Page 2 of The Pucking Fake Marriage (The Ice Kings #4)

ONE

THE VEGAS GAMBIT (CHARLIE)

Ten years later…

It's a pretty solid indicator that you're making a mistake when you have to persuade yourself that what you're about to do won’t land you in jail.

Wiping my clammy hands on my short skirt, I tell myself that I’m probably not committing a federal offense.

I should’ve researched this a bit more thoroughly.

Still, when I glance around at the bustling club, I quickly note that everyone here has a drink in hand. Half of these people are making out with reckless abandon. The online review listed this as one of the most exclusive clubs in Las Vegas. No doubt tonight’s going to end in drunken marriages for a lot of them. Las Vegas is famous for it, anyway. Which is exactly why I’m here.

Stop thinking, Charlie, I chide myself. Just do it.

I look down at my outfit. I’d picked it out with a lot of thought. A black halter top fitting snugly to my chest, a skirt just long enough to cover the most intimate parts of my body, and four-inch heels to give my petite ballerina body enough height to garner hungry stares.

But I’ve only got eyes for one man tonight.

He’s easy to spot… When isn’t he? Even in this dark bar, Kenneth Edwards glows like the club lights overhead. His wavy black hair is brushed back smoothly, framing the sharp angles of his face. He has his head thrown back as he takes a swig of his beer, and his lush, full lips are set into a grin as he listens to the man sitting next to him.

Classic Ken. Something’s always funny to him.

My stomach contracts, and a wave of resentment floods my gut. The feeling is so intense that I physically stagger. I’m surprised. I spent the last few weeks bracing myself for the moment I’d see him again in person, and it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference.

But then, no amount of preparation can make it feel okay, seeing him after this long.

That he is the spitting image of Kali doesn’t help one bit.

Pulling my thoughts from my ex, I try to focus on Ken. He’s sitting in a booth tucked in the corner of the room, surrounded by friends. I recognize most of the guys from the pictures I’ve pored over for the past few months—they are Ken’s teammates on the Philly Titans. Some of them, I’m pleased to see, seem to have brought their wives and girlfriends along, and Ken is one of the few sitting alone.

Good, I think, feeling my bitterness dissipate. It’ll make things easier.

I look down at my outfit again and take a deep breath. I’m ready.

As ready as I can be, anyway.

More stares follow me as I saunter across the club. I keep my chin up, my eyes focusing on my target. My obsidian black hair cascades down my back, swaying with each step, a glossy curtain catching the pulsing lights of the club. The silken strands whisper against my skin, a constant reminder of my carefully crafted appearance.

All the while, my heart is banging in my chest and beads of sweat pool on my forehead. I ignore my nervousness, taking one step after another, being careful not to slip and fall on the glossy floor.

Finally, I think, as I stop in front of Ken’s booth. There are two velvet couches in the small space, a table in front of them cluttered with bottles of alcohol. Ken is on the farthest edge of one of the couches, separated from me by a half-wall.

“Hey.”

He turns around to look at me. Half of the group follows his gaze. For a second, it’s hard to breathe.

“Thanks, we’re good with drinks,” someone says. It’s a blond man with blue eyes—Blake White, the Titan who recently got married to Faye Strummer. He looks surlier than the rest. He’s the only married one of the bunch whose wife isn’t with him tonight.

Yeah, I did my research that well.

“I’m not a waitress.” Blake isn’t trying to be rude, but being mistaken for a server makes me even more jumpy. There’s absolutely no reason to explain myself though because Ken murmurs at the same time, “Oh my God,” in a tone thick with recognition.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Alex Steinmann and his wife, Britney, look up from a whispered conversation they were having.

Great. Practically the whole group is staring at me now. I expected this, but the attention doesn’t help calm my nerves .

Ken stands up. He’s still smiling, but there’s a darker, almost wary look in his eyes.

“Do you know her?” Blake asks him.

Ken nods, then pushes himself out of the booth and comes to stand in front of me. Another, smaller wave of an old grudge burns in my stomach, but the real reason I take a step back is astonishment.

Because he’s far taller than I remember. When we were teens, he only had a few inches on me. After ten years, he’s at least a foot bigger. His muscles have filled out, and even if I’d noticed that while combing through the pictures online, it’s nothing compared to seeing him face to face.

