Claiming Gigi Read online

  “I mean not real. A scam. Made up.”

  “Why?”

  Gigi’s head ached something fierce. She brought her fingers to her temples in an attempt to massage the pain away, but it didn’t help. Nothing could help. She wiped her wet cheeks, then rubbed her hands on her jeans. She went over the reasons in her head, ones that had seemed crazy at the time they were hatched, and now that she was about to voice them to another person, only sounded even more insane. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Gigi ran through the reasons once more, trying to make some sort of sense of them. “Remember when Cameron came and brought us lunch at work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jackson was walking by my office and heard my conversation with…” Gigi stopped, not quite able to bring herself to say his name.

  “Who? Who was it?”

  “Preston.”

  “What?”

  “I know—”

  “When the hell did you start talking to Preston? We haven’t even been allowed to say his name for damn near two and a half years, and now you’re chatting it up with him on the phone? What the hell?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that.”

  “How was it, then?”

  Gigi’s cheeks heated at the insinuated she’d be so stupid as to have a casual relationship with Preston after everything he’d done to her. Endless nights of crying herself to sleep. Days where she forgot to eat. An uncountable amount of dirty vodka martinis…all to move on from him. To forget him, somehow. “He called out of nowhere. I didn’t even know it was him when I answered. He said he’d be in town soon and wanted to get together. That he missed me.”

  “I’ll just bet he fucking does. Sounds like he’s still a douche canoe to me.”

  “He is. The thing is, talking to him, it made me feel so pathetic. I was shocked to be hearing from him. But I was also…angry…and I was pissed at myself for letting him have that power over me. Can you understand that?”

  Stassi nodded, her lips scrunched together in a tight line. “Of course I can.”

  “Anyway, he wanted to meet and I said no, because I’m not a complete masochist, and he started pressing me for a reason why. I couldn’t tell him the truth. That I was still hurt over what he’d done to me. That it had taken me an embarrassingly long time to get over him. So, I tried to come up with a believable explanation to see him, and before I knew it, I’d blurted out that I was engaged.”

  “Oh, Gigi,” Stassi shook her head.

  “I know, trust me, I know.” Gigi let out a pathetic laugh, then began playing with a few stray strings on the bottom of her shirt. “Anyway, he had the nerve to laugh at me.”

  “Prick.”

  “Exactly. Like the thought of someone actually wanting to spend their life with me was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. So instead of immediately copping to my lie, I went with it, instead. I insisted I had a fiancé and I wouldn’t be able to see him. I had the call on speaker, Jackson was in my doorway and heard the entire thing.”

  “And what? Then he decided to be your fake fiancé? For four months?”

  “No, it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Complicated or not, I think…” Stassi’s gaze caught on something over Gigi’s shoulder, and without having to look, Gigi knew he was there. She could sense him. Feel his eyes on her, and she’d never felt more small.

  “Alec wants you to meet him outside,” Jackson murmured to Stassi.

  “Okay.” Stassi looked at Gigi, concern evident on her face. “We aren’t done talking about this, okay?”

  Gigi nodded, not bothering to resist when Stassi hooked her arms under hers and pulled her into a standing position.

  Stassi wiped Gigi’s under eyes, probably in an attempt to fix any smeared mascara or eyeliner, then ran her fingers through Gigi’s hair.

  Gigi smiled, thankful for Stassi’s attention to detail, because she was pretty positive she looked like a blubbering fool.

  Stassi gave her shoulders a squeeze, then took a few steps away before turning back and bringing her into a full on hug. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “You’re Gigi-fucking-Andrews. You’ve got this. We’ll talk about the rest later.” Stassi kissed Gigi on the cheek, then let her go. “We’ll talk, too,” she said to Jackson, her eyes narrowed like she wanted to practice some of her kickboxing moves directly on his perfectly sculpted face.

  “Looking forward to it,” Jackson muttered.

  Gigi took a moment to mentally collect herself as much as she could, then slowly turned her head until she met Jackson’s eyes. He looked tired. Haggard, even. She should find a sweet way to tell him. “You look like shit.” Oh, well.

  “Ha. Thanks.” Jackson shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then gave Gigi the most pathetic look she’d ever seen on a man. “Can we talk?”

  “Yeah. Of course. But not here. We’re out of dress code.”

  “Fuck the dress code.”

  “Rules are rules. Or are you above those, now?” Gigi raised an eyebrow and pointed her head toward one of the empty rooms. “We can go in there.”

  Jackson looked like he wanted to argue, but for whatever reason must have decided against it. His jaw ticked as he clenched it shut, then held the already open door to the side so Gigi could enter.

  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Gigi knew he was aware she was right.

  The parties, located in a gorgeous mansion in one of the more ritzy neighborhoods in Houston, were a place where people could come and enjoy some naughty fun, all while remaining anonymous. They were invitation only and extremely strict with their rules. They had a very particular dress code. All black, men in suits, women in dresses or skirts, heels, and, of course, the always needed masks for anonymity. Masks which, she suddenly realized, neither of them currently had. They both wore paint spattered jeans, tank tops, and sneakers. Oh yeah. Sexy.

