Page 20 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“You call me Rex,” I say.

“You can call me kitten.”

I give her a hard look. “I’ll be calling you Tabitha.” She’s the kind of woman who’ll take the wheel if you don’t stop her.

She sighs. “Okay…Rrrex.”

Clark snorts and takes her small suitcase, which matches the very giant one that my driver is extracting from the trunk of the town car.

She beams at Clark. “Thanks.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, aggravated already.

They both turn.

I yank the case out of Clark’s hand. “She’smyfiancée,” I say in a low voice, “not yours. Let’s try to be in character here, huh? The help needs to buy our engagement. Andyou…” I say to her, pulse racing.

Her pretty brows furrow. “What?”

“Just…” I don’t know what I want to say.Behave, act normal.

“I got this, Rex,” she says in a way that makes my blood churn. I wave her up the stairs in front of me and go up behind her, feeling agitated at the way her skirt cups and shapes the curves of her ass.

I remind myself that it’s good I have this agitated reaction to her. There will be no temptation, no distraction, no sex—and therefore no emotional demands. No morning-after obligations. No scenes when I tell her to leave me alone. No being trapped in a confined space with somebody I don’t want to be with.

I didn’t make a billion dollars just to end up as one-half of a miserable couple hemmed in by four walls and tearful demands. I worked like a dog to have the preciseoppositeof that.

She pauses at the top of the air steps. I set my hand on the small of her back, conscious of the sensation of her under my touch. Is she wearing some extra-soft fabric? I never think about fabric. The women I touch are usually naked for me already. I like them to undress themselves for me. I like my things unwrapped.

“Showtime,” I mumble under my breath, guiding her into the main cabin.

“Wow,” she says, looking around, impressed, eyes like saucers. She’s already screwing up her role.

I lean in. “Try not to look like a fucking extra fromOliver Twistgaping at a loaf of bread. As my fiancée, you’re used to this kind of luxury.”

“But I’ve never ridden in your plane,” she whispers playfully, with a little tilt of the head. “I’m impressed.” She straightens as the pilot approaches. “You always do have such excellent taste,Rex.”

I need to tell her not to say my name like that. It’s distracting.

“So true,” Clark says, catching up to us. “After all, he pickedyou.”

She beams at him.

I introduce her as my fiancée to the pilot and the crew. They’re shocked at the news of my engagement, but try not to show it. “Congratulations,” says Cassie, my head attendant. “I didn’t know…” She looks at me, bewildered.

“It’s not public yet,” I say. “We’ve been keeping a low profile. We expect absolute discretion.”

She nods. “Of course.”

I don’t like misleading the people who’ve been with me forever, but we can’t go back now. It’s not as if we can tell them it’s just a ploy; people gossip, and a pretend engagement would be more gossip-worthy than an actual engagement.

“It’s my fault he couldn’t tell,” Tabitha says, sliding her hand into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I swallow, stunned by the feel of her fingers sliding so intimately between my fingers. I need to tell her not to do that. The whole point is for me not to be distracted.

“I just prefer it under wraps for now,” she continues, “and Rex has been so cool about it. With all of the negative publicity about his supposed peccadillos, and my grandmother so injured, I think she’d keel over if she learned of this engagement. She would see those articles about Rex—and, well, she’s old, and things upset her.”

“I get it. I’m so sorry,” Cassie says.

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