Blake shrugs and looks away, and the rest of the booth slowly does too. I’m half relieved, half ashamed. No doubt they’d have taken me for a puck bunny if Ken didn’t claim recognition, and some of them are probably still thinking that now.

I try not to focus on that, aware that Ken is studying me. His height and width aren’t the only things that’ve changed about him. His grin seems different from our teenage years. Less playful, more confident. The years have sharpened his features, honing the muscle, covering his jaw with dark stubble, and refining the angles of his face.

He’s not just handsome. He’s—there’s no damn way around it—breathtaking. And I hate having to acknowledge that.

He’s still staring at me, not done with his once over. I suddenly feel on display, especially because of my skimpy outfit. I wonder what differences he’s noticed in me. Not that I give a damn. The only thing I care about is the glaring discrepancies in our success and careers. While Ken is making millions in his dream job, I‘m still scraping around, trying to make a living .

Life is unfair.

Which is why I’m taking matters into my own hands.

“Good to see you again, Edwards.”

That’s a lie. It’s not good to see him, but I’m sick of his lazy perusal of my body. Anything to move the conversation forward and away from this awkward pause.

“Charlie.” For some reason, hearing him say my name makes my heart beat faster. He gives me a half smile. Then, as though it only just occurred to him that we’re seeing each other for the first time in ten years, he raises his arms in invitation for a hug.

My body recoils, but only slightly. I knew I’d have to touch him if I am to make my plan work.

Closing the gap between us, I push my body flush against his. Ken’s arms come around my lower back, crushing me close with a little too much intensity. Holding my breath, I lean into the embrace, my breasts flattening against his hard chest, until my hips graze his and there’s barely space for a tissue to squeeze in between the both of us.

Until he can be absolutely certain that there’s an invitation in that hug, somewhere.

Ken seems to grasp it pretty quickly. His hands slide two inches down my back, one of his fingers grazing the topmost part of my ass.

I hear myself inhale sharply. Worryingly, it’s not out of shock or embarrassment.

It’s because the moment I feel Ken’s wide palms on my lower back, my stomach bursts into flames.

It takes every drop of willpower to not pull away and run right out of the club.

See, I’m a planner. I plan every damn thing. Planned my first career by the time I was seven—even if that did not turn out the way I wanted. Planned my second career while in my sick bed recuperating from the fallout from my first dream. And I carefully planned buying the restaurant I now run and making something out of it. Hell, I planned every second of this meeting.

But I sure failed to plan that I would feel something for Ken. And not just because I dated his twin throughout my teen years. It was because I just couldn’t like Ken. Yeah, there was that moment when he confessed his love for me and those strange butterflies that fluttered in my belly. But the rest of the events of that night quickly made me forget about it. I thought the butterflies were gone for good.

But now…

I look up at him, our bodies still pressed together. His blue eyes are widening, and I can tell that he’s feeling a surge similar to mine. But that look appears only for a second before an easy grin replaces his shock.

Another classic Ken move. Hide all his true feelings behind a smile, all the damn time. If he’d allowed himself to open up to me when we were teens, a lot might have changed.

Like me.

I’d still be dancing ballet, for one. Not stuck in this club, desperately trying to save my father through any means possible.

“We should go talk at the bar,” I say, taking a step back. I planned to deliver this statement with a lot more enthusiasm and casualness to it, like it just popped into my head. But my voice comes out in a croak.

Ken says nothing. And then… I feel it before I know what’s happening—Ken’s callused arm curving around my waist again, pulling me back to him. My hips graze his, and th is time I feel him. Unmistakably hard, imprinted against the jeans he’s wearing.

My heart is swallowed by a swarm of nervous butterflies—he still makes me tingle all over. I look up at him, my pulse hammering in my throat. The smile is still plastered on his face, aware of what I’m feeling and totally unrepentant.

It hits me then. Ken Edwards, the one who would’ve never dared to be this brash, my sweet high school friend, is gone. The man standing in front of me is exactly that. A man. One who does not hide that he wants to fuck me.

I expected this, I remind myself. I planned for it. I picked this outfit particularly to arouse him. I knew, and I hoped I would get a reaction out of him.

But no matter what I tell myself in my head, I can’t quite keep calm about Ken’s openness, his dick digging into my lower abdomen.

