The Virgin’s Fake Fiance Read online

  The Virgin’s Fake Fiance

  Kim Loraine

  Copyright © 2018 by Kim Loraine

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Ellie McLove with Gray Ink

  & Wendy Kassler

  Proofread by Allison Literary Services

  Dear reader,

  I’m a huge fan of insta-love and the quick read that leaves you smiling and swooning. As a mom of three, I sometimes just want to escape into a love story that will make me sigh happily at the HEA, but I don’t have time to devote to reading a full length story. That’s why I wrote this series of novellas with innocent heroines and hot heroes.

  I hope you enjoy this new steamy and sweet series of stand alone romances.

  xoxo,

  Kim

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Also by Kim Loraine

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Charity

  The driver pulls up to the hotel, and, I swear to God, my chest feels like it's going to explode with anxiety. Instead of getting out, I sit in the town car— the scent of stale cigarette smoke and leather seats making me mildly nauseous.

  "Hey, lady. We're here. You can sit there all you want, but you gotta pay for it." My driver's strong New York accent reminds me I'm not in Montana anymore.

  "Sorry," I mutter, rifling through my purse until I find my wallet. I grab a twenty and hand it to him, but he raises an eyebrow.

  "I'm not a taxi driver. It's fifty from the airport."

  Panic lances my chest. Fifty? I should've just taken a taxi. In a rush of anxiety, I start digging around in my bag, searching for more money. I know I have it, but there's nothing in my wallet.

  "Come on, lady." He's annoyed, and I'm rushing.

  "Hold this," I say, handing him my wallet and searching deeper in the handbag. Then I remember my suitcase in the back. I'd tucked an extra hundred in the secret inside pocket because I don't like to have all my cash in one place. "Can you make change? I have more cash in my bag."

  He nods, and I get out of the car, making my way to the trunk to grab my suitcase. But the driver pulls back into traffic faster than I can holler, "Hey! Wait!"

  I run after him, hoping he'll see me and slow down, but it's no use. He's lost in a sea of cars and busses, and it's all I can do to keep from screaming in frustration. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm down. I fight back the hot tears burning my eyes. I will not burst into hysterics on the streets of Manhattan.

  It's not the end of the world. I can call the car company. Tell them what happened. Tell them the guy stole my suitcase. Panic rises again, but I push it down. No. It's going to be fine. I'm sure the guy will return my bag. What I need now is a shower to wash away this day.

  The hotel lobby is bright and clean, with high ceilings and marble floors. Swanky is the word my dad would have used. He was a cowboy, through and through, and he never understood why I wanted to be in the city so badly. It's everything I love. The hum of life, people rushing from place to place, tourists exploring with excited expressions, movies and television shows being filmed. There's always something happening here. Montana is peaceful and slow. Perfect for some—not me. But that doesn't mean I get to stay here. I've got a dying farm waiting for me when I get back. Until then, I'm going to enjoy my time in the city.

  "Welcome to The Stanton Hotel," the concierge says as I approach the desk. "Do you have a reservation?"

  I smile, brushing my hair away from my face. I must look like a hot mess after chasing down the car. "I do. Charity Baker."

  He offers me a patronizing smile and starts typing. "I'll need a photo ID and a credit card."

  My hand goes to my purse immediately, digging through the large bag in search of my wallet. "One second, sorry. I just had it in the car."

  I continue searching. Why do I have such an enormous handbag? Anxiety creeps up my spine when I still haven't found the candy pink Kate Spade wallet I'd bought myself three seasons ago as a graduation gift. I plop my bag on the counter, and the concierge frowns. "It's here somewhere." I laugh nervously and remember my utter stupidity in the car. I handed the guy my wallet. I handed him my wallet and as good as asked him to rob me. I'd been so concerned about my suitcase I forgot he had my wallet in his hand.

  He doesn't look sympathetic. "Miss. I can't check you in without identification and a major credit card."

  Oh, God. I think I'm going to cry. This guy doesn't look like the type who cares. Crying won't help my case. "I…the driver stole my wallet and suitcase. I don't…" My stupid voice wobbles with every word.

  "Charlie, what's all this then?" A deep, masculine voice fills my ears, his posh English accent covering me like a warm blanket.

  "Oh, Mr. Harper. Everything's fine. This young lady doesn't have her ID. I was just explaining that we can't—"

  "What's your name, love?" Mr. Harper asks. He turns his gaze on me, deep blue eyes penetrating the last of my resolve. The man is gorgeous. He's probably in his early thirties, tall, built, with a chiseled jaw that would rival Superman.

  "Wow," I whisper before I can stop myself.

  His eyebrows rise, and a smile spreads his kissable mouth. "Pardon?"

  Pulling it together, I clear my throat. "Charity. My name is Charity Baker, and I've had a reservation for months. My driver took my stuff. God, I was such an idiot to be so trusting. He drove off as soon as I got out."

  "I see." He stares at me, that smile still present, but there's heat in his gaze. "Charlie, please check Miss Baker in. I'll cover her until she's able to retrieve her wallet. Charity, do you have the license plate number of the car? The company name?"

