From Friend To Fake Fiancé

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 (#ulink_2782d3f2-f9e3-53c3-8166-8187a6b80acb)

“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 met Zara, the love of his life. Zara now owned the home which used to be in their family. Even she had searched her home, but nothing had turned up.

Mac, his brother Braden and their sister Laney were ready to fulfill their late father’s request and find these missing heirlooms, but so far they’d had no luck. Ryker, the go-to guy who was more like a brother than an employee, had proved himself to be relentless in finding the scrolls, in fulfilling a dying man’s wish—no matter where in the world he had to follow the trail.

“I’m actually boarding the jet now,” Ryker stated. “I’ll be heading to Chicago on a tip from McCormick’s.”

McCormick’s. If the O’Sheas worried about rivals, McCormick’s would be top of the list. But, Mac’s family had been in the industry much longer and had far longer reaches into that world...both political and civilian. That, coupled with everything they had going on behind the scenes, definitely made them the most sought-out auction house in the world. They could get the job done, fly under the legal radar and have transactions completed quickly and efficiently. Their clients never knew the details of how things were handled, they only knew O’Shea’s was discreet and got things done.

“Is this tip from a reliable source?” Mac asked.

“Reliable enough,” Ryker said. “I’ll keep you posted, but Braden was busy at some event with Zara and they couldn’t be bothered, so I had to act fast. Where are you, anyway? Still in Barcelona?”

Mac came to his feet and glanced out the open doorway toward the inky water, shimmering only slightly from the moon peeking from behind the clouds. Bora Bora was one of the most beautiful places on the planet...it was also one of the most romantic. Not that he did the whole candlelight-on-the-beach kind of thing. He was more of a slam the bedroom door with his foot as he plastered a willing woman against the wall and claimed her type of guy.

“I’m in Bora Bora with Jenna. She had a family emergency.” Sort of. “I’ll be home in a week, but let me know as soon as you discover anything, no matter how minor.”

“Will do.”

Mac disconnected the call and gripped his cell in his hand. Every time there was another lead, he got anxious. After years of letdowns, Mac knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but all of this searching had to pay off at some point, didn’t it? Because none of them would stop until these scrolls were found. Unfortunately, Patrick O’Shea had passed before he could fulfill that vow. The heart attack that claimed his father was sudden. He’d gone in for surgery, knowing there was a risk, but it was his only option for survival. They’d lost him on the table.

Mac didn’t know if he’d ever get used to the idea of his father not being around. Then again, he didn’t want to get used to the loss. He wanted to remember his father for the powerful, loving family man he was. He may have been a hard-ass outside his inner circle, he may have had more blood on his hands than a corrupt politician, but Patrick O’Shea was loyal to those close to him. Mac missed that man every minute of every day and would continue to honor his father’s legacy and work with his siblings to make the O’Shea name as reputable as ever.

With his mind spinning in so many directions, Mac was too wound up to go to bed. Well, he was too wound up to sleep. Getting between the sheets with Jenna right now wouldn’t be wise. He wanted her so damn bad, with a fierceness he’d not allowed himself to feel before. She wasn’t ready, though.

His priority for the next few days was to make Jenna smile, to make her life worry-free and to get her to see just how easy it would be to be intimate and still be friends. He wasn’t looking for a lifetime commitment; they were already best friends and that was about as close to someone as he was willing to get.

Given the family business, he was used to keeping certain things close to his chest. He didn’t want to get too involved with anyone because he doubted there was a woman in the world who would put up with his lies. And he would lie to Jenna—he had lied to her. He had no choice with his lifestyle, and he wasn’t about to apologize for it.

He’d been born an O’Shea, born into a world that was glamorous, powerful and, more often than not, deceitful. He was proud of his name, dirty rumors be damned. Because, overall, the name O’Shea brought prestige and power. No one questioned them to their faces. And Mac would stop at nothing to help fulfill his father’s dying wish in getting back the scrolls. At all costs. They’d been missing long enough and he wanted to be the one to bring them back to their rightful place.

Turning back around, Mac eyed the bedroom door once again. Was she asleep? Was she tossing and turning? Was she fantasizing about the offer he’d given? One way to find out. Stripping off his shirt, Mac tossed it to the sofa and padded toward the bedroom. No matter what she was doing, Mac was going in. He wasn’t tired, but there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. A smile spread across his face as he unbuttoned his shorts, slid the zipper down and let them fall to the floor. He stepped out of them and slowly turned the knob.

Wearing only his black boxer briefs, Mac entered the darkened room, took in the curvy shape beneath the sheet and headed to the other side of the bed. After flipping his phone to silent, he placed it on the bedside table and sank onto the edge of the bed.