She needs a fake fiancé. He’s secretly falling in love.
Cara Russo needs to get married. Or at least, make it look like she got married.
Toby Hunt can’t let his best friend’s little sister rush into anything foolish. So when she needs to hire an escort, he says he’ll take care of it.
Now he’s waiting for her at St. George Station.
This billionaire romcom modern fairy tale was originally published in the Love in Transit anthology. It has been expanded for single title publication.
The Billionaire Secrets series:
Personal Delivery – Jake and Jana
Personal Escort – Toby and Cara
Personal Disaster – Marcus and Poppy (currently available in the Rogue Desire anthology)
Personal Interest – Ben and Skye, coming soon.
The letter falls out of my hand and flutters to the floor as my fingers immediately slick with sweat.
Oh, no. No, no, no…
I spin around grab for my phone. Toby’s number is in my Fav List. I stab at his name, then press the phone to my ear. My hand is shaking, and that just gets worse when he doesn’t answer.
I huff out a breath and stare down at the letter. Might as well read the rest of it before totally freaking out.
Nope, too late.
I lean over and grab it.
I was so pleased to hear you have a change of heart about looking for love. So to that end, I’ve hired the services of a well-regarded Toronto matchmaker. Expect a phone call from them early next week to set up an appointment. You’ll need to attend a number of meetings as they pay extraordinary attention to detail so as to find you just the right man.
The right man isn’t answering his phone. Also, he’s off-limits. And way older than me. And Ben’s best friend. And he lives in California…
My heart pounds in my chest. No, Toby isn’t the right man. Not for me.
But that mouth…
Well, yeah, anyone who’d been kissed like that would think they might like another taste. That’s normal.
My phone rings, surprising me. I squeak and jump and die a little inside as I flop to the floor. Toby’s name is flashing on the screen.
“Hi,” I say as I answer it.
“What’s wrong?” Oh God, he’s all sleepy. His voice is warm and rough and sounds like sex.
Did I interrupt sex?
Did he call me back after I interrupted sex?
Except the sleepy… That doesn’t make any sense. “Where are you?”
“Tokyo,” he mumbles. “It’s almost five in the morning.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Itsokay,” His words slur together before he takes a long, slow inhale, then grunts. “I’m up. I’d have to get up in half an hour anyway, I have a breakfast meeting with Sony people.”
He laughs and I picture him stretching. What does he sleep in when he’s traveling the world? Pajama pants that hang low on his hips? Boxer briefs? Nothing?
I suddenly want more of that picture.