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Single Dad’s Hostage: A Fake Marriage Romance
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Getting kidnapped isn’t so bad.
Dean Sharp is a breathtakingly gorgeous, arrogant, and an asshole. At least that’s my first impression when he knocks out my abusive boyfriend.
When we get home, I know my boyfriend’s going to make me pay for what Dean did.
But Dean Sharp isn’t done meddling in my life. Not even close.
He grabs me from outside my motel, throws me in his car, and says I’m his hostage. He doesn’t want money, though. What he does want is the last thing I would’ve ever expected.
He wants me to pretend to be his fiancee so his daughter and brothers don’t suspect anything. And he says he won’t let me go until he’s sure I’ll never go back to my abusive boyfriend.
The thought of crossing my boyfriend terrifies me, and I’ve spent the last two years trying not to even think of what he’d do if I left. He owns me.
At least he did until Dean Sharp stepped into my world. He saved me from my abusive relationship, and now he wants to give me something even bigger: an enormous diamond ring. How can a girl say no to that?
**This is a full-length, standalone fake marriage romance. No cheating or cliffhangers, and as always, Happily Ever After guaranteed. Bonus content included!
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I throw back the bourbon, not even feeling the burn. Jerry’s bar always plays the music too loud, and tonight it’s only intensifying the pounding headache I have. I know Jen is at home with my idiot brothers, so I shouldn’t stick around much longer, but right now I’m not in the state of mind to be around my daughter. She doesn’t need to see me when my mood is this black.
Fifteen fucking years building my company and I walked away.
It had to be done, but I lost a piece of myself when I gave it up. All the time and energy I put into my company and I just handed it over to Peterson–here you go, bud, go easy on her, she’s worth a few billion.
I shake my head, draining the last of my bourbon.
I’m not feeling sorry for myself though. No, it’s not self-pity or sorrow that brought me here. At least, not because my company is gone. I’m just pissed at myself for taking so long to see what was right in front of me, what I should’ve seen from the start. Hell, I should’ve probably left the day my little sister, Jessica, died. Maybe I kept at it to distract myself from the pain. Maybe. Fuck if I know.
“Another, Mr. Sharp?” asks Jerry. He wears a white towel over his shoulder and motions the bottle of bourbon toward my glass.
Jerry’s is a local place and aside from an occasional brawl or sporting event, it’s a relatively tame spot. Tame and normal. At a place like this, I can forget about the billions of dollars to my name and the life that comes with it. When I come here I can slow down. I can fucking breathe. I can imagine a life where there are still challenges and things out of my reach. I spent my whole life overcoming every last thing that stood between me and the top, and at some point there were no more obstacles. I had everything a man could strive for–more money than God, a company that could practically run itself, a beautiful daughter, and an empty bed.
I shake my head, turning toward the sound of raised voices to my left.
“Let me go,” demands a woman with dazzling hair like pure gold. Every strand catches the dim light and casts it off in an almost metallic shimmer. The light in the bar is low, but she’s a head turner–no, a fucking neck breaker. She has a long dancer’s neck and the dress she wears hugs her full ass and the swell of her tits like a glove. When she yanks her arm away from the guy trying to grab her arm, I get a glimpse of her face. High cheekbones. Long, dark eyelashes and a man could get lost in those large eyes full of fire and… something else. Her full lips quiver and she rounds on him. “I said let go,” she snaps.
I’m standing between them before I realize I’ve decided to act, muscles tensed and arm outstretched toward the man. He’s shorter than me, but has enough muscle to stretch the flannel button down he wears. He looks like the kind of guy you might see hauling bricks or riding a motorcycle–hard eyes, a small, cruel mouth, and short black hair.
A small crowd of half-drunken onlookers is forming, but no one else seems to be willing to step in and protect this woman.
The guy she’s with shoves my chest, but I plant my feet firmly, refusing to budge. “Fuck off,” I say. “She asked you to let her go.”
I’m still between the two of them, and his attention is focused straight through me, laser hot on the woman with the golden hair. Protective instincts explode inside me with frightening power, making me wonder how far I’ll go to protect this woman. Too far.
“Don’t,” she says, gripping my shoulder from where she stands behind me. “He’s–”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he growls, trying to reach past me for her.
I’ve never been much for hesitation or thoughtful deliberation. And I don’t hesitate now. Not for a second.
I throw a wicked hook that snaps his head to the side like a kid’s toy. He staggers back, reaching to touch his jaw and aiming a look of pure, dripping hatred at me.
The knuckles on my right hand pulse with the memory of impact. I’ll be happy to make more memories with this asshole, too, if he hasn’t learned his lesson.
He wipes a trickle of blood from his mouth and sniffs. “That was a mistake,” he says, rushing forward. The woman still shields herself behind me, so I decide to end this quickly before she can get hurt.
I step into his charge, taking his momentum and laying him out on his back hard enough to make the glasses on nearby tables clatter. He gasps, sucking in strained breaths.