Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) (10 page)

“Likewise. Anytime.” He was pretty sure they were both lying through their teeth.

Beaumont didn’t let go of his hand, though. If anything, his grip tightened down. “But be careful with Frances. She is not a woman to be trifled with.”

Ethan cracked a real smile. As if anyone could trifle with Frances Beaumont and hope to escape with their dignity—or other parts—intact.

Still, this level of meddling was something new to Ethan. No wonder seeing her other brother last night had shaken her so badly. Ethan hadn’t really anticipated this much peer pressure. He increased his grip right back. “I think she can take care of herself, don’t you?”

He waited for Beaumont to make another thinly veiled threat, but he didn’t. Instead, he dropped Ethan’s hand and turned toward the door.

Ethan watched him go. If Beaumont had shown up here, had anyone been designated to give Frances a talking-to? Hopefully she’d had her armor on.

Then Beaumont paused at the door. He turned back, his gaze sweeping the entirety of the room. Instead of another pronouncement about how they were members of the world’s smallest club, he only gave Ethan a little grin that was somehow tinged with sadness before he turned and was gone.

Ethan got the feeling that Beaumont wouldn’t come back to the Brewery again.

Ethan collapsed back into his chair. What the ever-loving hell was that all about, anyway? He still wasn’t going to rule out Beaumont—any Beaumont—of having direct involvement with ZOLA. Including Frances. There were no such things as coincidences—she’d said so herself. Frances had waltzed into his life just as ZOLA had started making noise. There had to be a connection—didn’t there? But if that connection didn’t run through her brothers, what was it?

Frances
. His thoughts always came back to her. He couldn’t wait to see her at dinner tonight, but he got the feeling that she might need something a little more than a floral arrangement, if she’d gotten half the pushback Ethan had today.

He checked his watch. He had time to make a little side trip, if he didn’t shave.

Hopefully Frances liked stubble.

Eleven

F
rances was unsurprised to find Byron waiting for her when she got back to the mansion after a long day of going over real estate contracts.

“Phillip called you, didn’t he?” she began, pushing past her twin brother on her way up to her room. She had a date tonight, and she was already on edge. This would be a great night to put on the red dress. That’d drive any thoughts of affection right out of Ethan’s mind. He’d be nothing but a walking, talking vessel of lust, and that was something she knew how to deal with.

No more tenderness. End of discussion.

“He might have,” Byron admitted as he followed her into her room.

She was about to tear Byron a new one when she saw the huge floral arrangement on her nightstand table. “Oh!”

The card read, “Yours, E.”
Of course it did.

Those two little words—a mere six letters—made her smile. Which was just another sign that she needed a shower and a stiff drink. Ethan was not hers any more than she was his. She would not like him.

It would be easier to hold that line if he could just stop being so damn perfect.

“George said you’ve gotten flowers every day this week.”

Frances rolled her eyes. George was the chef at the mansion and far too close with Byron. “So?” she said, pointedly ignoring the massive arrangement of blooms. “It’s not like I haven’t gotten flowers before.”

“From the guy running the Brewery?”

She leveled a tired look at Byron. It was not a stretch to pull it off. “Why are you here? Aren’t you running a restaurant or something? It’s almost dinnertime, you know.”

Byron flopped down on her bed. “We haven’t officially opened yet. If you’re going to flounce all around town with this new guy, you could at least plan on stopping by next week when we open. We could use the boost.”

Frances stalked to her closet and began wrenching the hangers from side to side. “Excuse me? I do not
flounce
, thank you very much.”

“Look,” Byron said, staring at her. “Phillip seemed to think you were making a fool of yourself. I’m sure Chadwick has been updated. But whatever’s going on, you’re more than capable of dealing with it. If you’re seeing this guy because you like him, then I want to meet him. And if you’re seeing him for some other reason...”

The jerk had the nerve to crack his knuckles.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Byron,” she huffed at him. “Ethan could break you in half. No offense.”

“None taken,” Byron said without a trace of insult in his voice. “All I’m saying is that Phillip asked me to talk to you, and I’ve done that. Consider yourself talked to.”

She pulled out the red dress and hung it on the closet door. “Seriously?”

Byron looked at the dress and then whistled. “Damn, Frannie. You either really like him or...”

This was part of the game, wasn’t it? Convincing other people that she did like Ethan a great deal. Even if those people were Byron. She wasn’t admitting to anything, not really. Not as long as she knew the truth deep down inside.

“I do, actually.” It was supposed to come out strong and powerful because she was a woman in control of the situation.

It didn’t. And Byron heard the difference. He wrinkled his forehead at her.

