Best Fake Day

Best Fake Day

by

Tracey Rogers

Best Fake Day

Copyright © 2013, Tracey Rogers

ISBN: 9781937325985

Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.

Electronic Publication: December, 2013

Editor: Antonia Tiranth

Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs

eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Back Cover Copy

Faking it never felt so good.

Wedding photographer and romance lover Izzy Latham dreams of finding her own happily-ever-after. When her former teenage crush arrives at her doorstep, looking sexier than ever, and asks to marry her, it should be her dream come true, right? Wrong. It turns out he doesn’t want to actually marry her—he only wants to pretend to marry her.

Marriage hater Jack Carter will do anything to close his latest business deal, including finding a wife. The only person who can help him is his childhood friend, Izzy. Except Izzy isn’t a little girl anymore. She’s definitely all woman, and there’s an attraction between them that’s hard to ignore.

Jack has to convince Izzy to fake it, but the problem is that she hates to lie. However, she can’t deny her feelings for him either. So when Jack makes her an offer she can’t refuse, she reluctantly agrees to help him out.

Faking it is the easy part. But what happens when fake starts to feel so real?

Content Warning: contains sensual sex and occasional strong language

Dedication

Dale, Drew, and Lucie, you always make me proud. I hope you always follow your dreams.

For my husband, family, and wonderful friends, I couldn’t do this without you.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Beachwalk Press and the wonderful Antonia Tiranth for helping me find that extra sparkle.

Thank you for your endless support Lindsay, Aimee, Jane, and my lovely Tuesday night ladies. Alexandra Fiennes, without you my favorite scene wouldn’t have been possible.

And, of course, many thanks to my readers who make this possible.

Chapter 1

Her mouth opened wide in readiness to belt out the keep-me-awake chorus, Izzy Latham paused mid hip swing and popped out her earbuds. Closing her mouth, she tilted her head and frowned as she realized she hadn’t imagined the relentless thudding interrupting her favorite power tune. Cringing as she glanced down at her paint smeared clothes, she hoped today wasn’t the day her wish came true and it actually
was
Brad Pitt pounding on her door and not the postman.

Without a doubt she was not looking her best.

If it was the postman delivering yet another wad of bills too thick to fit through the letterbox, then maybe he deserved to see her in this disheveled state.

No, she relented with a frown. No one deserved to see her looking such a mess. It would be cruel. Her hair had lost the battle with gravity many hours ago and come free from the confines of her hairband. And it was impossible to tell the original color of her cut-off jeans and her much loved shirt.

Hopping off the platform, she dropped the trowel into a bucket and grabbed a cloth to wipe her hands as she meandered her way through the chaos of her living room. She opened the door.

Then closed it again.

Her breath froze in her lungs. Almost sagging back against the dusty wall, Izzy blinked her eyes several times in an attempt to clear her vision.

Surely her gritty, sleep deprived eyes were deceiving her?

It wasn’t Brad Pitt. It was worse. Much worse. It was a full-blown attack on her libido.

With her heart hammering against her chest and a shaky hand, Izzy re-opened the door, shivering as goosebumps peppered her skin. She wasn’t sure if the cool morning breeze was responsible, or if it was the tall, dark-haired man standing in front of her.

Wearing a puzzled frown and filling the doorway with his six foot and even more delicious inches than she remembered frame, was indeed Jack Carter.

And he looked perfect.
Damn him.

He’d invaded her thoughts so many times in the past and now there he was. Reality stirred her every cell into action faster than any imagery possibly could. His almost black hair was cropped shorter now and beneath the faint shadowing of his tanned jaw there was added definition. He looked rugged and dangerous in a whole lot of sexy kind of way. And the most lethal were his eyes that she discovered were now searching her in return.

The gray-eyed gaze that took a slow sweep down her body added more goosebumps as he lingered for what seemed to be longer than necessary on her bare legs. She resisted the urge to cross them or cover herself with her hands, knowing he would never look at her in
that
way, and instead she planted her hands on her hips and fixed him with a pointed stare.
What the hell is he doing here?

“Isabel,” he said softly.

She heard the slight question in his deep voice. She wasn’t sure if he was confused at her repeat door closure, or if she was so unremarkable he had difficulty recognizing her.

“Izzy—please,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Isabel was only my in-trouble name.”

He grinned one of his sexy, roguish grins that had made him her teen dream. “Trouble is how I remember you.”

An extra beat added to her pulse. So he did recognize her! She wondered just how much he remembered.

“I think you’re mistaking me for my sister.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Ellie was rebellion—you were trouble of a different kind.”

“If by
trouble
you mean I was the annoying little sister who kept you and Ellie from getting arrested, or worse, caught by my father, then yes, I’ll take that label.”

“I vaguely remember you joining in too,” he accused, his steel gray eyes glinting. “It’s been a while, Izzy.”

“Eleven years.”

His dark brows rose. “You have a good memory.”

Of course she did. Didn’t everyone remember their first heartbreak? Izzy folded her arms across her chest. “I do. I remember the last time I saw you. You were naked.”

Jack’s brow furrowed as though he was trying to recall the moment. “Yeah,” he said with a ghost of a smile playing against his lips. “I seem to remember I was wearing boxers though. And I’m sure Ellie told you it wasn’t what you probably thought.”

“With the state Ellie was in she couldn’t remember a thing. And yes, you were wearing boxers when you climbed out of the window, but I got the full view right before you put them on.”

