SIMOUN'S POV

For the love of heaven, Amber was fucking beautiful: her skin all flushed from her bath, that little giggle of hers as trace amounts of bubbles still lingered upon her skin, the way her long legs stretched out and rested easily against the damn couch arm. She was driving me insane.

My cock had been hard since she said she was going to take a damn bath. And the second I went into my room, I couldn't stop thinking about her naked body in that warm water. I came out into the living room to enjoy the view of Tokyo from the massive windows that lined the living room, and there she was, ordering an impressive amount of food that made me salivate as well as my cock leak.

Her robe was nothing but a fluffy sheet of fabric. Here I was, trying to get some damn work done at a small table while overlooking Tokyo, and she was out there, waiting on food and exposing her legs to the point where I wanted to bend her over the damn couch and slide my cock right into her body. This fake fiancée shtick had been tempting me the entire flight, and watching her spread her long limbs out on the couch made me ache to be against her, to press her into the couch, to fuck her until she called out my name so the whole of Japan knew who she belonged to.

At least for the week.

Her eyes met mine, and that cute little smile of hers fell into a shocked sort of stare. I wasn't used to having this sort of reaction to a woman. They pursued me, never the other way around. I'd never paid any attention to them. I preferred to concentrate on building my empire and personally vetting all those I surrounded myself with. Plus, I wasn't into the gold-digging type.

Most men enjoyed that. Many men enjoyed women who gladly parted their legs as long as they bought them expensive things. But that wasn't my type of woman.

I wanted to worship a woman who worshipped me. Not my wallet.

Sure, plenty of women threw themselves at me. It happened on a regular basis. But they were always after my money. None of them wanted to know me or what I was about, nor cared a damn about my business or why I traveled. They wanted to travel with me as long as I gave them free reign of my bank account and my credit card. They didn't bother with me, so I didn't bother with them.

Period.

But then again, the sexy vixen known as Amber-whose body was sprawled out onto a couch as the lights of Tokyo twinkled against her skin-was a professional. She didn't have to know me, and I didn't have to know her. Not really. Not truly. I could use her body to satisfy my urges without regret or worry because that was what she had been hired to do. That was her profession. Hell, she was my fiancée for the week, and if I ever got engaged myself, I would most definitely take advantage of the prime situation I found myself in. If Amber was really mine, I'd rip her luscious body off that couch, pin her back against the floor-length windows, and gaze out along the beautiful city while listening to her chant my name. I could possess that beautiful body of hers, and the simple thought caused my cock to leak against my pants.

"Excuse me," I said. "Enjoy your dinner."

I felt her eyes on me as I exited the room. And the second I stripped down, I sighed with relief. My boxers were soiled, and my thighs glistened with the cum that dripped from my cock all the way from fucking Manila. I flipped on the shower and made the water as cold as I could stand it, then stepped into the stream. I let it flow over my body. I allowed it to penetrate me to my core, causing me to shiver. The cold water would help my erection go away, help my body to calm down. Help my urges to recede.

Except it didn't work at all.

I reached down for the warm water and turned it until steam filled the bathroom. Then, I laid my forearm against the wall and pressed my head into it. If I couldn't get my girth to die down, then I had another option at my disposal.

I allowed my mind to wander as I wrapped my hand around my cock. I closed my eyes and imagined myself storming into that living room. I saw myself ripping her off that couch and crashing my lips against hers, listening to her sounds as I slipped that pathetic excuse for a robe off her body. Fuck, I'd lick her from head to toe. Run my tongue around her nipples and drive my cock into her tight pussy until she gasped and cried out for mercy. I'd delay her orgasm, licking her clit and burying my face between her thick thighs until she quaked for me, only to back off and slide my cock in again.

Over and over, interchanging and driving her wild. My cock. My tongue. My fingers. Each one different than the last. I saw myself slamming into her pussy, inching my way into her asshole. Sliding between those pillowy lips of hers that were still clad in a crimson shade of red that made my balls hang low with want. I licked my lips and stroked my cock. I squeezed it as I imagined myself tossing her legs over my shoulders. I'd pin Amber's wrists above her head and pound into her, listening to our sounds of wetness as she arched into me, pressing her tits into my face. She'd explode on me as her juices sprayed from her pussy and soaked my skin...