She was suddenly talking far more than was prudent. But this was Byron, damn it. She’d been sharing with him since their time in the womb, for crying out loud. “I mean, I do like him. There’s something about him that’s not your typical multimillionaire CEO. But I don’t like
like
him, you know?” Which did not feel like the most honest thing to say. Because she might like him, even if it were a really bad idea.

Wasn’t that what had almost happened last night? She’d let her guard down, and Ethan had been right there, strong and kind and thoughtful and she almost liked him.

Byron considered her juvenile argument. “So if you don’t like
like
him, you’re busting out the red dress because...”

Her mouth opened, and she almost admitted to the whole plan—the sham wedding, the angel investment, how she’d originally agreed to the whole crazy plan so she could inflict a little collateral damage on the current owners of the Brewery. For the family honor. If anyone would understand, it’d be Byron. She could always trust her brother and, no matter how crazy the situation was, he’d always stand behind her.
Always.

But...

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t admit she was breaking out the red dress because this was all a game, with high-dollar, high-power stakes, and she needed to level the playing field after the disaster that had been last night.

Her gaze fell on the bird of paradise arrangement. It was beautiful and had no doubt cost Ethan a fortune. She couldn’t admit to anyone that she might not be winning the game. Not to Byron. Not to herself.

She decided it was time for a subject change. “How’s the family?” Byron had recently married Leona Harper, an old girlfriend who was, awkwardly, the daughter of the Beaumonts’ nemesis. Leona and Byron had a baby boy and another baby on the way. “Any other news from Leon Harper?”

“No,” Byron said. “I don’t know what we’re paying the family lawyers these days, but it’s worth it. Not a peep.” He dug out his phone and called up a picture. “Guess what?”

Frances squinted at the ultrasound. “It’s a...baby? I already knew Leona was pregnant, you goof.”

“Ah, but did you know this? It’s a girl,” he said, his voice brimming with love. It almost hurt Frances to hear it—and to know that was not what she had with Ethan. “We’re going to name her Jeannie.”

“After Mom?” Frances didn’t have a lot of memories of her mother and father together—at least, not a lot of memories that didn’t involve screaming or crying. But Mom had made a nice, quiet life for herself after Hardwick.

There had been times when Frances had been growing up in this mansion that she’d wanted nothing more than to move in with Mom and live a quiet life, too. Frances bore the brunt of the new wives’ dislike. By then, her older brothers had been off at college or, in Byron’s case, off in the kitchen. Frances was the one who’d been expected to make nice with the new wives and the new kids—and Frances was the one who was supposed to grin and bear it when those new wives felt the need to prove that Hardwick loved them more than he’d loved anyone else. Even his own daughter.

Love had always been a competition. Never anything more.

Until now, damn it. Chadwick had married his assistant, and no matter which way Frances looked at it, the two of them seemed to be wildly in love. And Phillip—her former partner in partying—had settled down with Jo. He had never been the kind of man to stick to one woman, and yet he was devoted to Jo. Matthew had decamped to California to be with his new wife. And now this—Byron and his happy, perfect little family.

Were you winning the game if you were the only one still playing it?

Byron nodded. “Mom’s going to move in with us.”

Frances looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Dad was such a mess, and God knows Leona’s parents are, too. But Mom can be a part of the family again. And we’ve got plenty of room,” he added, as if that were the deciding factor. “A complete mother-in-law apartment. Percy adores her, and I think Leona is thrilled to have Mom around. She never had much of a relationship with her own mother, you know.”

Frances, as jaded as she was, felt tears prick at her eyes. The one thing their mother had never gotten over was losing her sense of family when Hardwick Beaumont had steamrolled her in court. When she’d lost her game, she’d lost
everything
.

That wasn’t going to be how Frances wound up. “Oh, Byron—Mom’s going to be
so
happy.”

“So,” Byron said, standing and taking his phone back. “I know you. And I know that you are occasionally prone to rash decisions.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this the part where I get to tell you to go to hell, so soon after that touching moment?”

But Byron held up his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is, if you do something that some people
might
consider rash, just call Mom first, okay? She was there when Matthew got married and when I got married. And I get dibs on walking you down the aisle.”

Frances stared at him.
“What?”
Where had he gotten
that
? The impending wedding was something that she and Ethan had only discussed behind closed doors. No one else was supposed to have a clue.

No one but Byron, curse him. She’d never been able to hide anything from him for long, anyway, and he knew it. He gave her a wry smile and said, “You heard me. And come to the restaurant next week, okay? I’ll save you the best table.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her shoulders a quick hug. “I’ve got to go. Take care, Frannie.”