  I frown, trying to recall. "Blue Star Town Cars. That was the name on his dashboard. I don't remember the plate number."

  "We'll find their number."

  To my surprise, Charlie nods and starts typing. In moments, he's handing me my plastic key card and telling me he hopes I enjoy my stay. Relief hits me as soon as I turn away from the desk. "Thank you," I say to my rescuer. "That was really nice of you."

  "My pleasure. There are a few perks to owning a hotel. This is one of them."

  "You're the owner?" My shock is clear in my tone.

  He nods. "Lincoln Harper, but you can call me Linc." He puts his hand on the small of my back, and I nearly melt on the spot. "Now, Miss Baker, allow me to escort you to your room."

  "Oh, I'm sure I can find it on my own." I don't know why I'm protesting. This handsome British guy basically rode in like a knight on a white horse and saved me. He's my prince charming. I should welcome every minute I have with him.

  "Ah, but I think I'd like to get to know you a little. Since I'm letting you stay here on faith." He grins as we step into the elevator. "How long will you be staying with us?"

  "A week. I'm here for a reunion tomorrow. But I'm staying longer so I can spend some time in the city without a bunch of stuff to do."

  His eyes burn into mine. "And you came alone?"

  I shrug and look away. "I used to live here. I'm not afraid of the city." Then I think of the car and
my missing bag. "But I guess I'm a little out of practice. I lost my wallet and my suitcase in one fell swoop. It's bad enough I'm going to my sorority reunion without a boyfriend, but I'll have to go dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. All I have is a failing farm in Montana that I don't want and a degree I can't use."

  Stop rambling, I tell myself. I'm going to scare British Superman away. His hand rises, and he brushes a stray tear from my cheek. There's tenderness in his gaze.

  "Charity, I think we can help each other. I have a proposition for you."

  Chapter 2

  Lincoln

  Charity's skin is softer than velvet. I've touched her too many times already, but I can't get enough. With her dark hair and huge blue eyes, she's innocent and sweet, and everything I need her to be. And as she looks up into my eyes, I know this is the right decision. She may have spent time in this city, but there's nothing less than wholesome perfection about her.

  "A... proposition?" she asks as the elevator stops on her floor, and the doors slide open.

  I press the button to close them before she can get out and slide my penthouse key over the card reader. The lift starts moving again and a frown furrows her brow.

  "Where are we going? My room was on that floor." She backs away from me, fear in her eyes, but a little excitement flashes in them too.

  "I know. I'm taking you to my room. My flat, actually." Impulsive? Yes. But my gut is never wrong and right now, everything is telling me this needs to happen.

  "You live here?"

  I nod. "We don't rent out the penthouse here. I live in it." I pull out my phone and send a short email to Charlie letting him know I won't be available for the rest of the day unless it's an emergency.

  She stands in shocked silence as the doors open into the entryway of the penthouse. Pride wells in my chest. I love this suite. The decor is simple, clean lines, modern and sleek, plus there's a view of the city and a rooftop terrace—my favorite space.

  "It looks like something out of a magazine," she murmurs. "Or a museum exhibit. I'm afraid to touch anything. What if I get it dirty?"

  I shake my head, laughing. "Housekeeping has already been through. They keep this place perfect, but after a few hours, I'll give it a more lived-in look." I run a hand over my neck, suddenly nervous. "You're not going to hurt anything by being here. It's really a relaxed home. I promise. And just wait until you meet my girl."

  "Girl?" She cocks one eyebrow.

  "Ruby!" I call, waiting for the tell-tale thump of her jumping off my bed. It arrives seconds later, along with the click of her nails on the floor.

  "Oh, my God," Charity squeals as soon as my old English bulldog rounds the corner. Ruby's cropped tail wags so hard her entire body shakes and her tongue lolls to one side in a doggy grin. "You have a bulldog!"

  "Ruby, meet Charity. Charity, this is the love of my life, Ruby."

  Charity kneels and holds one hand up to Ruby's nose, waiting for the dog to get to know her scent. "Oh, I love her. She's such a pretty girl. Not the best guard dog though, are you, Ruby?"

  I laugh. "She's old. I'm surprised she came when I called. Usually I have to be holding food before she'll get off the bed." I can't keep my eyes off this woman as she pets Ruby gently. "I'm glad you're not afraid of dogs. I didn't think to ask."

  "I work at an animal shelter. I'm totally an animal person."

  That makes me grin. Oh, yes, she's perfect for what I have in mind. "Might I interest you in a drink before we get to business?"

  "Oh, right. You had a proposition for me. You know I'm not a hooker, right?"

  I smile. "Yes, Charity. I'm well aware you're not a hooker. But you're exactly the kind of woman I need, and I think I'm what you need."

  A nervous laugh escapes her. I love how her cheeks turn pink, and she bites her lip when she doesn't know what to say. "Oh, really? I just met you. How could a stranded woman with no identification be what you need?"

  "You're sweet, beautiful, and, if I'm not mistaken, single. I just so happen to need those exact qualities."

  "For?"

  Here it is. Now or never. I take a deep breath and look her straight in the eyes. "For my fiancée."