He grinned, flashing his even white teeth, a wicked gleam shone in his eyes, making her insides melt. “So that’s why you remember the last time you saw me? Obviously I made a lasting impression.”

“You did. It scarred me for life,” she quipped.

Her gaze swept up the length of him as she searched for some blemish or difference in his appearance. Some reason to tuck her schoolgirl crush away in the depths of her mind. But as her search reached his lips and then rested in his stormy eyes she accepted it would be impossible. He was a craving she’d never satisfy.

“So if you’ve finished looking at me, are you going to invite me in?” he drawled. “Or do I need to climb the drain pipe and sneak through a window again?”

Heat surged to her face.
Busted.
And no, she wouldn’t recommend he climb up again. From her quick appraisal she had noticed the way his body had developed over the years. And those years had definitely been
very
kind. She was sure the yet to be replaced drain pipe wouldn’t take the weight of his muscular frame.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she admitted. That was a huge understatement. Shocked to her core would be more appropriate.

He sighed heavily. “I never expected to come back.”

Or would want to come back. He had no reason to have happy childhood memories. “So why are you here?”

She watched his chest rise as he took a deep breath. “I need your help. It’s about Ellie.”

“What about Ellie?” she asked as her gaze snapped upward, her mind springing to attention faster than any form of caffeine could induce. “You’d better come in,” she mumbled.

She stood back to allow him past, flattening herself into the wall as much as possible, her breath hitching as he brushed against her. Amidst all of the paint and chemical smells she could still scent him. All musk and maleness. She followed him down the hallway, grimacing along the way as he had to steer his way around the abundance of decorating equipment.

“Kitchen?” he asked as he stopped and turned his head, causing Izzy to narrowly avoid colliding with him.

“Erm...yes, sure,” she said, although to her embarrassment, that room wasn’t entirely chaos free either. In fact, every room seemed to sum up her life at the moment—empty and a work in progress.

She followed Jack into the kitchen and took a seat opposite him.

“Same table,” he said with a smile, igniting a flicker of awareness inside her belly as he lazily stroked the solid wood with his long fingers.

“I haven’t got around to replacing it yet,” she said with a scowl. In reality she hadn’t considered replacing the table her father had made. Sure, the oak had imperfections, and it had gained dents and scratches over the years, but it held so many memories of family meals and chats. Laughter and conversation shared with her mother, father, and Ellie. And Jack of course. It wasn’t breakfast time if Jack wasn’t sitting there with them. And now no one used it except her.

He folded his arms, leaned forward, and rested them on the table. “It wasn’t a criticism, Izzy. I like this table. And why are you so grouchy? You were always a morning person. Get out of the wrong side of your bed?”

“Who said I was in
my
bed?” she threw back.

“Weren’t you?” His deepened voice carried an interest that surprised her.

“I’m all grown up now, Jack. I sleep where and when I want.”

A dark brow lifted as he nodded. “Definitely grown up,” he said, his deep tone thickening the suggestiveness that made her cheeks warm as his gaze lowered to sweep over her again. She fidgeted in her seat. “But your body language suggests you had an unsatisfactory night. Never be left unsatisfied, Izzy,” he said in a lowered voice as a smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

“I can take care of my own satisfaction, thank you very much.”

“Really?” His lips curved upward. “Guess last night wasn’t one of those nights.”

Izzy swallowed against the dryness of her mouth as the fixed gaze of his probing gray eyes seemed to demand answers. “Okay, I’ve been busy. I haven’t been to bed yet,” she admitted with a grimace as she dipped her head to break free from his gaze, forsaking her attempt at bad ass. An all-nighter of novice house repair was as hard core as she was ever going to get.

“You never could lie. Could you, Izzy?”

“Never could and never wanted to. Telling the truth is easier.” She was well aware of how painful lies could be. She lifted her chin. “I can sleep easy at night. Can you?”

“Telling the truth is only easy when there’s someone who cares enough to believe you. I never had that luxury. And are you trying to find out my sleeping habits now?”

Izzy opened her mouth to challenge the obvious deflection, but changed her mind as she glimpsed the almost imperceptible flash of hurt in his eyes. “Hell no! I don’t need any more nasty images in my head.” Especially if any of them involved her sister.

That flash of pain twisted her insides, reminding her of his difficult past and the reason why her parents had treated him like the son they never had. His family had been money rich but love poor. Unfortunately he’d been starved of both. It was something that had always confused her, especially as he had a younger brother who his parents lavished their affection on.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jack shifted in his seat. Leaning forward, he stretched out his arms on the table, making it suddenly seem small as his fingers rested mere inches away from her. “So, are you going to tell me what the hell has been going on here?”

* * * *

Damn, she’d changed. And he wasn’t sure if it was in a good way. Where was that beaming smile of hers that she always gifted him with? This wasn’t the welcome he’d expected.

He expected questions and possibly confusion. After all, he had left without saying goodbye to the family who meant more to him than his own. But he had to leave. When he stood on Izzy’s doorstep, he couldn’t even bear to turn and face the house he’d once lived in.

He hadn’t one fond memory of living in that immaculate, cold shell of a building across the road. The only decent recollections he had were in the house he was sitting in now. Some of those fond memories concerned this weary looking woman, with the fierce look in her chocolate brown eyes, who was now glaring at him as though those eye daggers would hopefully inflict pain. He winced. Maybe they had?