Penthouse Prince (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Jeanie resisted the wild and burning desire overwhelming her.

The stylist held out several different fabric swatches. “I’m leaning toward the reds. What do you think?”

Jeanie swallowed a gag as the motion sent another wave of the stylist’s too-strong perfume rolling her direction. A headache wasn’t just threatening at this point—it throbbed happily, right at home between her aching temples and blazing like a fiery sword behind her eyes.

If I look at one more piece of fabric, I’ll scream, that’s what I think.

Two days
. She’d lived lifestyles of the rich and famous for two stinking days, earning every cent of the money Camden would pay her, per her contract. The time stretched out like her cheeks—which were sore from all the faked smiles.

“Stella, I think we’ve got all we need for now. You go ahead and order the things we’ve—”
And by we’ve, I mean you, since you don’t actually care about my input.
“—chosen.”

“Are you sure? We have—”

With a wave of her hand, Jeanie silenced her. “We’re perfect.”

Jeanie stood and escaped before the woman could follow her. Why Camden hired a stylist for a few days of faked engagement was beyond Jeanie, but she didn’t question him.

Why bother? She was an employee. If he wanted her to sit with a stylist for an hour, she sat. Moments like the ones she just endured made her wish, if fleetingly, she actually planned to marry the man.

If she were his real bride-to-be, she’d give him a piece of her mind for hiring the over scented Frenchwoman to design her wardrobe. But she wasn’t a real fiancée, so she stuck it out. Saved her bickering power for the arguments that mattered, rather than ones that didn’t.

Seeing Lucas—the house elf, as she called him—Jeanie wiggled a finger. Actually in charge of the house staff, Lucas kept everything in Casa Rich Kid running smoothly. He also was a total sweetheart. “House elf, please tell me you can play Calgon and take me away?”

Lucas laughed and passed her a white plate. “I brought you some ibuprofen. You look like your head is hammering.”

“Good eye, house elf. I love you, you darling man. Please tell me—” Before she could finish, he passed her a bottle of water. “My kingdom to you, sweet man. I’d give you a sock to set you free, but I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

Lucas leaned in to whisper, “Don’t let the boss hear you, Miss Jeanie.” He smirked. “I think he might get jealous, hearing you flirt with his gay-Jarvis-minus-the-motherboards.”

Almost choking on the water, Jeanie laughed. “Where is my hubby to be? I haven’t seen him around all morning.”

“Uh.” The tips of Lucas’s ears turned red, a sure sign he wasn’t allowed to tell her something.

She patted his shoulder, then swigged back more of the water, hoping the pills kicked in fast. “No worries, house elf. I’ll find his lordship, my precious Penthouse Prince.”

“He hates it when you call him that,” Lucas warned her, taking the bottle back. “One might think you intentionally rile him at times.”

“I’m starting to think I’m the only one who dares poke or rile his royal pain-in-the-assness.” She shrugged and headed to her suite.

“You are. No one else would dare…” The words, soft and barely heard, made her turn to ask Lucas what he meant, or if she’d heard him right, but the man had disappeared.

“Oh, the secrets in this fancy house.” Jeanie removed her shoes and let her bare feet sink into the carpet as she continued to her rooms. “We’re not in Kansas, and I can click my heels together all day, but I couldn’t make this museum a home.” Not that she wouldn’t put a damn good effort into trying if she won the bet, but still…

The highlight to her days were the moments she managed to escape her fake life and return to the real one. Kaycee kept her anchored, reminded her why she pretended to smile at all of the liars and snakes Camden kept around for reasons beyond her understanding. Reaching her room, she paused with one hand on the doorknob, as the child’s laughter streamed through the closed door, embracing her in familiarity.

“What are you—?” Her words snapped off, killed an early death by shock.

Kaycee twirled, her princess costume—topped off with a shining tiara—showcasing her little girl beauty. The sight of the laughing child, wearing what had to be a real tiara rather than a toy, might have been enough to surprise her—though in this house, maybe not.

She stepped forward into the room, but then she saw Camden, sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sitting cross-legged in designer jeans on the carpet, with a pink and sparkling boa finishing off his ensemble, as he sipped from a tiny tea glass.

“Mommy!” Running full-throttle, Kaycee launched herself at Jeanie.

She dropped the heels—worth at least a week of her former paycheck—unceremoniously, scooped up the child, and rounded on Mr. About to be Dead Bachelor of the Year. “Why are you in here?”

“He visits me every day while you do assignments and learn how to be a princess,” Kaycee answered, plucking at Jeanie’s hair with her soft fingers.

