Page 31 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

Karley

A few hours later, I blink my eyes open, disoriented for a moment in the darkness. As my vision clears, I realize he’s lying on top of me, his head on my stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breath against me.

My heart skips a beat. When did I fall asleep like this? I lift my head slowly, careful not to wake him, but a part of me doesn’t want to move. Lying here, surrounded by his warmth, feels safe in a way I’m not used to.

But I can’t stay like this. This isn’t real. I have to keep reminding myself of that. Gently, I shift, trying to slip away without waking him, but his grip tightens around me.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice raspy as it rumbles against my belly, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine.

“Hi,” I manage to say, giving him a little shove. “Come on, get up. I can’t feel my legs.”

More like I’m feeling way too much with him wrapped around me like this.

He smirks, barely lifting his head. “Guess I’m just that comfortable, huh?”

“More like you’re crushing me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I wriggle free.

He chuckles, finally rolling off and stretching lazily. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“In your dreams.” I fight a grin as I toss the blanket at him and head for my room. “You’re not as charming as you think.”

“Is that right?” he teases, catching the blanket. “Guess I’ll have to work on that, then.”

The next morning, I wake drenched in sweat and my heart pounding. I need a drink of water. The nightmares have come back, the same one as always. I’m a little kid again, watching my parents tear up my paintings, telling me how shitty they are and how nobody would ever want them.

There’s no way I can ignore it, so I get up and tiptoe down the stairs and through the hall to check the time.

It’s five a.m. I make my way to the kitchen, but I falter at the sound of water running.

He’s showering. The bathroom is filled with steam.

My breath catches as I peek in—he’s naked.

I swallow down the moan that wants to escape as I watch the water trail down his perfectly lean back, muscles tense, one hand pressed against the white tiles and the other between his thick thighs.

He makes a sound, a soft grunt, and I bite my lip to stop a whimper from slipping, feeling the heat rise within me.

His arm movements quicken and his ass muscles contract.

I know I shouldn’t be here, but it’s like a scene out of my fantasies.

He grunts something incoherent, and reality pulls me back.

I retreat quietly, heading to the kitchen, my heart pounding in my ears.

Grabbing a glass of water, I hurry to my room, pretending I never saw a thing.

The next time I come down, he’s already gone. But I walk to the counter, looking forward to my new favorite comfort food, along with my note. Today’s is:

If this doesn't win me 'Husband of the Year,' I’m filing a complaint.

It’s Saturday morning, which means we have golf with Dan Warne and his wife.

Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and head down the stairs.

“Good morning,” I say, surprised to see him in the kitchen in sweats. He glances over his shoulder with a casual smile, something I don’t get to see very often. “What’s cooking?”

“Eggs,” he replies, flipping something in the pan. “No bagel today. I figured I'd poison you with my food.”

I roll my eyes at his joke. It’s lame, but it’s like his notes; it’s something that I’ve found myself bouncing out of bed for.

“Need any help?” I try to sound relaxed, even as my heart beats a little faster. I walk closer to him.

“Nope, I’ve got it. Just make yourself comfortable.”

It’s nice having someone cook for me. I turn and sit on the stool at the island.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice.

I’m nervous about meeting these important people in Oliver’s life, worried I’ll say something wrong and ruin his business relationship with Mr. Warne.

“We’re meeting the Warnes at the golf course at ten,” he says.

I lean my arms on the counter, watching him cook. The muscles in his back shift beneath his fitted t-shirt as he moves between the pan of eggs and a second pan, where bacon crisps perfectly. The kitchen smells amazing. “You realize I’ve never played golf, right?”

He turns to look at me with a smile. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry. As long as we pretend to be madly in love, we’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” I laugh, though my nerves haven’t entirely left.

I wonder if we can pull this off, pretending to be in love when we’ve spent the days avoiding talking about the kiss.

Will we need to hold hands? Will Mr. Warne expect to see affection between us?

The strange part is, I don’t think it’ll be that hard to act like I’m falling for Oliver. That’s what scares me the most.

He turns back, finishing cooking, and soon, he places a plate in front of me. “Want some juice or coffee?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Coffee, please.” I watch him make it, waiting for him to join me before I start eating. He sits down beside me, and the silence is surprisingly comfortable.

“Do you want to do anything afterward?” he asks between bites. “Or did you have something planned already?”

I pause eating to answer, touched by the thoughtfulness of his offer. It’s a small thing, but it shows he’s considering my needs even after our “business” is done. “Actually, I need to fill in forms for my new house tonight.”

“Okay,” he says, setting down his utensils and leaning forward slightly. “I can help.” There's something unexpectedly eager in his tone, as if the prospect of mundane tasks with me appeals to him more than whatever glamorous alternative he might have planned.

Once we’re finished eating, I head upstairs to get dressed, wondering what exactly one wears to impress rich golf people.

After searching online for ‘women's golf attire,’ I settle on a skirt and a light t-shirt, perfect for the warm day ahead. I’m nervous about meeting the Warne’s, but also curious.

These people hold the keys to Oliver’s future, and now, by extension, mine too.

I wonder if I’ll be able to read their reactions to me…

to us . Will they believe we actually married for love?

I’m dressed and walking down the stairs when I see him on the phone. The moment he notices me, his face lights up.

Is this okay? I mouth as I stand in front of him.

He mouths back. More than okay.

I feel a blush rising, but try to brush it off as he wraps up his call.

“You look perfect. They’re going to love it. You look like a pro,” he says with a grin as we head to the door.

