From Friend To Fake Fiancé. Jules Bennett

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СКАЧАТЬ sat up in her lounge chair and swiveled her legs to the side. Clutching her glass, she watched the drops of condensation slide down it, disappearing beneath the pads of her fingers. Worry gnawed at her and she knew she could be totally honest with Mac about her deepest concern.

      “I don’t want things to get awkward between us.”

      “Then stop analyzing it to death,” he commanded. “We’ll be fine. The ex will think you’ve moved on, your sister’s wedding will be over and done, and you’ll be back in Miami by next week.”

      In theory everything sounded so perfect and easy. Reality always had other plans, though.

      Jenna took another drink before looking over to Mac, who was still staring at her. “Do you want something to eat? The resort actually stocked our kitchen. I don’t even want to know what Amy paid for all of this.”

      Mac shook his head. “Nah. I was joking earlier. I’m too tired to eat, anyway. That whirlwind trip to Barcelona wiped me out.”

      “I’m sure the lovely Lolita you left behind with a smile would take that as a compliment.”

      Mac pulled his other foot from the water and hopped to his feet. “Lolita was nowhere to be found,” he retorted as he took a seat beside her on the lounge chair. “The trip was all business. I didn’t see one naked woman the entire time.”

      Gasping, Jenna mocked him. “No wonder you’re so cranky. And here I’m putting a damper on your social life because you have to pretend to be taken.”

      “We don’t have to pretend,” he replied with raised brows. “Say the word and we’ll make use of this lounge chair.”

      Jenna sprang to her feet and headed toward the open doorway. “Chill out, stud. I have enough to handle without feeding your overactive hormones.”

      Mac followed her into the hut. Jenna rinsed her empty glass and just as she went to set it on the counter, it slipped from her hands and shattered all over the ceramic tile.

      Cursing beneath her breath, she glanced down, trying to figure out how to get out of the mess without cutting her bare feet.

      “Don’t move.”

      Mac stepped carefully around the shards and seconds later lifted her into his arms.

      “Put me down. I’m heavy.”

      Halting his steps, Mac met her gaze, his face mere inches above hers. “You’re not heavy, Jenna. You’re perfect. I won’t want to hear that from your mouth again.”

      Closing her eyes, praying for the humiliation to pass, Jenna sighed. “Just put me down. I’ll put some shoes on and get this mess cleaned up.”

      “I can get it.”

      “You’re going to cut yourself,” she argued, though the point was moot now.

      “Better me than you.”

      He placed her on the sofa and stood back, his hands on his hips, his narrowed eyes daring her to argue. Jenna held her hands up in defeat. She wasn’t fighting with him. She chose her battles wisely. Besides, she had to admit she rather liked this whole knight-to-her-rescue thing.

      Moments later, once the glass was all discarded and he’d swept the floor thoroughly, Mac returned and sat on the table in front of the sofa. Straddling her legs, he reached down and placed one of her feet on his leg. When he started to examine her, she pulled her foot away.

      “I’m fine. I wasn’t cut.”

      “You’re sure?”

      Jenna snorted. “I think I’d know, Mac. Calm down. Were you cut?”

      He merely shrugged. The man was infuriating at times.

      “You know, you could’ve called someone to come clean that up.”

      Shaking his head, he replied, “By the time someone came, I would’ve been done. It’s not a big deal.”

      Mac O’Shea might have been a billionaire, he might have been a mysterious, powerful man, but he wasn’t lazy. He worked hard and always remembered that just because someone had money didn’t make them better than anyone else. His father had instilled that value in all of the kids, and Jenna admired Mac and his siblings for being so conscious of other people’s feelings...unless those people crossed the line. Then the O’Sheas left no room for negotiation, if the rumors were correct. Still, overall they were good people. She knew about the charities they silently donated to. She’d overheard Mac talking on the phone once to Laney, his sister, but Jenna hadn’t said a word. She was proud the family didn’t boast about the fact they shared their wealth. That’s what giving was all about.

      The sun had sunk lower, sending a soft glow into the hut through the wide opening leading to the deck. Fatigue was starting to take over and she was running out of steam. She needed to rest up if she was going to pull off this charade for the next seven days. Who knew when Martin would arrive, and she wanted to be ready.

      “I’ll sleep here on the sofa,” she told Mac. “Actually, I’m so tired, I think I could pass out on that hammock out on the deck.”

      Mac simply shook his head. “You’re sleeping in the bed and so am I. We’re adults, Jenna. We’ve been friends for years.”

      Yeah, well, she’d never lain next to her best friend and attempted to sleep after he kissed her as if he needed her more than air. How could she sleep if his hard body brushed against hers in the middle of the night? What if she rolled over and her parts touched his parts? Because then a new level of awkward would settle in and that was the last thing she wanted.

      “Whatever you’re worried about, stop.” His demand was loud and clear. “Go to bed. I’ll be in later.”

      Yeah, that’s precisely what she worried about.

       Three

      “We may have found something.”

      Mac sat up straighter and glanced toward the closed bedroom door where Jenna had disappeared over an hour ago.

      “The scrolls?” he asked his associate Ryker in a hushed tone. But Ryker was so much more than an associate. He was a brother, a friend, an enforcer. He might not share the same blood, but he was practically family.

      And he’d found information on the infamous scrolls. The nine pieces of family heritage they’d been chasing for decades. Their ancestor was an Irish monk who’d been chosen to transcribe Shakespeare’s early works. The scrolls were invaluable...and still missing. They’d been in the O’Shea family up until they’d lost everything in the Great Depression, then they’d vanished.

      Under the direction of their father, they’d followed countless leads. Once Patrick had passed and Braden had taken control, he’d gone to the point of origin at an old estate in Boston that used to be owned by the O’Sheas. The scrolls were last known to be there, yet his family was still on a damn wild goose chase. Granted, had he not gone to the starting point, Braden never would’ve СКАЧАТЬ