  Jackson placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her into the room, then shut the door behind them, the lock quietly clicking into place. He turned toward her and ran his fingers through his hair. “So?”

  Gigi shrugged and crossed her arms. “So?”

  “Do you want to tell me why you’re so upset?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Not even slightly.”

  Gigi threw her hands up in exasperation, desperately trying to find the words to express how frustrated she felt. “It’s LeAnn.”

  “It’s always LeAnn.”

  “Yes, it is. Because she calls out of nowhere and you go running every single time.” Gigi heard her voice cracking and hated it for betraying her. “We were right in the middle of a very important conversation, at least I thought it was. Who knows. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “No, you weren’t. You aren’t.” Jackson crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows propped on his knees, face buried in his hands. He took a moment, then looked back up at Gigi. “The thing with LeAnn is complicated, but—”

  “Of course it is. I—”

  “But…you deserve to know the truth. Honestly, I’d like to tell you the truth. I think whatever you’ve decided the deal is in your head is much worse than in reality.”

  “That’s not much of an explanation.”

  “No—” he sighed “—no, it isn’t. But it’s all I can give you right now, and I just have to hope it’s enough.”

  Gigi nodded and stood, nervous energy zinging through her body. She needed to move. Needed to move and calm down and focus. “This is why we made the rules we did,” she said. “This exact reason. So this wouldn’t happen.”

  “Don’t do that,” Jackson said, his voice deep and gravely.

  “Do what? Tell the truth?”

  “No. Don’t shit away something I know you feel, too.”

  The night’s events raced through Gigi’s mind. They’d been painting. She loved painting, was pretty good at it, but hadn’t done it in years. After Preston, she’d ju
st stopped.

  Her favorite part had always that first stroke. The feel of the brush as it made its mark. The almost scraping sound it made as it turned the once empty, white canvas into something. It was nothing short of magic. And then Preston had ruined it for her. Told her her paintings were typical. Simple. Less than spectacular. It wasn’t even that he hadn’t liked them, it was more that he’d planted a seed. That tiny seed of self-doubt…and it had only grown. She hadn’t painted for two years.

  And then she’d met Jackson, and they painted together. That night they’d been doing just that. Painting, having some laughs over her favorite true crime podcast, and something had happened. They’d shared a moment. In the tiniest of seconds, the air between them had shifted. Had thickened. Her body had suddenly felt hot. Achy. For him. “You know I do.”

  Jackson stood, but remained by the bed, and she wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

  “Then what’s the problem?” he asked.

  “The problem is we laid all this out when we decided to embark on your little scheme. Pretend we’re engaged so I could show Preston I’d moved on—”

  “You mean so you could make him jealous,” he interjected.

  “Whatever. Same thing. And in return, I let you photograph me. The rules were simple. No telling anyone the truth without talking to the other first,” Gigi trailed off, remembering not ten minutes ago she’d spilled her guts to Stassi. “Sorry about that, by the way, but Stassi knows now.”

  “I figured as much when she looked at me like she wanted to cut my balls off and serve them up to me on a plate. You know. Right before stabbing me in the throat.”

  “Yeah, that’s my bad. I’ll take responsibility for that one.”

  Jackson chuckled, then rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Shit, Gigi. This is why we have to give us a shot.”

  Gigi smiled, the moment having gone from sickeningly intense to almost hilarious. Almost.

  The truth of the matter was she did like Jackson. A lot. When the plan had taken an unexpected turn, apparently douche canoe Preston wasn’t coming into town quite as early as he thought, the scheme had taken on a life of its own. It wouldn’t make sense for them to be engaged and living completely different lives. They had to sell it, and sell it they did. They’d moved in together, although they didn’t sleep in the same bed, of course. Gigi lived in a townhouse with the bottom floor being the kitchen and living room with a half bathroom, and then the upstairs area with two bedrooms. The second room stayed empty, and she’d offered to make it into a bedroom for him, but he’d refused. He’d said it didn’t make much sense for them to have another bedroom since they were engaged and neither had kids or out of town guests, so the room had stayed empty and he slept on the couch downstairs. All in all, everything had actually been great. Gigi made coffee in the mornings while he cooked breakfast, they came home in the evenings and talked about their day, watched TV together, then retired to their rooms for bed.

  Jackson had photographed her many times, sometimes outside, other times at his studio. She had yet to see any of the pictures he’d taken, mostly because she’d insisted she didn’t want to.

  He’d been the one to get her back into painting. He loved to sketch out what he wanted to take pictures of. A scene, an object, whatever beautiful image that rested in his head. Before she knew it, she was teaching him how to paint. To have the brush in her hand, the streaks of color on the canvas…it was like she could breathe again for the first time in as long as she could remember.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked. “Nothing good, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I have no idea what I’m thinking. What I should do. What I should say. I’m completely at a loss.”

  Jackson walked toward her, his strides long and purposeful, and before she knew it, her back was pushed against the door, his strong arms caging her in. “Then don’t say anything.”

