Wildest Dreams (Forbidden Love, #2)

by L.J. Shen

I knew Bruce Marshall was holding back on the deal because his wife thought I was a sleazeball player who would turn the app into Ashley Madison 2.0. She wasn’t wrong. I was a sleazeball. Damn proud of it too. A womanizer, a slut, a sex addict. You name it. But I now had a chance to pretend to be an outstanding member of polite society as opposed to one of the pillars of its demise.

“Wouldn’t you like to be temporarily engaged to a man in finance—who is six foot five, with blue eyes?” I coaxed.

“Sure. Where is he?” Exasperating. “It’s me.” I stubbed my thumb into my chest. She snorted. “You’re six three on a good day, dude. Besides, I know that song. You don’t work in finance.” “I’m about to, if you don’t fuck shit up for me.” “You’re also not a trust-fund baby,” she maintained.

“Row and Cal aren’t going to be here most of the time. Your mom is all the way in Maine. You have no friends around. No relatives. Look at your first hour here, for fuck’s sake.” I gestured to the door. “What would’ve happened if I wasn’t there to save Grav? To push your car into the garage? Carry your luggage? Admit it. We need each other right now, and we can help each other. A mutually beneficial arrangement.” “I can do this alone,” she insisted, eyes glittering with brazen determination.

“You don’t even know where the AC unit is, how to fix the heater, or what to do when the Wi-Fi gets spotty. I’m offering you a goddamn get-out-of-jail card to prove to your family you can survive in New York, Casablancas. Take the damn thing and run with it.” “Row’s gonna lose his shit if he thinks we’re dating.” She was walking around, opening cabinets, familiarizing herself with the place. Now we were getting somewhere. She was actually considering it. “Not that he has any reason to,” I pointed out. She gave me a face. “With all due respect, Rhyland—and let me assure you, I have none for you—you are more damaged than Cal’s hair when she went through that phase changing its color every week. And you’ve never had a steady girlfriend. And you are a literal, biblical man-whore. And the only feelings you are capable of are horniness and annoyance. So frankly, I can totally understand why he wouldn’t be happy to see us as a couple.”

“We’ll tell our friends the truth,” I assured her, my come-hither smile on full display. “He knows I want to charm Marshall into working with me, and everyone will be happy I’m helping you settle in. He knows I’ll never break bro code.”

God help me, I detested kids. Even this one got on my nerves, and she was, by all definitions, cute and well-behaved. “I’m not doing this for free.” Dylan parked a hand on her waist. “Especially if we have to be seen at events and pretend to tolerate each other.” I snorted out a laugh. She stared at me blankly. Oh. She was serious. She wanted me to pay her for…what, exactly?

“Name your price.” Whatever it was, chances were I couldn’t fucking pay it. I was Armani without the money. Dressed to the nines with zero in my bank account. Her eyes widened in amazement. She didn’t think I’d bite. That made two of us. But I needed this temporary arrangement. Besides, if things went my way, it would last for less than a month before Bruce would sign the damn contract and bring our fake engagement to an abrupt end.

“Like…two thousand dollars a week?” “Deal.” “Wait, no. Ten thousand a week!” she blurted out breathlessly. I tapered my eyes. “Now you’re just making numbers up.” She hitched one shoulder. “Julia Roberts charged three thousand in Pretty Woman, and I think it was less than a week. That was in 1990. Just think about the inflation.” “Julia Roberts offered a hell of a lot more than holding hands and looking pretty,” I ground out. “So am I, though.” Dylan licked her lips nervously, fingers twisting together. “Sex is going to be the only upside to this deal.”

“I said, sex is on the table.” Silence. “Or anywhere else you’d like to have it, to be honest. I’m not picky.” My. Jaw. Was. On. The. Goddamn. Floor.