"Fucking... hell... shit."

My legs pulled taut, and my balls pulled up into my body. I felt Amber's lips against mine as her sighs and giggles of pleasure filled my ears. I fucked my hand, shooting thick threads of cum against the shower wall.

And even as I sank to my knees, heaving for air, my mind still lingered.

What I wouldn't give to trace my fingertips along the outline of her long legs. What I wouldn't give to lick her from head to toe, listening as she gasped my name. What I wouldn't give to taste the sweetness of her juices on the tip of my tongue until she fisted my hair and drew me closer.

I sat on the bottom of the walk-in shower and caught my breath as my mind filled with images of her.

I cleaned myself up and got out of the shower, but my mind still wandered. Even as I sat down in my room and opened the blinds to work, all I could do was surf the internet. I clicked around and filled my mind with the newest updates in my industry.

And of course, that name popped up the second I refreshed my news feed.

Hugo Centrio.

A frown overtook my entire face, and suddenly Amber was the furthest thing from my mind. It looked as if my nemesis had a sharp new startup that had become lucrative. I opened the article and scanned it, growing angrier by the second.

Apparently, the Japanese military had given him a very hefty contract for his work.

I wondered how much of my recycled tech was in Hugo's new software.

Anger bubbled in my veins. I closed my laptop and tossed it off to the side before I closed the blinds. I turned off the light and slid my naked body underneath the covers, figuring I could get some sleep. But all I did was toss and turn the entire rest of the evening. Jet lag. I hated jet lag.

It always threw off my schedule for days. And by the time I got on a decent schedule, it was always time to go home and deal with it again.

At least, I blamed it on jet lag.

For all I knew, my sleeplessness could be because of the wildly sexy woman beyond my bedroom door.

AMBER'S POV

After falling asleep last night with a full stomach right there on the couch, I woke up to the afternoon sun of Tokyo streaming through the window. I got up and went to take a look, marveling at the beauty of the view. It hadn't changed one bit. The surroundings and the colors of the penthouse had changed, but not that. Not the beautiful skyline of the city I loved so dearly.

I drew in a deep breath before I turned to Simoun's door. How long was he going to sleep? I made my way into my room and changed into something more appropriate: slim-fitting jeans and a silk blouse. I fixed up my hair and applied a bit of makeup, then glanced at the clock. It was two in the afternoon. Surely Simoun would be up soon.

But as the hours ticked by, not a sound came from his room.

The penthouse was gorgeous, but I was itching to see the city. Experience the food. Walk among the kindest people I'd ever come into contact with. But I was sort of stuck until my client woke up. I was here on his dime, after all. It wasn't like I could simply leave and explore of my own volition. Taking him on as a client meant I was there to await his pleasure. Abide by his rules.

Play by his game, sensual or otherwise.

I stood at the window and looked out among the bustling city as my mind wandered.

What kind of lover would a man like Simoun be? Obviously a quiet one.

Was he wild? Voracious? Kinky?

Would he be the one-minute kind of man most men were? The three men I'd engaged with at the beginning of my career had been the easiest men to please. A little tweak there, a little nibble on the neck. A few good pumps and they were slumping over me as if they'd run a marathon. Even the few men I had been with outside of my career were that way. I sincerely hoped a handsome man like Simoun wasn't that type of lover.

Not that I'd ever figure that out. It was as if he was avoiding me. Like last night, when he excused himself so quickly after lust flared in his eyes.

I shook the thought away. It didn't matter. I was there to do a job and nothing else. I watched a bit of television and unpacked a few of my nicer things. I made myself a small snack in the kitchen and finished off the red wine I'd ordered last night for my decadent meal. And finally, after almost half past four in the afternoon, Simoun emerged in a trim suit as he fiddled with a cufflink at his wrist.

"We'll be going out to dinner this evening," he said calmly. "Do you have appropriate formal dinner attire?"

"I do."

"Good. Because we don't have time to go shopping. I'll be working until dinner, which will be at eight. I need the time to prepare us for the evening ahead. Get yourself ready. Pamper yourself a bit since there is some time to kill. I'm sure it'll take a woman like yourself some time to prepare."