  Chapter 2

  Jackson dug his fingers into the door so hard his nails began to throb, but he didn’t care. He needed something to ground him. A physical reminder to keep it together and not do what he’d fantasized about for months.

  He looked down at Gigi, her blue eyes opened wide in surprise, and allowed himself to move closer until his chest flush with hers. He felt her small frame shudder against him, and suddenly his pants felt five sizes too small. “I think maybe we talk too much.”

  “Jackson…”

  “Sshhh,” he whispered, not failing to notice the way her skin broke out in goosebumps. He placed his hand on her hip, not trusting himself to put his arm around her waist. No, that wouldn’t be smart. If he did that, felt her body wrapped against his, he’d throw her on the bed and never fucking leave. Haste wasn’t the best way to handle this. Not with her. Not with Gigi. She was too damn important.

  He touched his forehead to hers, a ripple going through his body at the feel of her soft skin against his. “We don’t need to talk right now. This thing between us, whatever is going on, it’s not intellectual.” He brought a hand to the hollow of her throat, his index finger cradling her chin while his other fingers explored the curvature of her neck. “If we sit here and try to make sense of it, we’ll never figure it out.”

  Gigi’s mouth fell open as a soft moan escaped from her lips. She brought her hands to his stomach, and the heat of her practically singed him through his shirt. Her splayed fingers slowly crept up, up, past his abs and chest, and finally rested on his shoulders, her breasts pushing into him as she breathed. “That’s what I do, though. It’s what I always do. I overanalyze things to death. I have to listen to everything. See it all. Talk it out a million times before I’m satisfied. I don’t know how to turn that part of me off.”

  Jackson watched as her eyes searched his, begging him for an answer he wasn’t sure how to give. He was the opposite. He took things as they came. Rolled with the punches. People, as he saw it, always turned out to be huge disappointments. In one way or another, they always let you down. The last thing he needed to do was anticipate every move someone might make. Why weigh options when the ending would turn out just as it would have anyway? It is what it is. That was his motto.

  But he got Gigi. Understood why she was the way she was, and he would be damned if he was going to let her talk herself out of giving them a shot.

  He reached to the side and found the light switch with his fingers and, never taking his eyes off hers, flipped it off.

  “What are you doing? Turn the lights on.”

  “No.”

  “Jackson—”

  “We don’t need to talk about us anymore tonight. We don’t even need to see each other. We just need to feel. To listen.” He rested his forehead against hers again, her arms looping around his neck. “What do you hear?”

  Gigi was quiet for a moment, her body shaking against his. “I hear the music from the living room. It’s muffled, but I can hear it.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “I hear you. Your breathing. I can hear your fingernails against my skin when you slide them down my neck.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  Her answer made his chest swell with pride.

  “What do you hear?” she asked.

  “I hear what you hear. But I’m feeling, too. I feel your skin, broken out in gooseflesh,” he ran his thumb along her collarbone to prove his point, smiling as a shiver ran through her body. “I feel you shaking. Are you cold?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Are you excited?” he asked as he rubbed his nose against hers.

  “Y…yes.” She admitted. “But it’s weird. Not seeing you.”

  “I don’t need to see,” he murmured, sliding one hand up her neck until it cradled her head, his fingers spread out in her hair. He gently pulled her head to the side, and she willingly obliged. He ran his mouth up and down her skin, her heart racing beneath his touch. “I only need this. You against me. Your sof
t skin. Your heartbeat against my lips.”

  Gigi shuddered as his teeth touched her skin, nibbling up and down the curve of her neck.

  He straightened her head and brought his lips to hers, but didn’t touch them, not yet. They stayed a fraction of a centimeter away, hovering just over hers. “Gigi?”

  “Y…yes?”

  “I’m going to kiss you, now.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Oh. Wow. Okay. I—”

  He smashed his lips down on hers, swallowing the last of her sentence. She moaned into his mouth as he explored her, tasting her, burying his fingers in her hair and pulling her closer to him.

  She wrapped her arms further around his neck, her mouth opening for him, her tongue circling his as her hands found his hair, clenching the strands between her fingers. She was fucking perfect.

  Jackson moaned as her small body came alive against him. Her breasts heaved up and down with her ragged breathing, her center shamelessly rubbing against him, and he had no doubt she felt the hard-on in his pants. Even as he kissed her, his brain shot off visions of her naked, wet, taking him in deeper as she grinded back and forth on top of him.

  But that wouldn’t be happening tonight. Right now, this moment, was about this. A kiss. A tremendous, never-been-so-good, out-of-this-world fucking kiss. In this moment, her lips belonged to him, and the realization made him feel like a king. He slowed his movements, desperate to remember her taste. The way her body trembled. The sound of her whimpers. If it were up to him, this kiss would last the rest of his life and afterward.

  Gigi was the first to break the contact. She pulled away, shaking and gasping for air. “Holy hell,” she said in the darkness.

  “Holy hell, indeed,” he laughed.

  She brought her arms down to his waist and placed her head on his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that.”

  “Me either.”

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  He wrapped his arms around her and smiled into her hair. “Let’s see, if I’m doing the math right, it took you about five seconds to talk about what happens in the future.”