“My grasp on the English language has loosened in the past five seconds. Do you mean to tell me you want to, uh, fuck?” She stared me square in the eye, calm if a little flushed. “I mean, the relationship will be fake, but the orgasms had better be real. If I have to put up with you, I want to at least have a little fun. We’re both grown-ups. I haven’t had any action in a while. You’re deplorable but undeniably hot. And I mean, you can’t be that bad in bed, with all the experience you’ve amassed…”

“As long as it’s with full consent…” She pretended to examine her busted-up nails, and I wondered if, now that I was apparently going to pay her fucking $10K to breathe in my sphere, she’d invest in some mani-pedis. I wanted her to. And I wasn’t even fucking sure why. “You don’t have to have sex with me to get the money,” I stated the goddamn obvious. I always knew I gave fuckboy vibes, but creeper? That was a new one. “I know you’re not asking. I’m offering, if it wasn’t clear.” Another eye roll—Dylan’s signature “I don’t give a shit” tic whenever she definitely gave a shit. “I mean, come on. You are a sex worker. Don’t be a prude.” “First of all, I’m not being a prude. I’m checking for signs of a head injury.”

something about her offering her body for money and how I’d rather just pay her not to do any stupid shit—but I forgot what it was. Honestly, the fact that I was even speaking English right now was a miracle in itself. Dylan Casablancas, the hottest woman in the Americas and probably any other continent, had offered me sex for pay. “Fuck it, Dylan. My mind draws a blank. Just…promise me, if you ever need money that bad, come to me, and I’ll give it to you. No strings attached.”

“It’s not about the money. I have some savings.” She nibbled on the dead skin around her thumb, and for a reason I did not want to look into, I didn’t find it as gross as I normally would. “It’s not something I’d have offered anyone. I wouldn’t mind if there’s sex included in the deal since I’m practically regrowing my hymen over here, and there is no way I’d ever catch feelings for someone as appalling as you.” “Why, thank you.” I breathed slowly through my nose. “Always love meeting new fans.” “Hey, at least I find you physically attractive.” “And personally repulsive.” She jerked one shoulder up. “Do you want your brother to kill me?” I inquired. That’d definitely happen if we slept together. “It’ll be a nice bonus,” she admitted evenly, “but there’s no reason why he should find out.”

“Ten K a week is fine. Do we have a deal?” “You’re going to need to build some things around here.” Dylan glanced at the room. “Grav’s toddler bed, some bookshelves, stuff like that.” “That’s not gonna be an issue.” My father was a handyman—building shit was no biggie for me. “What else?” The child popped her head in from the hallway, grinning. “Mommy, can I make a fort with the pillows?”

“If this includes sex, I have some hard limits,” she whispered. This was the part where I needed to tell her that sex would not be included. I wasn’t going to take advantage of my best friend’s baby sister. Shit, I wasn’t going to take advantage of anyone like that. It was wrong. But…was it really?

“Let’s hear your limits.”

Hey, negotiating putting my dick in Dylan Casablancas wasn’t on my year’s bingo card either.

“No hurting me.” She erected a finger for every rule, counting them with her hand and starting with her thumb. “No audience, you always have to use a condom—I am never getting pregnant again—and we’ll have to be exclusive.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d made a career of fake-dating people, and now I had to pay for someone to fake-date me. Karma, you filthy little animal.

“I might need babysitting.” “Look, I’m the first one to agree you’re a mess, but I think you should be fine. Just google shit if you run into big words.” “For Gravity, you tool bag.” “Oh, I don’t do kids.” “You just saved Gravity from sure death.” “I imagined she was a squirrel,” I quipped. “Seriously. My la vida is a little too loca to throw kids in the mix. No way.” “Well, I’ll need someone to help me with her while I look for work. Seeing as you’re the only non-stranger here, I only trust you.” She gave me a slow once-over. “Kinda. No offense.”

“Fuck. Fine.” “Try not to curse in front of her.” Dylan made a face. “I have some asks too,” I informed her. “Go ahead.” She nodded.

“One, you will be my fake date as many times as I need within the time constraints. You will be prim and proper, and you will look at me adoringly. You will not blow our cover and won’t tell anyone about that time a balloon got stuck in my braces in eighth grade and everybody thought it was a condom.” She gave me a frustrated look. “Rhyland, it was a condom.” “It was a beige-colored balloon, Dylan.” It was a condom.

“That includes work travels in and outside the States,” I added. “As long as you give me enough time in advance and Grav can come, I’m okay with that.” “And…” I stopped. Bit my tongue until warm, thick blood filled my mouth. Still, I couldn’t stop the words from falling.