I wasn't sure what that statement was supposed to mean, but I think it meant he needed me to look my best. But he didn't have to worry; I prided myself in always looking my best. As the daughter of a rich man, I had a few key pieces already in my wardrobe that were always set to stun, and I'd brought most of them along with me.

However, the word "pamper" caught my ear. I was never one to turn down a bit of relaxation.

He looked up at me briefly before disappearing back into his room, then closed the door with a thud.

I made my way downstairs to the eleventh floor where the spa services were located. I signed myself up for a nice massage and a mani-pedi, then sat in one of the plush chairs in the corner. A glass of cucumber-and-kiwi water was delivered to me, and I drew in a deep breath.

Oh, the memories this all brought back. During my mother's prime, she'd taught me the value of self-care. How a woman investing in herself was an investment in those around her. If a mother and a wife couldn't keep herself stress-free, she couldn't possibly help and support those around her, nor could she succeed in anything she set out to do in life. Self-care, she said, was the difference between men and women. Men grew fat and lethargic as they sat at their desks, neglecting themselves and their families for the sake of success. Real success, my mother said, was knowing how to find the balance between personal health and professional health.

I missed those talks with my mother.

"Miss Amber?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at the woman in front of me. "Yes?" I asked.

"Your pedicurist is ready for you. After that is your manicure, and then we'll finish you off with a wonderful hour-and-ahalf mass

e, complete with relaxing aromatherapies. Would you like to add any other services, such as a complimentary facial or a nice painted design on your toes or nails?"

"No, thank you," I said as I stood.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I settled my feet into the warm water. I pulled it from my pocket and recognized the number instantly. My mother's facility was calling. My heart sped in my chest as the bubbles around my feet kicked on, and I held the phone up to my ear with a trembling hand.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Amber. But we wanted to call you the second the mail run got finished up."

"Is something wrong with my mother?" I asked.

"It seems as if someone has sent her a less-than-pleasant letter."

"Define 'less than pleasant.'"

"It's a letter we needed to report to the police, ma'am."

I furrowed my brow as the technician got started on my feet. "Send me a picture of the letter, please. Immediately."

"I've already emailed you a picture of it, but I wanted to follow it up with a phone call. Because of who you are and who your mother is, we've upped the security around the facility until the note can be resolved. I wanted to keep you abreast once the police officers left with everyone's statements."

"And my mother's all right? She's safe?" I asked.

"Physically, yes. On any other charge, let me know after you read that letter," she said.

"Thank you. I'll take a look at it immediately."

I hung up the phone without saying goodbye, my heart pounding in my chest. I navigated to my email and tapped on the newest addition to my inbox, then clicked on the image that downloaded itself straight to my phone. I studied it closely, zooming in and taking in the details.

The cursive writing.

The formal speak.

The lightly browned paper and the signature at the end.

It was identical to a letter I'd received not long after my father had died. My mother and I had still been living in our penthouse apartment on the outskirts of the city. She hadn't quite spiraled as much as she eventually did, so I was doing everything in my power to keep her out of the limelight and rooted to reality.

By myself.

But when the nation caught wind of my father's passing and the circumstances that surrounded it, a note similar to the one that had been delivered to my mother came directly to our complex. Well, not directly to it. The postman delivered it and stuck it in our box at the front of the building.

But still, someone had been stalking us then, and we alerted the police to that fact. Alerted them to the threat on our lives the person boasted of in the letter. But with the controversy that publicly surrounded my family's name at the time the letter was delivered, the police couldn't have cared less.

They told us many more would probably show up just like it, and that we needed to get used to it.

I settled on the fact that the police didn't give a shit about our lives after what my father had done to theirs.

I was taking care of my mother alone at that point. She was spiraling into a depression I couldn't keep up with, and I did the best I could to keep her afloat. But that one threatening letter was enough to force me to change my identity and commit my mother to the private facility she was in now. I lived in fear every day that the person behind that letter would find us. I looked over my shoulder and slept light, trying to keep myself safe after reading some of the disgusting things that letter had in it.

And once again, the monster had found us.

Found my vulnerable mother.

