The Billionaire’s Marriage Of Deception

Amanda wanted badly to ask, but she didn’t think she’d get a straight answer. Instead she said, “Shall we eat?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They sat down and started digging in. Amanda had taken a couple of bites of some truly delicious waffles when Michael cleared his throat. “This might be awkward, but…does the resort staff know why you’re here by yourself?”

Amanda paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “No,” she said, drawing out the word.

“Okay.” Michael nodded a few times. “Then we can pretend that I’m your husband.”

The fork went clattering to the plate, syrup spattering the spotless white tablecloth. “Excuse me?”

“It’ll be a lot easier for me to keep an eye on you if I’m always with you.” Michael leaned forward and went on, “And it’s not like you could have picked me up overnight; this is a resort for couples.”

Amanda gritted her teeth. “I know that,” she grumbled. “And if you think I’m setting foot outside this building until you can promise me all of the people with guns are gone, you’re nuts.”

“It’s actually safer for you outside during the day,” Michael said quietly. “They won’t try anything where there are other people around.”

“How do you know that?” Amanda retorted.

“Because I’ve run into these guys before. I know how they operate.” Michael winked at her. “Kicked their asses before, too. This time, we’re gonna take ’em out for good.”
Amanda looked down at her plate. The sooner they did this, the sooner she could go back to her peaceful, solitary existence. If that meant pretending some Sasquatch she’d never met before was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, she could do that for a couple of days.

“Fine,” she said.

“What?”

She looked up and saw Michael with his head cocked to the side like a puppy dog. “I said, fine. We can do the pretend husband thing.”

“Awesome.” Michael stated. “I mean, that’ll make things easier. Thanks, Amanda.”

Amanda tried to ignore the thrill that skittered down her spine at the sound of her name in Michael’s voice. Instead, she brusquely nodded and went back to shoving waffles in her mouth. She got the feeling she was going to need all the strength she could get to make it through the day.

It turned out Amanda didn’t know the half of it. She’d thought it was going to be awkward and difficult to have Michael hold her hand or stand close to her. Instead, she went around feeling fluctuated between arousal and fear. She knew her security would be arriving that morning and she had to find a way for him to watch them without giving himself away in case this Michael and his ‘boss’ were after more than some fabled James Bond type villain who just happened to mistake the identity of the only vulnerable billionaire on the island. She surreptitiously texted Wyatt to ensure his guy didn’t come up to the villa but watched from a remote site.

She hung her head, panting for breath as the dual shower heads beat down on her shoulders. She was going to have to tell Michael this wasn’t working. Play it off as being too upset over Calvin and not able to fake it anymore. Her body couldn’t take another day of this.

Downstairs, she watched Michael move around the kitchen and set out plates and silverware for whatever it was he had ordered from room service.

For such a big guy, he moved gracefully, never bumping into anything, like he was always aware of where his body was. Amanda still bumped into the bathroom door in the middle of the night after three years in her apartment, if she wasn’t paying attention. And here Michael was in a strange kitchen, still gleaming with sweat and sunscreen from their day outdoors, moving around like he’d been here all his life.
Michael looked up and grinned as she came down the stairs. “Hey. There’s some authentic Caribbean chicken stew on its way, with rice and peas along with a West Indian pepper sauce. Wine, too, if you want it.”

Amanda came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah? That sounds good.” She didn’t know how sitting around for most of the day could have worked up an appetite, but her stomach was quietly rumbling.

“Great.” Michael put two wineglasses on the table and came forward. “I’m going to grab a shower real quick, and then dinner should be here. Don’t open the door, okay? Not until I’m back down.”

The reminder that her life was in danger was all the distraction Amanda needed from the muscled, sun-bronzed expanse of chest that was about two feet away from her.

“Um, right,” she said, sidestepping so Michael could get past her. If he was bilking her, he was damn good.

If she breathed in as Michael passed to catch a whiff of coconut-scented sunscreen along with the sharp yet pleasant smell of Michael’s sweat, it was a coincidental inhale. That was all.

The doorbell rang about sixty seconds later, and Amanda bit her lip. Michael had said not to answer the door. But they were expecting food, and the lights were obviously on. What would the resort staff think if she didn’t answer the door?
They’ll think you’re putting the Honeymoon Villa to good use, Amanda reminded herself. An image suddenly crossed her mind of Michael upstairs in the shower, and what it would be like if Amanda joined him, watching water sluice down that hard, muscled body, maybe following it with her hands and tongue, kneeling down to—
The doorbell rang again, and Amanda shook her head. What was wrong with her? She was here to get over her fiancé’s duplicity, and here she was lusting after another man already. Was she that fickle?

She stayed sitting at the dining room table, waiting for Michael to come down, even though she felt somewhat stupid. It was only a couple more minutes before Michael was thundering down the stairs, a clean pair of cutoff sweatpants on and a tight Cal-Tech t-shirt stretching over his chest. “You didn’t answer the door, did you?” he asked.

“No,” Amanda replied. Something occurred to her, and she cocked her head to the side. “Where’s everyone else, anyway?”

“Everyone else?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. Demore, and whoever else works with you.”

“They’re around.” Michael reached for the gun Amanda hadn’t even noticed on the table by the door; not at all suspiciously, “Setting up a perimeter for the night, probably.”

“Oh.” Amanda watched as Michael held the gun down at his side as he opened the door and peered out. The sweatpants were a little tight across his rear, especially as he bent to pick up the tray that the resort staff had left outside the door, and damn the man did have fine legs.

When Amanda looked up, she realized Michael had turned around and caught her staring. She quickly turned away, feeling her cheeks heat. “Smells delicious.”

“Yeah, it does.” Michael shut the door and put the gun back on the table. “Good thing, ’cause I’m starving.”