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"I'm beginning to think that maybe I am," he says, shaking his head. He grabs my hands and looks into my eyes. "I'm asking you to do me this small favor."
"This is not a small favor, Jackson. I don't even know you. Up until a couple of days ago, I didn't even know your freaking name."
"One. You know my name now. Two. We know each other as intimately as two people could know each other," he says before pressing his lips to mine. I melt into the kiss. I've been waiting for it ever since he arrived at my door. I kiss him back passionately as his right hand creeps up the front of my shirt and squeezes my breast. I run my fingers down the back of his neck toward his shoulders, and he grunts when he pulls back. "See, we still have chemistry."
"Just because we have sexual chemistry doesn't mean that?—"
"Look, my name is Jackson Pruitt. I'm a very rich man. My father, my grandfather, and my entire family are very rich."
"Okay, and what do I care about that?" I roll my eyes.
"My grandmother is determined to matchmake me."
"Okay, and that's a problem because…?"
"Because I'm not looking to get married, and I'm not looking to spend my summer going on random dates with random women that she thinks are appropriate."
"Okay, so just tell her to back off."
"You don't know my grandmother," he says, shaking his head.
"I think I might kind of know her," I say, laughing slightly.
"Oh, you do?" He questions.
"Well, I mean not your grandmother, but someone like her. My mom is always going on about me finding a boyfriend and having grandkids, and we don't even have money to pass down, so I get it. It's annoying. That doesn't mean I'm going to do this though. There's no way in hell I can pretend to be your fiancée. No one's going to believe that we’re together."
"I've already told them we are."
"You what?!" I shout again.
"I've already told my grandma I have a fiancée named Zara Hathaway, and she wants to meet you."
"Are you crazy?" I can’t believe this is happening.
"Not only does she want to meet you," he says, "but she also wants you to spend a couple of weeks with us in the Hamptons."
"The Hamptons? I've never been to the Hamptons in my life."
"Well, it looks like you're about to change that." He grins at me.
"Why would you even do this? I don't understand. You could choose anyone. I'm sure there are plenty of women who would love to be your fake fiancée. Why should I do it?"
"Because I trust you.” He looks serious. “I know you like taking care of people. I've seen you take care of your niece and your nephew. You're taking care of your best friend. I need someone with a good heart like you to play this role for me."
"You don't know if I have a good heart," I say, but his words please me.
"I need your help, Zara. I know that's hard to believe.”
“But you thought I was a journalist, not even a week ago. You thought I was tricking you. You thought I was devious and duplicitous. You thought I slept with you for a story.” He touches my lips with his index finger to get me to stop my rant.
“I was wrong," he says. "I made an assumption, and I was wrong. I’m sorry."
"Fine, you were wrong. I don’t know if I accept your apology, but I know I can't make this decision right now. I'm going to have to sleep on it."
"You want to sleep on me?" he asks, his lips twitching as he grabs me around the waist, lifts me, and carries me to the couch. He plops me down and then sits next to me. He pulls me toward me and then lifts me onto his lap.
"No," I say, but I can't stop the noises from my mouth as he presses his lips against my neck. I close my eyes and allow him to kiss and touch me. It feels nice—really, really nice.