We’d always shared this wild attraction, me and her. Since she was eighteen. The air became thick and charged between us. I stepped toward her. She didn’t retreat, though I detected a glint of fear in her dark, upturned eyes. I leaned into her personal space, a breath away from the shell of her ear. No need for her daughter to accidentally hear the depraved man in their apartment. “No condoms, Casablancas. We exchange clear medical sheets, you get on the pill, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Whoa. Do you always do it without a condom?” She looked grossed out. “Nope. Never.” “Why skip it with me?” “Because I want to. That should be reason enough.”

“If it’s too much, forget—” I started, already regretting everything I’d said. “Deal,” she said in a rush, sounding like she’d just run a marathon. “It’s a deal.”

RHYLAND

I wish I could say I was able to concentrate on some (or any) of what Bruce Marshall blabbed about in our meeting, but the truth was I was too busy shifting in my seat to adjust my six-foot hard-on. All I could think about was Dylan and the million implications of what we’d just agreed to. Who’d brought up sex first? She had, I was sure of it. My mind hadn’t even gone there. And not for lack of attraction to her. She was forbidden, completely off-limits, which begged the question: What were we doing?

There were limits in this world. Sure, I never adhered to any of them, but this one I actually cared about. Row was more than a buddy. He was my ride or die. He’d given me a job and taken me for a spin all over the world in our early twenties. This was insanity. I wasn’t going to cash in on Dylan’s offer.

But if she threw herself at me? I was only human—and a terribly immoral one at that. Maybe we should cancel the whole thing.

“She just moved here from the small town we grew up in,” I supplied. “It’s new, but it’s real. We’re as serious as a heart attack.” “How new?” “A few months, but we’ve known each other forever. She’s the one.” It took everything in me not to hold my fucking nose as I said it. “When you know, you know.” In reality, I wouldn’t marry Dylan if she were the last woman on earth. She was, among other things, a rebellious, stubborn, foul-mouthed, sharp-witted troublemaker. A twenty-six-year-old Swiftie, she was sex on legs and as manageable as an F5 tornado.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t still thinking about fucking some sense into her, as though I didn’t also need a re-up. But Bruce looked so fucking pleased, his stern scowl finally relaxing into a smirk of approval, his brow smoothed out of wrinkles for a change. “I’m searching for another ring for her now,” I heard myself say. “Something perfect, just like her.”

“Welp, I definitely want to hear more about that little app of yours.” “More?” I blinked, confused. “I thought this meeting was it?” “Yeah, I didn’t become a billionaire handing over huge amounts of money to people I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We don’t have to rush into this so fast. We’re a family company and like to get to know our partners and their families. Let’s take this one step at a time and see if we all get along. My wife will definitely want to chat with your lil miss, and I like to spend a weekend or two with people I consider accepting into my professional circle.” A weekend or two? Was he freaking kidding me? Clearing my throat, I asked, “Do you have a timeline of how long it usually takes you to make a decision?” “A month.” He shrugged. “Sometimes two. All depends on how fast we get to know each other and you send me all the info I need on your app. It’s not just about creating relationships. I have to make sure this idea of yours is legit.” Fuck my life. That meant a good number of 10k-a-week salaries to keep the hellion downstairs happy. Looked like I was going to put an engagement ring on Dylan Casablancas’s finger after all.

DYLAN

Dylan, 18, Rhyland, 22

Roses are red Violets are purple blue Your beauty is too much to take Please let me be your favorite mistake I tossed another one of Tucker Reid’s desperat...

If this was all Staindrop had to offer in terms of eligible men, I was inclined to become a nun. I wasn’t losing my virginity to that.

“Are you going to the graduation party in the moorlands tonight?” he murmured around the cigarette. “Rhy and I wanna crack open a few beers, but I figured I’d ask you first in case you need a ride.” Something melted in my chest like butter on a hot pan. “Sitting this one out.” There was no reason for me to go to the graduation party, really. Everyone was going to get drunk and celebrate moving away to college, while I was staying here.

My eyeballs stung with unshed tears, but I didn’t let them loose. I was going to be brave, just like Row had been. Brave when my dad beat him whenever he was drunk, which was every day. Brave when, after nights of taking abuse from Dad, he smiled at me across the breakfast table in the mornings, passed me the cereal box, gave me lunch money, and pretended he wasn’t dead inside. Row didn’t know I was aware of the abuse Dad inflicted on him and Mama. I didn’t know why I was lucky enough to escape his wrath. But it didn’t matter. It was my turn to watch over our parents, make sure Dad didn’t kill Mama, and I was ready.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for my brother to hang out with pretty, interested girls from home when he vacationed here from Le Cordon Bleu, but I knew he’d never have any of them. He was hopelessly in love with my best friend, Cal. “Dyl…” Row halted. “Hmm?” “Why aren’t you going to college?”