  Her jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

  "Not permanently. I have a... family obligation... a wedding to attend, and I need my father to think I'm engaged to avoid the inevitable set up they'll throw my way."

  "Can't you just tell them you have a girlfriend?"

  I shake my head. I've tried that before. "A girlfriend can easily be cast aside. A fiancée... that's forever. If they think I'm engaged, they'll leave me be for as long as I can string the yarn."

  She bites her lower lip. "And how are you what I need?"

  I stand up straighter, stride to the built-in bar, and then pour us both a scotch. "Are you kidding? I'm wealthy, successful, and I've been told I'm no slouch in the looks department."

  Her cheeks turn pink, and I know I've hit my target. "My reunion," she says.

  "Exactly."

  "So, I'll go with you. Be your dashing, successful fiancé. Then you come with me. Pretend to be desperately in love with me for a few days. We'll part as friends, and this will all be chalked up to a mad week in the city."

  She takes her offered drink and downs it in one long swallow. I can't deny my body's reaction to her. I'm fighting a growing erection. Then she hands me the glass and waves her hand. I quickly realize she means I'm to pour her a second drink. As soon as I hand back the cup, she raises it. "To our engagement, I guess."

  "Brilliant," I say, unable to hide my happiness. This is the ticket to getting my grandmother off my back. I've already angered her by refusing the many matches she's made for me in the past. But this time I'll be prepared with a sweet, innocent girl from Montana, who loves animals and can down a scotch like she belongs in the cast of Outlander, at my side. "I suppose that means we need to go shopping. You can't attend a wedding in yoga pants."

  She laughs. "Oh, come on."

  "It'll be a black-tie affair, I'm afraid."

  Her smile fades. "When is this wedding?"

  "Three days. But we'll be flying out on Saturday."

  Her eyes widen. "Flying? Where is it happening?"

  "At my family estate. Outside of London."

  "London? I don't even have my ID. How can I fly to London without a passport?"

  Oh, my innocent Charity, there's so much I'll teach you. "I have... connections. It won't be a problem."

  "Are you in the mafia? Wait. Is there an English mafia?"

  I laugh then. She's funny as well as gorgeous. "No, I'm not in the mafia. Now, finish your drink and we can get you some clothes. I want to see my fake fiancée enjoying herself."

  She clinks glasses with me again and we both down our scotch. "I think this will work. On one condition."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Go on."

  "You can't fall in love with me."

  Chapter 3

  Charity

  "I don't know about this one," I say, glancing at my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror in my private fitting room at Saks Fifth Avenue. The sheer gown covers me from shoulder to toe, but everything it hides is only covered by the intricate beadwork, not fabric. It's sexy and risqué while still appearing demure. But it's the low cut neckline, a deep V that hits below my sternum that has me worried. What if my boobs fall out, or some of the beads fall off? "I don't even show this much skin in a bathing suit."

  I hear Linc's deep rumble of laughter and can't help but giggle myself. "Just come out, love. Let me be the judge."

  Fluffing my hair, I adjust my boobs and pull my shoulders back. Time to impress my fake fiancé. I step out of the changing room and into the beautifully lit viewing area, complete with a pedestal stage and perfect lighting.

  "Holy fuck," he murmurs. "You're an angel."

  I swear, I blush from the roots of my hair to my toes. My entire body is hot. "You've really got a charming mouth."

  He laughs and makes a little gesture with
his fingers that tells me he wants me to turn and show him the whole gown. "And you've got a charming body. This dress is perfect. You are perfect." He slides one hand into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. "Shall we?"

  "I'm not sure. I'm serious. This dress is gorgeous, but it's more than six months mortgage on my family farm in Montana. I can't let you buy this." The thought of money and home has my heart racing. I need to track down the cab driver who has my bag and wallet, but this man has monopolized every available corner of space in my world since the moment we met.

  His gaze is heated and intense. "Let me do this, please? You can sell it after the wedding, pay for your home, use it for whatever you like. But...let me make you feel like a princess while you're here."

  Do I want to give in to this fantasy? God, it's been hard the last few years. I've been alone. Just me and my loyalty to my dad. I turned down every guy who asked, I worked my ass off to keep the house and property. Then, after Dad died, I had to use his insurance to pay off the medical bills. Is it so much to ask to have a little bit of the fairy tale?

  "Fine. But if I accidentally flash your family, it's your fault. I swear, this dress is a hazard."

  He looks me up and down and bites his lower lip. "I have a distinct feeling your tits would be a gift to anyone who saw them."

  "Okay, Prince Charming." I turn and face the mirror. "Unzip me and let's get out of here."

  He stands and steps toward me, his gaze locked on mine in the reflection as he trails one finger down the exposed skin of my back between my shoulder blades. I shiver, and my nipples tighten against the fabric. He grips the zipper and slowly lowers it until the bodice of the dress loosens. If I move the right way, it'll fall to the floor and I'll be bare in front of him. His warm hand slides between the gown and my skin, around my ribs and to my waist. All I can do is moan softly at his touch. I barely know this man, but there's an undeniable spark between us.