The Billionaire's Counterfeit Girlfriend (10 page)

Mark couldn’t puzzle out what made Hilary so stiff. Not that he expected her to turn into a puddle of goo whenever she saw him. But he was a pretty charming guy, and a lot of women did just that. He didn’t understand why Hilary was an exception; he could tell she didn’t find him repulsive or anything.

As a matter of fact, he was certain she found him attractive. She’d said he was his father’s son. If he’d inherited his father’s predisposition to flit from one woman to another, he’d also inherited the looks and charm that made him irresistible to women.

And there were glimpses of her attraction to him. He hadn’t been mistaken—her cheeks had pinkened when he’d held her hand a moment earlier.

So what gives?

“Have I forgotten about another date?” Hilary asked.

“No. I’m here to sweep you away to a picnic area my family owns. I’m sure you’ve heard of my family’s citrus grove. It’s beautiful right now.” He gave her his most charming grin.
I’ll thaw that heart of hers yet
.

She hesitated, as if weighing two untenable options. He sensed Jo making a shooing motion behind him and pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh. Finally, Hilary said, “Sure. Let’s go.” She said bye to Jo, who waved both of them off.

“Your enthusiasm is killing me.” Outside Jo’s condo, he opened the door to his Bugatti.

She flushed. “Sorry. I’m a little tired from last night. Didn’t get much sleep.”

“Really?” He gave her an expression of mock disbelief. “How could that be? You went home alone.”

She laughed half-heartedly as he started off. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Wasn’t that hard. I stopped by your place, and a woman who looked a lot like you said you were at Josephine’s.” He glanced over. “Gavin never mentioned that you had a sister.”

“Bebe’s more of an…estranged cousin.” Hilary shifted in her seat. “You talk with her long?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Did she say or, um, do anything else?”

“No. Not particularly.” There was no point in talking about how Bebe had shamelessly displayed her assets. Embarrassing relatives were a mood killer, and not something he wanted Hilary to think about.

She crossed her arms and looked out at the passing scenery. He put on some soft music and continued driving. She probably didn’t believe him about Bebe’s behavior, but she would forget all about it once she arrived at the grove. It was the Pryce family’s pride and joy, and everyone loved it there.

* * *

People didn’t exaggerate when they spoke of how magnificent the Pryce grove was. The driveway led to a spacious parking area surrounded by lime trees. A gigantic three-story house made of bone-white stone overlooked the grove. Mark explained that most of the family’s cooking took place in the manse’s enormous kitchen, although the picnic barbecuing was done out in a field surrounded by orange trees. Then he picked up a basket from a waiting staff member and led her around the house, toward the actual grove.

Rows and rows of orange trees lined the fertile field. Sun-bleached bricks formed a flat and even path that connected the house to the picnic area in the center, near a man-made lake. The lake was something else altogether, with a carefully designed water garden that was encircled by roughly hewn stone blocks. Ducks and fish shared the tranquil water with lilies that looked like something Monet would have painted. The scents of citrus, soil and flowers mingled in the air, and it was almost too heady to breathe it all in.

Somebody had already spread a red- and white-checked picnic blanket under a tree. Mark placed the basket on it.

“Wow,” Hilary whispered as she sat down.

“Pretty nice, huh?”

“I’d heard a lot about it, but this… This is gorgeous.”

“Pride of the family.”

“I heard your mother and father both spend a lot of time here.”

A shadow crossed his eyes. It hinted at some old pain, and the possibility surprised her. She’d always assumed he’d lived a great life. After all, he was Mark Pryce, who’d never failed at anything and had all the success and women and everything else a man could hope for. Before she could ponder it more, a bright smile lit his face. “Yeah, but not to farm in case you’re wondering,” he said in a cheery tone.

Maybe she’d imagined the earlier look. “Then why have so many orange trees?”

“Our great-great-great-grandfather married a citrus farmer’s daughter. She started it as a hobby.” He pulled out a bucket of fried chicken and another of mashed potatoes from the basket.

“I had no idea you ate fried chicken,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You just seem more like an
haute cuisine
type. I figured you’d have foie gras and slow roasted duck glazed with, I don’t know, a port reduction or something like that.”