“Honestly? I don’t want to accumulate student debt to get a BA in bullshit. I’ll figure things out at my own pace. Decide what I want to do.” “It’s not because of me, right?” Row asked after a beat. It is, and I won’t ever let you drop out of culinary school. You’ve already sacrificed too much. I snorted. “No, Row. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Row and Rhyland were talking in their deep, authoritative voices. My ears tuned out everything other than Rhy’s voice, though. The husky, deep burr of the last guy I should be attracted to. My stomach rumbled, announcing it was empty. I sighed and put the book on my chest, glancing at the clock on my nightstand. Just grab something quick. You can’t avoid him forever.

Flinging my legs over the bed, I padded downstairs. The lights were turned off in the kitchen, the house mostly dark in the dusky evening. I glanced past the backyard doors and caught Row and his two lady friends sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer. I noticed Row had stuck to water. Probably didn’t trust me not to change my mind about the party. This is why you’re doing this for him. He’s always taken care of you. He’s loyal to a fault. The toilet in the house flushed noisily, followed by the sound of a faucet running. I grabbed a bowl from the overhead cabinet and poured some pretzels into it. I dumped a few grapes and baby carrots into the mix, my stomach brushing the kitchen counter. I was about to turn around and go upstairs when two hands bracketed me from either side, fingers splayed across the countertop. I immediately recognized those fingers. Tan, long, and rough from manual work. He worked in construction every summer when he was off from college. I sucked in a breath. Rhyland. An erection ground between my ass cheeks through our clothes. A hot, humid mouth came crashing down over the shell of my ear. The faint fumes of beer and the bitter bite of weed skulked into my nostrils.

This was shocking. Rhyland had never touched me before. Never indicated he liked me this way. Other than the lingering looks between us. The steadfast, agonizing tension that clawed my neck every time I caught him glaring at me silently, squeezing hard until I was out of breath.

I needed to stop this. Now. Row wouldn’t approve. And I never did things he didn’t approve of. My mouth dropped, and I tried to push a rejection out, but then he snaked a hand up my waist, cupping the underside of my breast, brushing my puckered nipple through my flimsy white shirt with possessiveness, and I leaned into him, pathetic little sobs of passion ripping from my mouth. His thumb drew circles around my nipple, making my breast feel heavy and full in his palm. “Finally,” he groaned into my neck, grinding his cock up and down the slit of my ass, the girth pushing between my cheeks. “I thought I’d never get you alone.”

I grunted a refusal, but it came out as a desperate whimper. Of its own accord, my back arched, and my ass searched for more of his length. Honeyed warmth gathered under my navel. I was still a virgin and hadn’t even seen a penis up close. The furthest I’d gone was heavy petting. But now I wanted more. I wanted everything. “How about we reenact all the dirty texts you’ve been sending me?” Rhyland growled into my skin,

Before I could protest, he kicked my legs apart and sank his knee between my thighs, his muscular thigh pressuring my empty center, making it throb deliciously as it begged for more. “Now what should I do to yo—”

his palm halted on the golden necklace. A gift from my mother. It had a distinct thin cross. I’d worn it since I was fourteen. Rhyland grunted, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around at the speed of light. His jaw went slack, his gold-speckled eyes igniting into flames. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dylan, what the hell are you doing?” “What am I doing?” My gaze snapped up to his, confused and defenseless and emotional, and fuck, Rhyland was hooking up with Piper. It shouldn’t have hurt like this. It shouldn’t have hurt at all. Why him? I could’ve liked anyone else and easily dated them. “Not assaulting my best friend’s sister, that’s w-what.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he spluttered, blocking my way to the stairs. “I froze. I had no idea what was happening,” I lied. The truth was too humiliating to contemplate. “Don’t bullshit me, Dylan. You’re not the kind of girl who freezes.” “Yeah? What kind of girl am I, then?” “The type to wedgie the devil to start a fight.” He crowded me back against the kitchen counter.