My stomach does a little flip at his compliment. I know it’s for show, part of our act, but the warmth in his eyes seems genuine. I try not to read too much into it.

“Well, I bet I don’t swing like one,” I reply. “But I’ll do my best to make you look bad.”

He chuckles as he locks it behind us. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Golfing isn’t an activity I’d normally choose, but Wren used to play with his friends occasionally. I’d always preferred to stay behind, alone painting or with Amber.

“How about I drive us there? No driver. It’ll look more… married.”

“Yeah, good idea,” I say as it dawns on me. “Do clubs even fit in your car? And do I have clubs?”

“I got you a set. But if you don’t like them, we can get others,” he says as we get to his red car and he opens the door for me.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m planning to make this a regular thing.” I give him a small, teasing smile, brushing off the seriousness as I slip into the seat.

“You might surprise yourself,” he says, pausing at my door. “Golf’s actually a good outlet. You might enjoy it.”

“We’ll see.” The words come out lighter than the thoughts behind them.

I wonder how many more of these outings we’ll have together before our arrangement runs its course.

Once Oliver secures his deal with Mr. Warne, will there be any reason for us to keep up with this charade?

It’s strange to think that, soon enough, this could all be over…

The late nights watching our favorite show, the breakfast bagels and notes, the shared quiet moments.

I push the thought away, unsure why it leaves me feeling hollow.

He closes the door and, shockingly, the clubs actually do fit. The interior is just as stunning as I’d imagined, with leather seats and perfectly coordinated colors. I’ve never been one for fancy cars, but if I were in his position, maybe I’d go all out too.

I settle into my seat. “So, let me get this straight. We play golf, act like a couple, and that’s it?”

“Pretty much. We’ll probably play nine holes and then have lunch with them.”

“So, what does his wife do?” I ask, trying to gather as much information as possible before this meeting. The more I know about these people, the better prepared I’ll be to navigate conversations without revealing our arrangement.

“Honestly, I think Eden worked in administration for him, but I’m not sure anymore.”

I give him an are you serious look. “You’re trying to impress the guy, and you don’t know what his wife does?”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I know the important stuff. He’s married, has kids. I think she worked in admin, but I don’t know her hobbies or anything.”

Shaking my head, I laugh softly. “Alright, I’ll just fake it till I make it.

” I imagine myself smiling through awkward conversations, complimenting Eden’s outfit, and finding something we might have in common.

I’ll have to be careful not to slip up about our relationship timeline, and I’ll need to look at Oliver with the right amount of affection.

Not too much to seem fake, but enough to be convincing.

At least the golf part gives us something to focus on besides conversation.

We’re there in less than twenty minutes. I quickly spot the sign for Liberty National Golf Club.

As we pull up, the resort comes into view. Lush green grass, immaculate trees, it all screams wealth. Suddenly, nerves twist in my stomach, and I wonder if I can really pull this off… or should I say, we .

We walk side by side to the entrance, our hands not quite touching, though close enough that anyone watching might expect us to reach for each other at any moment.

I glance around, realizing we don’t have our clubs.

“Do we need to bring them in?” I lean into Oliver and whisper so no one else can hear.

“They’ll take care of it,” he says.

I nod, trying to relax. His hand brushes mine, and I flinch, momentarily forgetting we’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

Taking a breath, I unclench my hand and let him slip his fingers through mine.

My heart speeds up as we walk in, passing women with perfect makeup, manicured nails, and designer golf clothes.

They look like they belong in a fashion magazine, the kind who make you feel underdressed in an instant.

I can only imagine what Eden is going to be like.

Oliver walks us up to a guy with dark gray hair, a silver beard, and black-framed glasses. A woman in navy pants and a white polo shirt stands beside him. Her polished yet soft features make my shoulders relax a little, giving me hope she might be easy to talk to.

The man's gray eyes light up. “Hi, Oliver and Karley. Thanks for joining us.” He shakes Oliver's hand.

I disconnect my hand from Oliver’s to shake his. “Thanks for inviting me today.”

“What happened to your hand, dear?” Eden gasps, her dainty polished nails covering her lips but not touching her lipstick.

I look down, noticing my stained nail beds. “Paint.”

“Paint?” Eden echoes, her hand dropping away from her mouth.

Mr. Warne grins. “Karley is a painter,” he tells Eden.

“She is,” Oliver adds, looking proud.

My chest flutters at the way he says it. Not as an afterthought, but like it’s something special about me.

“Why haven’t I seen your work?” Oliver leans down and whispers in my ear, his scruff skimming my jaw and his breath tickling my ear sending goosebumps to rise on my skin.

“You will,” I breathe through the lie.

I could’ve come clean and said, You have my paintings hanging in both of your offices, but the realization of that makes me dizzy.

“Professionally?” Eden asks, tilting her head.

“I’m going to school at the moment.”

“Where?” Mr. Warne asks, his face lighting up.

I hesitate for a split second, wondering if this is some kind of test. Would the wrong answer hurt Oliver’s chances? I’m not sure how much they already know about me, or us, and whether my response needs to match some story Oliver had already told them.

“My mom’s school,” Oliver interrupts.

“Of course, learning from the best. You should try,” Mr. Warne says to his wife with hopeful eyes, grabbing her waist and pulling her in to kiss her cheek.

She shakes her head and pats his chest. “I won’t have the time or energy with the treatment starting soon.”

The air surrounding us suddenly turns cold. At first, I thought it was from the conversation, but then I hear a familiar voice call out, “There you are,” and it makes me turn to stone. Liam.