“He visits. Every day?” Apparently, he had at least a tiny sense of self-preservation, because he stood, palms out in a peacekeeping gesture, while she closed the distance between them.

“Yes. He brings presents. I like him.” The little girl squirmed, bored with affection. “Let me go find Mr. Lumpkins. He should come to tea.”

Jeanie let Kaycee escape out of the room, then fisted her hands on her hips, one brow cocked. “You have all of three seconds to explain.”

“I told you I was curious about the kid. You caused this. Playing all mysterious about her wasn’t smart. You’ve got to have figured out at least that much about me—just give me the information and satisfy my curiosity, and I’ll leave it alone. So, really you should blame—”

She stabbed her finger into his chest, and he backed up. “Try again.”

“Um, well, I like kids. They’re simple, and this one is cute, so I just wanted to get to know her. Hey, I gave her a tiara, and every little girl should have her own tiara—”

This time, she smacked his chest with the flat of her palm…and tried to ignore how great his hard pecs felt under her hand. “Last shot.”

“She’s part of you, and I’m trying to figure you out.” His gaze slanted away from her, and he twisted his lips into a fast grimace before shoving his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t figure out any deep and meaningful answers about you, but I like her. She’s sweet. And she calls me a handsome prince.” He shrugged, a small smile ghosting across his lips while his eyes gleamed bloodshot cobalt. “What guy can resist a kid who thinks he’s the hero in a fairytale? She also makes a killer cup of tea, especially for a child who hasn’t been abroad.”

The truth ringing in his answer relaxed her shoulders. “You’ve not let anything about her leak, right? No one figured out she’s here still, right?” Panic might have reflected in her tone, but Camden didn’t understand the shit storm looming if the world found out about Kaycee.

His brows snapped down.
Shit
. She’d made him more curious.

“No, no one knows she’s here.”

She breathed out in relief. Retreating might sometimes be a noble move. She spun to escape him before he started picking at her like she was an interesting lab rat.

Passing Lori, who entered the room with a guilty look Jeanie filed away to ask about later, Jeanie called out, “I’ll stop back in a little while, okay my Kaycee Princess?”

“Love you, Mommy!” The little girl didn’t make another appearance, probably busy with five-year-old business, and Jeanie escaped the room.

She hadn’t made it far, only partway down the hall, before his hand closed on her wrist, spinning her to face him. In one more move, he’d caged her against the wall.

“When are you going to tell me the big bad secret about your sister? I can’t help you, can’t fix it, if you won’t tell me what’s going on there. If this is going to work, honesty might be good, even if it’s just between us.”

The argument was becoming redundant; they’d circled this same topic so many times in the past two days without either giving up ground. On one hand, she wished she could just tell him and make it his problem. She’d carried the weight of it all so damned long that sharing the load would be a relief.

But the illusion couldn’t become the reality. He wasn’t an actual fiancé, he was a job.

“Camden, neither of us is being honest, so why try to use that? You’re paying me to play a role, and I’m playing it.” Usually, reminding him she wasn’t anything but an employee with the weirdest job on the planet would be enough to back him down.

Apparently, two days of repeating this conversation didn’t mean he couldn’t change it up. “So, pretend with me. Pretend you can trust me. Tell me what it is that makes you get that hunted look, as if someone might hop out of the shadows and attack. I’m here for you.” He stroked a lock of her hair, much as Jeanie might soothe Kaycee if she were upset. “Let me in, Jeanie.”

She cleared her throat and blinked fast. If she shed a tear, if she let him know he got to her, he’d use the chink in her armor, and she’d forget where the lies ended and the reality started. “I got your email. So, there’s a dance tonight and you want me in the green gown, correct?”

He sighed, sagging a little, looking a bit like a tired boy rather than a mogul man. She resisted the urge to comfort him, again fearing a slippery slope. He didn’t sleep, not that she knew of, which explained his constant look of exhaustion. She’d seen him pacing last night and wondered what would happen if she went to him in the darkness. Would she see the mask of fast-talking, quick-witted businessman, or the softer one—the face she caught peeking out in moments like this one, when it seemed he let his guard down? Or would he be a whole other man, some stranger no one ever saw?

She didn’t dare find out, so she backtracked, looking for an out from the intensity of his attention. “Camden?”

He blinked, the sleepy-eyed man vanishing in a heartbeat. “Yes, a ball for my fiancée. It’s a benefit for the art museum, so wear that necklace I asked Lucas to deliver to you yesterday. We’ll be doing dinner first. Meet me at the elevator by six.”

Nodding, she waited. He’d still not released her. “Was there something else you needed, Camden?”