Because it’s not just about his desire. It’s the fact that he’s taking control.

He bends over me, and my heart pounds. Is he about to kiss me, right in front of his buddies? Goosebumps start on my neck as he positions his lips over my ear. Finally, he says, “Yeah, we should.”

My mind feels like it’s been swarmed by a million bees. I can’t bring myself to smile back, to say anything. To even look over at his friends and reassure myself they aren’t staring. After all, even with Ken’s obvious erection, this is a chance meeting between friends—or so he thinks. I should be able to act that out, right?

No.

Ken starts for the bar, holding my hand and pulling me behind him. I follow him, sliding between tables and people, my heart a knot in my chest. This plan is failing, and it hasn’t even begun to unfold. It’s not just Ken’s desire for me, but my desire for him. I’d assumed that we would get a few drinks, flirt a little.

That I would be in control.

Just before we settle on the stools at the farthest edge of the bar, I manage to give myself a pep talk of sorts. I tell myself that my reaction to him means nothing. I haven’t been with a guy in a while. Of course, my body’s bound to react to the first man that touches me this way.

Even if that man is Ken Edwards.

It works. I’ve convinced myself, barely. We’re in a spot that’s so dark we’re practically going to be invisible to everyone else. He orders us a negroni and a cosmopolitan. It’s hard to hop on my stool without my skirt riding up my thighs. I keep my legs locked together, not trusting myself to sit in a more relaxed position.

He settles on his stool and turns to me. There’s a pleasant, more genuine smile on his face. The kind you should actually have when you’re seeing someone for the first time in a decade.

“What’s it been? Like ten years?”

I raise a brow. He knows damn well how long it’s been. How could he not?

The bartender brings us the drinks, and I take a large sip of my cocktail. The cool, smooth liquid slips into my mouth, a symphony of flavors dancing on my tastebuds. Then I take a second sip that sends a fiery shot to my brain. Suddenly, I feel clear. Free. Aware of what I’ve got to do and filled with a steely sense of determination.

“Yeah, I know it’s been ten years,” he says with a grin, before taking a large sip of his negroni. It surprises me that he can read my looks as clearly as he used to when we were kids. “Just…I didn’t expect to see you here. ”

He’s being so casual. So…normal. Like he didn’t press me up against his erection a second ago.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to feel that, I rationalize. That might not have been his intention. Or maybe I was wrong. It could have been a phone, or something else stashed in his pocket.

“I didn’t expect to run into you in Las Vegas, either.” Just like I rehearsed. Make it seem like a coincidence. A chance in a million.

He doesn’t buy it. “I’m here every year when we’re celebrating the end of a season. But you…” He eyes me quizzically. “Clubbing doesn’t seem like your scene.”

His presumptuousness annoys me. To be fair, a lot of things about Ken are going to annoy me tonight. And forever.

“Maybe you don’t know what my scene is anymore.”

“Maybe I can guess.” He calls for a second round of drinks. I take mine, feeling slightly buzzed. This time, I’m made strongly aware of how close we’re sitting, our knees almost brushing. And of the fact that I was lying when I tried to convince myself that I’m not attracted to him.

As if on cue, Ken asks, “You still in touch with Kali?”

The question is casual enough, but even in the darkness, I see his jaw set. He already expects an answer that he’s going to hate. Makes me almost sad that I can’t give it to him.

“No.” His jaw unclenches. “Heard he’s running a private ballet school now. Doing well for himself.”

I only add that last sentence to piss Ken off. If it worked, he doesn’t show it. He merely looks at me, his eyes warm and interested.

I’m almost disappointed. Kali dumping me a year after joining the PBT stung. If I couldn’t use his success to piss Ken off and seek gratification in that, then I’m all alone in my misery.

“What are you doing now?” he asks. “I’ve never been able to find out much about you, not even online.”

Great. The dreaded “where are you now?” question. The one I’d rather die than answer.

Thankfully, I’ve prepared for such an eventuality.

“Talking to you,” I say, and swing one leg over the other. Ken follows the move closely. My throat dries up as my skirt gives up completely, bunching itself high around my thighs.

My diversion works. Ken doesn’t hold back from staring—and not in the way a childhood best friend would. His gaze burns a fire in me, moisture pooling between my legs.

