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“I’ve got to be in Vegas Friday for an event,” I told her as we made our way down the spiral staircase and into the kitchen. “Figured you could use a bit of a vacation. Get away from—”
“Emmett.”
“Stress. But yeah, him too. Being with my family should keep everyone at an arm’s length and give us time to chill out. Breathe.”
She climbed up onto a barstool while I rummaged in the refrigerator for something interesting or appetizing. “You mentioned your family the other day, how they’d have to go through you and your family.”
“And I stand by that,” I answered, putting some milk, cereal, and an array of fruit on the counter.
“You’re not going to elaborate?”
“Nope,” I answered, reaching for the bowls next.
“How is this family going to feel about your fake fiancée pulling them into the middle of this week’s latest high-profile drama?”
I let out a sigh, abandoning breakfast for a moment and pressing my hands to the kitchen island between us, leaning in so I knew she could hear me. “I told you, we know how to treat our women. And yeah, the proposal thing is out there, but it doesn’t mean the rest of what’s going on between us is fake too.” Her cheeks grew more and more flushed as I spoke, and it was cute as fucking hell. “I fucking like you. And I think despite my apparentoverprotective alpha thing, you feel this attraction too. So yeah, we may have jumped in head-first, but I’m willing to swim around and test the water if you are.” Maybe I was completely fooling myself, and she was going to turn on her heel and walk out of here, but I wasn’t one to dance around the fucking point.
“I haven’t had a lot of experience with swimming,” she finally answered, clearing her throat. “But I’d really like to learn.”
“You can trust me.”
She nodded. “I know.”
The world thinking she was my fiancée was a bonus in the situation. Because while I hated it sometimes, the truth was there were a lot of people out there who would stay away from gossip about me and my business because of my connections to The Exiled Eight MC. They didn’t want to be seen fucking with my family and my name or risking spreading shit that could possibly end in them going missing. It was one way the club connection could be helpful when it wasn’t turning off some investors. And I wasn’t afraid to lean into it if I had to, to keep her safer and out of the worldwide gossip.
This shit between us had been a rollercoaster over the past few days.
But there was just some crazy pull to Cassie like I’d never felt before.
Like a current pulling you downstream.
It’s far too strong to fight, you know it’s probably going to be a little rough, and you can’t see what’s up ahead, but you just have to try and enjoy the ride.
CASSIDY
“You’re a biker,” I mused, sitting on the edge of his bed as I pulled on the Kaiser Leigh shirt I stole from him I now claimed as my own. I stood and tucked the front of it into my floor-length floral skirt, a little grunge meets hippie style because it was too damn hot here to be wearing jeans. “Can’t say I saw that one coming.”
We’d got in late last night, and I’d fallen asleep on the way from the airport to wherever we were now, so all I’d caught a glimpse of were some rowdy men downstairs and the line of motorcycles that sparkled in the spotlights outside as Drake carried me from the car to his bedroom.
“It’s not something I often broadcast,” he answered, though I could barely hear it over what sounded like an electric toothbrush.
“Why not?”
“Because rich people don’t like to be seen mixing with criminals,” he called back, a new edge to his tone I chose not to try and dissect at that moment. Instead, I took in the room—it was tidy, virtually unlived in with a dresser, desk, king bed, and some bedside tables. His suitcase was open in the corner with what looked like mostly business attire.
Tucked into one of the side pockets was a very expensive-looking Rolex and a handful of jewelry—gold chains, a chain-like bracelet, and some dog tags.
The Rolex must have been real.
There was no way a guy like Drake, biker or not, would wear it if it wasn’t. Though I was already getting the feeling that the expensive accessories and clothes weren’t so much for him to boast about or show off his money, but more so to affect the wayotherpeople saw him.
“You okay?”
I spun around, almost tripping on my own feet at the sound of his voice. He was standing in the bathroom doorway, watching me with a raised eyebrow, though his gaze instantly dropped to my chest, and he nodded, moving toward the door. “That shirt looks good on you,” he commented as he lifted a black leather vest off the door and shrugged it on.
“I’m glad you think so,” I said, following behind him as he opened the bedroom door and stepped to the side—like a damn gentleman. “I thought you might want it back, and I was going to have to ‘finders, keepers’ it.”
He followed me out the door, pulling it closed behind him as we stepped into this long hallway. Doors lined either side, most with names on them—weird names like Diddit and Hail.