Ever the good employee, Jeanie. Remember, he’s the boss.

A smile stretched his lips, gleaming white teeth flashed, and her sex clenched at the raw masculinity he could emanate with just a smirk. “Might be a few things on my want list, if you’d like to review it in my room.” Waggling his brows, he grazed his fingertips up her arms. “We can still make dinner and the dance, promise. I’m good at multitasking.”

Snorting, she refused to let him see what his constant refusal to respect her personal space, his scent, and their ‘pretend’ make out sessions did to her self-control. “Review them with one of your maids. I have a headache.”

Not a lie, which he seemed to recognize, because he shifted, and his fingertips delved into her hair to massage her head. She concentrated on not melting into a puddle, but a moan escaped at the pleasure his hands brought to her aching scalp.

“Do you think having your hands on her every time I come to see you will make me believe you two aren’t pulling something?” His father’s voice hit her like a bucket of ice water, and she stiffened, even though she tried to stay relaxed. “You won’t get the shares until you’re married, son. How far are you willing to go with this farce?”

The tired version of Camden reappeared, and he rested his forehead on hers for a moment and whispered, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

She nodded, and he dropped a kiss on her nose before moving down the hall to join his father and vanish into the study.

Legs gone weak, she allowed herself to slide down the wall until she sat with her face buried in her hands.

She could do this. She’d made it this far and she could keep up the act…but the text message she’d read with her coffee that morning meant time was running out fast.

I saw you on the TV. We need to make a new deal or I’m coming for her.

She’d only read the words once, but they ran a repeating loop in her mind.

If only she could tell Camden. He could handle blackmail, probably win where Jeanie only managed to use stall tactic after tactic. Sadly, though, he wasn’t her fiancé and couldn’t be called upon to fix a family problem.

Her father, a hero, had taught her that family took care of family above all else.

For the first time since he’d died, she wished she could ignore his advice and just do what felt good—crumple into Camden’s arms, enjoy wild monkeysex until she walked bowlegged, and leave the problems of Kaycee to…

But that was the crux. Kaycee didn’t have anyone but Jeanie. Letting the wish go, like dandelion fluff on the wind, Jeanie forced herself to her feet to dress up for a ball.

Chapter Nine

Camden never drank heavily, preferring to keep his head and wits clear.

Except tonight.
He wondered, gazing into the amber fluid in his tumbler, how much alcohol exactly it would take to wash her out of his mind, even for a while. Through the shifting fluid, she appeared, a wavering image in a gown as green as her eyes, spinning on the dance floor.

With a gulp, he emptied the glass and set it on the tray of a passing waiter. Long game, he understood. Planning, plotting, letting the pieces come into place before he made a move—none of that grated on his nerves normally.

Then again, he’d only known Jeanie for a few days. If he’d met her sooner, he felt quite certain she would have taught him the fine art of frustration long ago. Squinting, he forced his eyes to focus on the man who danced so expertly with his planned wife.

Lowe. Always Lowe.
He should fire him. He could. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he considered how hard Lowe would be to replace.

He sensed the figure approaching moments before the carefully modulated tone of her voice invaded his introspection. “I thought this whole thing was a farce, meant to hide the fact I cheated on you. Considering you’re green with jealousy, I’m wondering if you strayed and weren’t nearly as concerned about my indiscretions as I assumed.”

Facing Tasha, he tilted his head and raised his brows. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but it’s rude to lie.”

“Always the clever retort, right, darling?” The champagne flute resembled the woman holding it—narrow, elegant, fragile looking. Long, jet black hair hung in a blanket of darkness around her tanned and sculpted shoulders, the silk of her skin enhanced by the ruby red of her gown. She looked up at him, her eyes so dark that they glittered like polished onyx.

His gaze swung away from her, seeking the vibrant light of Jeanie.

Tasha, not a fan of being ignored, leaned into his arm, and tendrils of her scent snaked around him. “Do you think she cares that you’re gazing at her like some lost puppy dog while she glides in the arms of your best friend? Maybe she’s figured out that Lowe is everything you can’t possibly be—open, dashing, willing to risk his heart for the sake of love…” Trailing off, Tasha stroked his arm—petting him, really.

He should leave her side, go outside. Maybe get some air.

Instead, he contemplated her perfect cheekbones. “Love is a myth, and we both know that, so I have no clue why you’re throwing that in my face. She’s not like you, Tasha. She’s not like either of us.”

“Hmm, you’re rather attached, aren’t you?”

“She’s my fiancée.”

“So was I, and I’m still wearing the ring to prove it.” The hand wearing the band in question stroked his cheek, nails scraping lightly as Tasha’s lips curled in a smile.