And he’s not even touching me.

Fuck. I look around for the bartender, suddenly needing to hold on to something. Another drink, or better, a glass of water. Anything to stop his gaze from searing me like this. To drown the heat of expectancy, waiting for his next move.

Damn it, I want him. My plan aside, I want to be with him.

Tonight.

Ken’s eyes, a shade darker than his brother’s, hold the same knowledge. This isn’t only a meeting of two high school friends who knew each other way back. This is a meeting of a man and a woman who are very certain about what they want from each other. Even at the expense of other things.

A gasp slides out of my throat. For the first time in my life, I stray away from my carefully constructed plan. My lips part, and I relax the hold on my knees so my thighs spill apart.

Ken just looks at me. There are no words spoken between us. We don’t need them, anyway. Not when actions are much more meaningful.

He reaches out, his hand finding the inside of my thigh. I shiver at the contact of his rough palm against my skin, but it instantly fills me with burning for more. He obliges, creeping his fingers up, inching higher, his eyes locked on mine in a silent question.

Is this ok , they seem to be asking me.

In response, I let out a moan, and his fingers swipe away my wet panties, pressing into my center. It’s hard to control myself when all I want to do is to slide off the stool and sprawl at his feet. To keep him there, thrusting in and out, till I can’t catch my breath.

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs, waving the bartender away as the man heads in our direction. I’m barely aware; I can’t even bring myself to summon the shame or self-consciousness I should be feeling. “You’re so fucking wet.” His eyes find mine. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a long time.”

That means something to him, even now. I can tell. For a second, the pit of anger overflows in my stomach, but then, Ken pushes into me with two fingers, and I squeeze my thighs together, trying to keep him there. Tears of ecstasy start in my eyes.

He lets out a grunt of frustration as he shifts his stool toward me. I can tell that he wants to be as close as possible, and this is not quite cutting it for him. He straightens up, withdrawing his fingers. I literally have to bite my lips from screaming out in protest.

Thankfully, Ken doesn’t make me wait for long.

“Come sit on my lap, Chapman.”

It doesn’t occur to me not to comply. I stand up, my skirt falling back over my crotch as I switch my stool for his thighs. Ken lets out a small groan as I sit on him. My skirt shifts again, my naked thighs rubbing against his jeans. I’m drenching him in my arousal, I know, and something about this makes me feel excited. Wanton.

We’re now shrouded even further in darkness, but I can still see. His friends are at their booth, and by the looks of it, they barely seem to have noticed his departure. I can’t bring myself to focus on them, though. Not when I can now feel Ken under me. His dick feels big, and I start to rub myself against it. I grab my panties and shift them to the side so my naked lips are rubbing against his jeans.

Ken stops my movement by inserting a finger into me again. I collapse against him. His chest is hard, rock solid, taking my weight without a rebound. My nipples bead underneath my shirt as my body grows warmer, every inch craving his touch.

His free hand finds my hips as he moves in and out of me. He sets the pace of my movements, guiding me to rub myself up and down the hard material of his jeans. It feels like raw opium, being here, being touched like this.

“Got to admit,” he murmurs against my ear, causing the hairs on my neck to stand. “This reunion beats any other I’ve had.”

Laughter bubbles up my gut. I didn’t expect to find him funny. But nothing about this feels awkward. In fact, it feels natural, like our bodies have been waiting for this since forever.

And maybe they have. Ten years ago, Ken made me feel things I hadn’t felt with anyone else. I might hate him, but I can admit to at least that.

“We should get out of here.”

I don’t mean to say that, but I don’t regret it, either. I needed us to leave the club sooner or later anyway. But my plan is now secondary.

All I want is to be alone with him.

“We should,” Ken growls. “So I can fuck you.”

A chill of expectancy runs down my spine. I’ve never known Ken to be this direct. As he stops guiding my hips and reaches upward to cup my breast, I realize once more that this Ken is completely different. He’s cast aside all gentleness he used to have for me. He is a man in need.

And he just found a willing partner.

He sets me on my feet. I obey him, feeling dizzy. I’m nowhere near drunk, but it’s only just settling in that I’m going to have him tonight. It wasn’t part of the plan, but I’ll embrace it anyway.

Because in a few hours, I’m going to be Mrs. Ken Edwards.