My eyes scanned the note again as my hand began to tremble. Was this really happening? Had someone really been attempting to track us down? The facility's number one goal was the safety, security, and anonymity of their patients beyond what they were forced to provide. And because they were a privately run institution, the information they had to fork over wasn't much. Even though the woman reassured me my mother would be safe, I still found myself swirling with panic. Halfway around the world and I had no way to check in on her. No one to drop in on her. No way to keep track of what was happening with regard to her.

And the worst part of it was I had to pretend to be a happy-go-lucky fiancée at some idiotic business dinner full of billionaires in a little over four hours.

Sometimes, my job sucked.

SIMOUN'S POV

She looked like an angel dressed in her designer white gown. The second she came walking out of her room with her beautiful brown hair piled high on her head, I couldn't take my eyes off her. The silken fabric of her dress flowed around her body, hugging her in places that beckoned for the swell of my muscles. I wanted her so much, I was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to smudge part of myself onto her white gown and forever soil her. Her heels clicked against the marbled floors as she held her perfectly patterned clutch in her hand, and those crimson red lips of hers were quickly becoming somewhat of a trademark of hers.

"Ready?" I asked.

"After you, hon"

I had to mentally talk myself down off the ledge. As the two of us waited for the elevator to open in the penthouse, I had to physically jam my hands into my pockets to keep from tossing her against the wall and smudging that lipstick all over my cock. Ever since she'd stepped onto that plane, I'd been obsessed with her. The way she looked, the way she smiled, her scent, all of it, swirling around me in a salacious dance of want and lust.

Stepping into the elevator with her was pure and utter torture.

Standing so close to her with that light perfume of hers tainting her skin made me want to take a bite out of her curves.

She was a drug. And I was her willing host.

We made our way to the car in silence, and I forced myself to focus on the job at hand. I had to escort my "escort" to dinner. We had to put on a face. Play a game. Dance around one another and put on an act. None of it was real, and none of it came with any perks I needed to indulge. My focus had to be on one thing and one thing only: sealing the deal with Onel Satoh.

But my cock wanted to seal the deal with Amber.

I expected some sort of reaction out of her when we walked into the restaurant-some sort of awe that would rush over her face. I planted my hand onto the small of her back and felt her warmth penetrating the fabric of the dress. But instead of having to speak with her lowly about keeping her shock and awe to herself, Amber slipped into a role that left me wondering exactly who she was and where she had come from.

Because she didn't seem uneasy at all. In fact, she seemed more at ease with the scenario than I did.

"Mr. Cardenas! Welcome to my part of the world."

Onel got out of his chair and came at me with his arms outstretched. I slipped my hand away from Amber's back and clapped the man tightly. I didn't usually hug my prospective clients and partners, but for a traditionalist, Onel really enjoyed the intimate interaction. He always held me a little too long and breathed on me a little too heavily. But it was par for the course with him. Signing him on for a multimillion-dollar contract was worth whatever hoops I had to jump through in order to get him there.

But he really was a character.

"And this must be your lovely fiancée," he said.

"Amber soon-to-be Cardenass," she said with a smile. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Satoh."

"You have fine taste in fiancées," Onel said.

"And I have fine taste in men," she said.

"Shall we sit and get some food?" I asked.

"Allow me," Onel said.

He pulled out Amber's chair, and she sat with her back straight and her head held high. It was as if she was bred for this kind of role. I sat down beside her and slipped my arm around her chair, pulling her just the slightest bit toward me. Every little interaction between the two of us had to look genuine, from eye contact all the way down to constantly having her as close as I could get her. Which wouldn't be an issue.

I wanted her to close I could slip my body into hers.

Onel was a very old-world aristocrat whose ideals fancied someone out of the 1930s. He was happily stuck in the past despite his advisors insisting he diversify his accounts and take on modern-day investments. That was what I was attempting to get him to do: invest in my company, take a small slice for himself, and urge him into the twenty-first century while furthering my own financial gain. But dealing with someone like Onel meant playing a game of chess, not checkers. With his gray hair, rosy red cheeks, and very round stomach, he boasted of an arrogance that was shrouded in the niceties men bestowed upon people around them on a daily basis.

But Amber didn't flinch one ounce.

The three of us were not alone at dinner, despite what I imagined. Onel was surrounded by four of his friends, people he trusted more than anything else. And it felt as if I was sitting in front of a firing squad. I expected Onel's wife, possibly. But not people who looked eager to rake Amber and me over the coals.