He laughed. “I do slum here and there. Even eat the occasional donut.”

“You don’t say. And do your fancy chefs know about this?”

“Absolutely not. They’d have my head.”

The chicken was excellent, juicy and tender inside, and crispy and spicy outside. And whoever had made the mashed potatoes and gravy was a kitchen god. If this was culinary slumming, she could slum for the rest of her life. Mark poured her a glass of cool white wine, which turned out to be both fruity and crisp. He definitely hadn’t slummed on the drink choice. Hilary recognized the label—she’d seen it on the wine menu at La Mer.

They talked about this and that, about acquaintances and where they wanted to go. “Some place fun and far away,” she said. “I’ve never traveled overseas. I want to go to Europe one day.”

“We should go together.”

She gave him a quick smile. She doubted they’d have the time to go any time soon, and that meant she would never go with him. Still, she didn’t want to ruin the moment by pointing that out. It was sweet of him to offer.

Once she was full, she lay on the blanket with her eyes closed. The branches provided a rustling green canopy, and she enjoyed the breeze and the gentle sound of the ducks and the feel of Mark’s body so close to hers. He wasn’t quite touching her, and she wanted him to slide those last few inches toward her. It was dangerous—oh so crazy dangerous—but for a few minutes she wanted to pretend she wasn’t a Rosenberg girl.

Then she felt it—him wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger and toying with it. She opened her eyes. What woman could resist those gorgeous blues or the small bemused smile that tugged at the corners of his sensual lips? And if she didn’t like blue, there were always his bright intelligence, humor and passion.

Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to suddenly go into slow motion. She felt like she was floating, pulled into the seductive haze he was creating with his gaze moving between her lips and eyes.

“Kiss me, Hilary,” he whispered.

And she did. She wanted to know what it was like to taste him. He didn’t take over at the first touch of her lips on his. He let her lead, as though telling her she was the one in charge. She could go as far as she wanted, and he’d follow.

She traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the masculine texture and taste of him. It was better than her fantasy. He still didn’t open up, so she probed gently, letting him know she wanted it too. His heart thundered under her palm, and a sweet ache she hadn’t felt in years knotted in her belly.

His tongue finally tangled with hers, and she moaned, tightening her hold on him. He was still braced over her, his arm muscles solid and tight. She wrapped her hand around his broad shoulders and tried to pull him closer, but he didn’t budge. So she clung to him, kissing him like this was the last kiss she’d ever have.

She could never repeat a kiss that inspired so many conflicting emotions in her. She was dying for more, but at the same time scared of what might happen if she gave in to the passion and let go. She could enjoy it for now, since things were still light and casual between them. But she needed to pull back before it sucked her in and drowned her. Down that path lay the wrecked lives of the women in her family.

When she lessened the pressure and started to let go, Mark growled softly, wrapped his arms around her and rolled so that she was on top of him. His strong, large hand buried deep in her hair, he pulled her down for an open-mouthed kiss, full of tongues and desperate needs and desire.

Hilary might have been able to push away earlier, but no longer, not when she’d glimpsed Mark’s stark passion. It was like a drug, flooding her body and clouding her mind. All she could do was feel the headiness and the way her limbs grew heavy and languid under his sensual assault. The sharpest yet sweetest ache she’d ever known spread from her heart in waves, and she wanted him more than anything. She would—

He moved until she straddled him, cradling his thick, hard length between her legs. She rocked against him, her eyes on his. He groaned, and she reached for his shorts, ready to rip them off him.

A sudden quacking on the pond jerked her out of the sensual haze. She flinched and dropped her hands. The idea that they’d been so close to losing control stopped her.

This… This wasn’t like her. The woman she was trying to be wouldn’t be rolling around in an open field where anybody could be watching…or walk by at any moment. And the woman she was trying to be certainly wouldn’t be doing it with a man with a reputation for loving-and-leaving in three months. Even Tim had stuck around longer than that.

Suddenly cold with fear and self-recrimination, she pushed off him. He let go and watched her, his eyes dark and unreadable. Her hands shook as she tidied her hair. She’d lost her scrunchy—it was probably under Mark, but she didn’t want to stick around to find it. “I…” she began, then swallowed miserably. What was there to say? How could she explain how screwed up she was?

