts return to Georgia, and no matter what I do, I can’t get the way her body felt under mine or how her tongue flicked in my mouth, out of my mind.

Mason and Jagger eventually enter the gym, but I’m not in the mood for conversation. I leave, creep into the bedroom, and stare at Georgia sleeping.

She’s too beautiful for her own good.

Love. Ugh. How can she be so naive?

I tear my gaze off her, go into the bathroom, and shower. I spend extra time under the water, thinking about her and eliminating my hard-on. When I’m spent and feeling better, I dry off.

And I must be a sucker for punishment because instead of getting dressed and leaving the room, I toss on my boxers. I stand over Georgia for a moment, studying her in the darkness.

Her plump lips part slightly. The sound of her soft breath fills my ears. Her long eyelashes flutter briefly, and I think she’s going to wake up, but they relax closed again.

Not wanting her to catch me being a creeper, I slide back into bed, then move over to her side. I sling my arm around her waist and take deep breaths of her sugary-rose scent.

Unlike with my normal insomnia, I fall back asleep. For the first time in years, I dream. But it’s not good. It’s a nightmare. And it freaks me out.

Georgia’s shrieking at me with tears falling down her cheeks, but I can’t comprehend what she’s saying. I try to pull her into my arms, yet she won’t let me. She pushes me away and runs.

I chase her, running faster and faster, but no matter how quickly I move, she outpaces me. Then, she disappears. I’m standing in the cold snow, wet and freezing.

The scene changes to my penthouse. I’m holding papers, but I feel empty. I glance at them again and read, Annulment. The bottom of the page has Georgia’s signature scribbled on it.

I wake up in a sweat. Like my dream, Little Miss Sunshine isn’t anywhere in sight. Panic fills me. I get out of bed, toss on a T-shirt and a pair of joggers, and leave the bedroom.

The smell of breakfast hits my nose. I call out, ‘Georgia,’ rushing through the house.

I go down several hallways and then yell louder, ‘Georgia!’

She steps out of the kitchen wearing a Christmas apron, with her hair in a high ponytail. Relief fills me. Confused, she pushes a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, and a white mark stains her cheek. She questions, ‘Why are you shouting? Where’s the fire?’

I release a stress-filled breath, then swipe my thumb over the floury substance. I should have known she’d be baking, yet something feels comforting about it instead of the irritation I used to feel. I answer, ‘I didn’t know where you were.’

‘Should I leave you a note on my whereabouts from now on?’ she teases.

I chuckle, replying, ‘Maybe you should.’

‘I’m making breakfast with the girls.’

I glance into the kitchen. Emma and Isabella have matching aprons. My sisters and mom are drinking coffee at the table, giving me funny looks.

I ignore them, trying to pull my thoughts together.

‘Did you need something?’ Georgia asks.

I slowly shake my head.

‘Are you hungry? We’re making pancakes,’ she states.

‘I don’t eat pancakes,’ I state.

‘Your mom said your favorite breakfast food is pancakes.’

‘Was. I don’t eat them anymore. They’re bad for me,’ I admit.

‘You can eat these. They’re special,’ she declares.

‘Special?’ I ask, still feeling odd and trying to shake it off.

She nods. ‘It took a few hours to figure it out, but I think we nailed it.’

‘Why would it take hours? Pancakes are easy to make,’ I assert.

She informs me, ‘They’re sugar-free protein pancakes.’

I stare at her. My chest tightens and my stomach flips.

She quietly adds, ‘You can eat them and not worry.’

More time passes.

Evelyn reprimands, ‘Jeez, Sebastian. You could say thanks. She’s been slaving in here so you can stay on your stupid diet.’

I shoot her a dirty look, then turn back to Georgia. I lock eyes with her, humbly saying, ‘Thanks, Sunshine.’

She doesn’t move for a moment. She finally offers a tiny smile and nods. She returns to the girls, and I fill a mug of coffee. I watch them finish making breakfast, confused over how off I feel.

For the first time in my life, I think a woman has made me speechless.

And I can’t decide if I like or hate it.