"So, Amber. Where are you from?" one of them asked.

"Born and raised in Philippines," she said.

"How long have you and Simoun been together now?" another asked.

"About three years, give or take. Honestly? Some months seem much longer than others," she said.

A chuckle permeated across the table, but I became nervous.

I didn't think about a cover story between the two of us. I didn't think about the fact that people would question the Philippines couple on their life together. Shit. What kind of idiot was I?

Yet another reason why Amber was a poor choice in the long run. I wasn't thinking about the simplest of things.

"I don't care about any of that," Onel said. "I want to hear how the two of you met. Simoun? I always enjoy the man's perspective. It's always so different from the woman's."

Amber looked over at me with a kind stare, but I felt like I had swallowed my tongue. How did we meet? What the fuck was I supposed to say to that question?

"Well, it's sort of an intricate story," I said. "But the gist of it is I saw her and knew I had to have her. The moment I saw her, I knew she was the one for me. Even if she didn't know it at the time."

"See? That's a true man," Onel said. "Take note, everyone. Because a true man knows what he wants the second he sees it. I knew I saw something in you."

"I appreciate the compliment," I said.

"Where did you two meet?" one of his friends asked.

"We, uh... well. Initially?" I asked.

"Simoun, don't be so embarrassed," Amber said.

She slid her hand along my knee and squeezed before she took the reins of the conversation. And I was glad for it. Because I sure as hell wasn't adept to lying on the fly. In fact, I made it a paramount requirement to never lie to those I wanted to do business with.

Fuck. What had I gotten myself into?

"It's really nothing fancy," Amber said. "Contrary to what Simoun shows, he's really a romantic man. He wants to have that story where he saw me across the street before running up to me and taking me in his arms, but the truth is we met in a jewelry store."

"That sounds romantic," Onel said. "How is that not romantic?"

"The only reason he noticed me was because I tripped over my own two feet and went crashing against the display case," she said with a giggle.

"Oh my gosh, were you hurt?" one of his friends asked.

"Only my pride," Amber said. "I caught myself, but not before I knocked my elbow against the case. I was bleeding all over myself by the time Simoun got to me. Cleaned me right up in the middle of the jewelry store."

"A knight in shining armor is always a romantic story waiting to be told," Onel said.

"Trust me, it gets better," she said with a smile. "He took me out to his car because he said he had a first aid kit there. You know, Band-Aids and stuff. And before I knew it, I had a napkin pressed to my elbow and we were riding back to his place in order to find something to ease the pain."

"You sly dog, you," Onel said with a grin.

"He was an absolute gentleman," Amber said. "Despite the fun we might have had."

She tossed me a playful wink as another chuckle ricocheted among the crowd around us. I had been so entranced with her story that even I started to believe it had been true. Her kind smile settled me down a little bit and eased me into the evening, and I couldn't help but feel like she was coaching me instead of the other way around.

Who the hell was this woman?

"Well, despite the two of you meeting in a jewelry store, you are woefully lacking in jewels, Miss Amber."

"I don't see your engagement ring?" someone asked.

I felt myself tense again, and Amber squeezed my knee.

"I'm not comfortable traveling with a lot of my jewelry. Simoun took me to Hawaii a little over a year ago, and some of my jewelry was stolen in between the flight and the arrival to our private cabana. I've been wary about it ever since. I'm thinking about purchasing a small rose gold wedding band to wear on my finger whenever I do travel because I feel so naked without it."

"See, this is why I keep some of the royal jewelry that was passed to myself under lock and key," Onel said. "There are greedy people in this world that believe they are entitled to the possessions of others, and I can't stand it. The jewelry that was handed down to me has been in my family for ages, and the idea of someone taking it from me makes my heart rate shoot through the roof!"

He went on and on about some stupid rubies or whatever it was he had sitting in a vault somewhere, but my focus was no longer on him. It was on the woman next to me-the woman who had just saved my ass in the middle of the most important dinner of my career. She was charming, elegant, and completely in her element. And my hand fell to hers on my knee before wrapping around it. She looked over at me and smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling underneath the lighting of the decadent restaurant.

And for a split second, I wondered what life would be like if our engagement wasn't pretend.