What had Bebe said the night before?
We’re all the fucking same
.

Hilary closed her eyes. She couldn’t accept that. She couldn’t be like her mom and aunt and Bebe. “I’m sorry,” she said then fled toward the house.

* * *

Shit. What the hell just happened?

Mark sat up and watched Hilary vanish. Women didn’t run after he kissed them. They clung to him and rocked against him and ripped his clothes off.

A part of him wanted to go after her. But then what? It’d get heavy and serious, wouldn’t it? Then what would he do? Act like it was all still easy and fun after he’d run after her like an idiot?

“Good god, was that Gavin’s secretary?”

Mark jerked his head upward at his father’s incredulous voice. “When did you get here?” he asked sharply.

“Just a moment ago. I was going over some details of the party with the groundskeeper. I heard you were seeing her, but I thought it was a joke.”

“You weren’t at the concert last night,” Mark said, suddenly realizing he hadn’t seen his dad there.

“Something came up at the last minute, and I had to cancel. Eliza doesn’t mind so long as she gets my money.” Salazar sat down on the blanket and folded his long frame so that he wouldn’t wrinkle his suit. He was one of the few people—other than lawyers and accountants—who wore suits in L.A. “She’s not your type, you know.”

This was getting old. “You don’t know what my type is.”

“Of course I do. Young blondes with boob jobs. Everyone knows this.”

“Am I really that obvious?”

Salazar shrugged. “You’re young and having fun.”

“Am I?”

“Aren’t you?”

Mark didn’t answer.

“If it’s not fun, why do it?” Salazar asked.

Mark mulled that over. “Is it fun for you?”

A small muscle in Salazar’s cheek ticked. “It’s what I am, Mark.”

“Bullshit.”

“We all have our flaws. We can’t change just because we want to. It doesn’t work that way.” Salazar sighed. “If it did, we’d do everything we put our minds to. No matter how much I will it, I’ll never climb Mount Everest.”

“Is that why you didn’t divorce Mom to be with
her?
”

Salazar started. But cool indifference quickly masked his face.

“You cared a great deal for Georgia Love, didn’t you?” Mark said.

“What makes you say that?”

“You flinched. And you gave Blaine fifty million,” Mark said, referring to the son his father had had with that other woman. Georgia Love Davis was the only one Salazar had looked up from time to time. She must’ve been special. Salazar wasn’t the type to reminisce about his exes. There were too many to give a damn about.

“I did care for her, but she wasn’t like most women I dated. She could’ve forgiven all my flaws except my inability to stay faithful. It would’ve wounded her too gravely. I couldn’t do it.”

Mark felt something bitter and poisonous unfurling inside him. It ran its claws along the old and ugly memories that he’d sworn never to remember again. “But you could do it to Mom.”

“Your mother knew what she was getting into,” Salazar said, his voice without inflection. “She still chose to marry me, even after having read the prenup. Her lawyer reviewed it, so I’m quite certain she understood exactly what it meant.”

“She gave you five children.”

“That too was her choice. I never asked her for so many. I only wanted one son.”

“Yes. Dane, who doesn’t give a damn about anybody. Sort of like you in a way.”

“Mark.” There was a sharp warning in Salazar’s voice.

“Do you give a shit about anybody but yourself?” Mark rose and glared down at his father, who remained seated. “Have you ever wondered why she had five children with you?”

“Yes, I have.” Salazar’s voice gained in volume and intensity. “She wanted to use them—use
you
—to control me. It’s not my fault she thought wrong. We can’t always change who we are. That’s why we live the lives we live.”

“That’s not true,” Mark said. “Mom’s changed. She used to smile a lot, spend time with all of us. Now she doesn’t. Something’s snapped, and she rarely smiles, and she rarely spends time with any of us.”

“Perhaps she’d smile more if you agreed to date the heiress she picked out for you. Have you considered that?” Salazar gave him a pitying look. “You think dating Hilary is going to prove…what? That you aren’t what people say you are? That you can be in a relationship for more than three months? That you’re so much better than me because you can
change
?”