“So, hi, I’m Jeanie and who in the hell are you?”

He couldn’t restrain a smile as he turned to his beloved pretend fiancé standing before them. He captured Tasha’s wrist and regarded the curvy blonde turned fire-breathing dragon.

“Jeanie, Tasha. Tasha, Jeanie. There, now that we’ve done introductions—” He lifted a hand, signaling the waiter, who obediently supplied more whiskey. “Cheers.”

He chugged it, reveled in the burn scraping its way down his throat, and waited for the wave of warmth to follow.

“We’re going home,” Jeanie stated, then turned to Lowe who—
bastard
—looked quite amused by the tableau of too many brides for only one groom. “Lowe, can you call a car around? He’s not driving.”

“Home?” Fighting to hold back a laugh, Camden reached for another drink. “Do you know where that is, little one?”

Jeanie didn’t answer, and Tasha didn’t back down. The idea of the two facing off didn’t disturb him as it seemed it should, making him wonder if he’d drunk more of the whiskey than he’d realized. Scratching his cheek, he noticed numbness in his face, then wondered if his face or his hand had lost feeling. Maybe someone had poisoned him?

Tasha, dark hair a tumbling sea of night, stroked his arm, and he wondered if he should pull her closer or leave.

Jeanie decided it for him. Her fingers caught his and the little electric zing just touching her awakened seemed amplified at the contact. He turned to her and met her green gaze. “You look worried. Why do you look worried?”

“Aside from the fact I’m at a so-called ball with the handsome prince and he’s shitfaced? And that I’m trying to think of a way to get you past the press without them seeing you hammered? No worries, Camden. I got this one.”

He didn’t resist the siren’s call of her flesh, instead tangled his fingers in her hair and stroked her cheek. “This doesn’t count for the bet.”

She snorted. The inelegant sound, coming from her while she wore a green gown and her fiancée façade, cracked him up. “Oh, now he’s laughing. C’mon, lover boy.”

“You’ve not seen me really do my lover boy impersonation, little fiancée. Let me show you.” His hand might not work right, but his lips did, seeking hers as they had repeatedly over the last few days. Her mouth answered his, demanding even as he tugged her closer. He trailed the kiss until he could capture her earlobe in his teeth, a move he’d learned caused the most delicious shudder to ripple through her temptingly curvy body, and he whispered, “I can show you so much, Jeanie. Let’s pretend, just for a moment.”

She didn’t pull away, so he swept her into his arms, only slightly wobbling because of the warm fog of alcohol clouding his mind. “Oh, the press will love this,” she whispered. “Especially if you drop me.”

“I won’t drop you. Let them take pictures. Princes are supposed to carry off maidens now and again. It’s in all the books.” The feel of her, all warmth and rounded curves in his arms, tempted him to move faster. Making it to the doors, cool air smacked into him like a wall, helping to clear some of the cobwebs.

The flash of photographers lit the way to the car, where Lowe stood by the door, a look of shocked horror clear on his normally impassive face. “Dear lord, Cam, how am I supposed to spin this one?”

Camden shrugged, not willing to release his armful. Instead, he sat her in the car, ignored her sigh as she dove for the waiting darkness, and clapped a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Frankly, Lowe, I don’t give a damn.”

With that, and the sound of laughter rumbling out of the gathered crowd of media, he joined Jeanie in the car.

“Well, I don’t know how you’re going to explain this one, but I guess—”

He slid his hand back into her hair. He didn’t want to talk to her. They’d talked for days. He wanted that full lower lip between his teeth, her arms around his neck, and he wasn’t willing to wait to get home.

Frozen, she gazed up at him with her crystal green eyes, not revealing a thing about what she thought.

As usual.

“No one can see us, well, except the driver. What are you doing?” She whispered the words, as if she feared someone might overhear.

“For a second, let’s pretend,” he answered. Rubbing his nose against hers, he used his free hand to stroke the length of her arm, bared by the gown. “I need to see something.”

“Camd—” He took her lips, silencing her. At first, she didn’t move, simply allowing him to taste her lips. Patient, he tested her resolve, using nibbles he’d practiced for an audience.

Her fingertips, light as a butterfly, touched his cheek, and he leaned back enough to see her. “This is a horrible idea. If you weren’t drunk—”

“Blame the drink. Imagine someone is watching. Whatever, just for a moment, pretend with me.” He didn’t know why it suddenly seemed so important, but he had to know. Had to feel.

Slanting his mouth across hers, he released all the pent up desire touching her wakened. He swallowed her soft cry and tried to fill the emptiness with the taste of her.