She stood there for several moments after Byron left.
Rash?
This wasn’t rash. This was a carefully thought-out plan. A plan that did not necessarily include her mother watching her get married to Ethan Logan or having Byron—or any other brother—walk her down the aisle.

She didn’t want her mother to think she’d found a happily-ever-after. Maybe she should call Mom and warn her that this whole thing wasn’t real and it wouldn’t last.

Frances found herself sitting on her bed, staring at the flowers. She was running out of room in here—the roses were on the dresser, the lilies on the desk. He didn’t have to spend this much on flowers for her.

She plucked the card out and read it again. It didn’t take long to process the two words.
Yours, E.

She grinned as her fingertip traced the
E
. No, he was not particularly good at whispering—or writing—sweet nothings.

But he was hers, at least for the foreseeable future.

She needed to call her mom. And she would. Soon.

Right now, however, she had to get ready for a date.

* * *

Ethan knew the moment Frances walked into the restaurant. Not because he saw her do it, but because the entire place—including the busboy passing by and the bartender pouring a glass of wine—came to a screeching halt. There wasn’t a sound, not even a fork scraping on a plate.

He knew before he even turned around that he wasn’t going to make it. He wasn’t going to be able to wall himself off from whatever fresh hell Frances had planned for him tonight. And what only made it worse? He didn’t want to. God help him, he didn’t want to.

While he finished his whiskey he took a moment to remind himself that part of the deal was that sex was not part of the deal. It didn’t matter if she were standing there completely nude—he would give her his present and take her up to his hotel room and lock himself in the bathroom if he had to. He’d control himself. He’d never succumbed to wild passion before. Now was not the time to start.

After a long, frozen moment, everyone moved again. Ethan took a deep breath and turned around.

Oh, Jesus.
She was wearing a strapless fire-engine-red dress that hugged every curve. And as good as she looked, all he wanted to do was strip that dress off her and see the real her, without armor—or anything else—on.

Even across the dim restaurant, he saw her smile when their eyes met. She did not like him, he reminded himself. That smile was for public consumption, not for him. But damned if it didn’t make him smile back at her.

He got off his stool and went to meet her. He knew he needed to say things—for the diners who were all not so subtly listening in. He needed to compliment Frances’s dress and tell her how glad he was to see her.

He couldn’t get his stupid mouth to work. Even as part of his brain knew that was the whole point of that dress, he couldn’t fight it.

He couldn’t fight her.

So instead of words, he did the next best thing—he pulled her into his arms and kissed her like he’d been thinking of doing all damn day long. And it wasn’t for the viewing public, either.

It was for her. All for her.

Somehow, he managed to pull away before he slid his hands down her back and cupped her bottom in the middle of the restaurant. “I missed you today,” he whispered as he touched his forehead to hers.

“Did you?”

Maybe it was supposed to sound dismissive, but that’s not how it hit his ears. Instead, she sounded as if she couldn’t quite believe he was being sincere—but she wanted him to be.

“I did. Our table’s ready.” He took her hand in his and led her to the waiting table. After they were seated, he asked, “Anything interesting happen today?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, actually. My twin, Byron, came to see me.”

“Oh?” Had it been the same kind of visit he’d gotten from Chadwick?

Frances was watching him closely. “His new restaurant opens next week. He’d appreciate it if we could put in an appearance. Apparently, we’re great publicity right now.”

“Which was the plan,” he said, more to remind himself than her. Because he had to stick to that plan, come hell or high water.

She leaned forward on her elbows, her generous cleavage on full display. He felt his pulse pick up a notch. “Indeed. You? Anything interesting today?”

“A few things,” he tried to say casually. “Everyone at the Brewery is waiting to see if you bring me my very own donut this Friday.”

A dazzling—and, he hoped, genuine—smile lit up her face. “Oh, really? I guess I should plan on coming, then?” Her tone was light and teasing.

This was what he’d missed today. She could talk circles around him, and all he could do was keep up. He reached over and cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking her skin.

She leaned into his touch—a small movement that no one else could see. It was just for him, the way she let him carry a little of her weight. Just for him, the way her eyelashes fluttered. “I requested a chocolate éclair.”

“Maybe I’ll bring you a whole box, just to see what they say.”

She would not like him. He should not like her.

But he did, damn it all. He liked her a great deal.

He didn’t want to tell her the other interesting thing. He didn’t want to watch her armor snap back into place at the mention of one of her brothers. Hell, for that matter, he didn’t really want to be sitting in this very nice restaurant. He wanted to be someplace quiet, where they could be alone. Where her body could curl up against his and he could stroke her hair and they could talk about their days and kiss and laugh without giving a flying rat’s ass what anyone else saw, much less thought.