But He's My Fake Fiancé (But He's a Carter Brother #3)

by Annah Conwell

She giggles and the whole store brightens. The sound embodies pure joy and I’m convinced it could chase away rainclouds on the darkest, stormiest day.

How can a woman so breathtaking and utterly brilliant be unsure of herself? Seeing her fidgeting in front of me makes me want to find whatever is causing this insecurity and rip it apart.

Interestingly enough, the image that finally slows down my thoughts is Sloane’s smile.

“So,” he begins while I’m trying to wrap my head around what I’ve just done. “Have we set a date yet?”

“Do you like the marshmallows or the cereal better?” I ask her as she opens the door. She smiles at my question, and I know my method of drawing her out of her thought spiral has worked, if only for a moment. “Marshmallows, definitely. You?” “The cereal,” I lie with a grin. “Really?” She gives me a questioning look. “You seem like a guy who would have a sweet tooth.” I do, big time. But if she likes the marshmallows, I’ll eat the mushy cardboard-tasting bits.

“Complimenting you will never be a game, Rose.”

“Your beauty stole my words.” He gives me a crooked grin, and I roll my eyes. “I was really just thinking about our date. I’m hoping you’ll enjoy yourself. Though you are gorgeous enough to render a man speechless.”

“I’m sorry for manhandling you,” I say. A wicked grin spreads over his face. “You can handle me any way you like, wifey.”

“You are positively rakish, Grayson Carter.” “I love it when you talk bookish to me.”

I look down, watching my ring glimmer in the afternoon sun as I twist it round and round. I try to count each turn as a way to calm my nerves, but since the ring is a symbol of what I’m nervous about, it doesn’t help all that much. In my peripheral vision, Grayson’s hand appears. His palm is facing up, his large hand placed on the console between us. I hesitate for a second. No one is here to see us, and our relationship isn’t real, but … I could use the comfort. He keeps his eyes on the road, but when I slip my hand in his, the corner of his mouth tips up. He adjusts my ring with his thumb, then rubs circles on the back of my hand as he drives.

“Are you tired?” he asks and I frown. “What?” “Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.” A laugh bursts out of me. That was the last thing I expected him to say right now. “That was terrible, surely you can do better than that.” “If you were words on a page, you’d be what they call fine print.” I groan. “No, that one is worse.” He places a hand on my lower back and leads me up the stairs toward the door. “If being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged.” Even he can’t make it through that one all the way before laughing. I’m in a fit of giggles by the time he’s opening the club’s door for me. He looks down at me with sparkling eyes as I walk through the door. “Why all the cheesy lines?” I ask him. He takes my hand in his like we’ve been together for years instead of faking it for a few days. “I wanted to see your smile,” he answers,

He smiles at me, then lifts my hand to brush a tender kiss across the back of it. My face heats and I look down at my lap. Grayson Carter just kissed me … sort of.

Sloane’s hand is in mine, and even though it has been for over ten hours now, I’m hoping she doesn’t let go any time soon.

“Did you expect me to stay silent while you grabbed my butt?” I ask her. She hits my chest. The driver’s eyes flick up to the rear view mirror, then back toward the road. “Quit saying stuff like that!” she hisses. “People are going to draw conclusions.” “Good,” I say with a smirk. “Not good,” she groans. “They’re going to think I’m incapable of keeping my hands off you.” I lean in close and lower my voice. “I don’t mind that reputation.”

“I have been called a flirt, but most women aren’t allowed to grab my butt,” I say drily.

place why she’s so upset. I’m here with her. I’ve never once flirted with another woman in her presence. And she has no way of confirming, but since the day she pulled me into her life, I’ve avoided all women who aren’t my friends or family. All this, for a woman I’m technically not even dating.

“I’ll see you downstairs, Princess.”

I can see this exact moment years from now. Her reading in bed, little gasps and sighs echoing in the night. I’d wake up and tease her about staying up too late. Then I’d pull her close and make her forget all about the book that so enthralled her. Her gasps and sighs would be due to me.

“You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman on this beach, Rose.”

I like you. I might even be falling in love with you. We walk to the edge of the sea. The water laps at our ankles, cooler in the evening than it was when we were laughing amongst the waves earlier today. I watch as Sloane tips her spoon upside down; she places it on her tongue and my world flips. I’ve never felt so utterly desperate and gone for a woman in my life. It makes me feel jittery and off balance. I can’t tell if the feeling is good, or if it’s my body telling me I’m risking too much. When Sloane glances over and smiles at me, I find that I don’t care about the risk. If falling for her is jumping out of a plane, I don’t even need a parachute, just let me get a running start.

“That’s my girl.”

All I want to do is hear her laugh like this for the rest of my life. I’d give up everything. My house in the suburbs, my half of the company, my car. Drain my bank account, as long as I get to see her eyes light up across from me from now til the day I die.

This woman is going to be the death of me, but at least I’ll die happy.

I’m in love with Sloane. From the moment I opened that first book of hers, I’ve been falling.

The mere sight of Sloane looking so undone almost made me drop to my knees and propose again. I have an inkling that’s going to be a recurring theme in our relationship. She’s too gorgeous. We picked up some sandwiches and went down to the beach after our time at the bookstore, and every time I looked at her I thought I’d wandered into the desert and she was a mirage. I’ve never been the writing type, but a man could wax poetic about Sloane’s beauty. If Shakespeare stumbled across her in his time, he would have written a thousand plays with her likeness as his sole muse.

“Don’t ever touch her again. Don’t look at her. Don’t even come near her. If you so much as breathe in her general vicinity, I will make it your last.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Ready to go to war again?” “Darling, storming the battlefield with you would be my greatest honor.”

This is the love of my life. Drenched to the bone, but smiling like she just won an award. I press a kiss to her forehead. I’m the luckiest man alive.

“Sloane Elizabeth Covington,” he begins with a watery smile. “My Rose, will you marry me, for real this time?”