Stefanie London - Faking It / Forbidden Sins

“We’re newlyweds who’ve gotten distracted by a kiss and now we’re heading back home to finish what we started.” I grin and step forward, causing her to back up. “Do you have a problem with that, darling wife?”

She rolls her eyes and turns, heading back across the garden. In a few strides, I catch up to her and sling an arm around her shoulders. I’m surprised to find a smirk on her lips. “I think if anyone thoroughly enjoyed that kiss, it was you , by the way,” she says.

Our footsteps fall in time. “What powers of deduction did you use to figure that out?”

“You’re going to make me say it?” She shakes her head. There’s more light overhead now as we approach the barbeque area and her ears are definitely pink. “It was pretty bloody obvious.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but we’re interrupted by a group spilling out of the building and into the shared barbeque area. There are three men dressed in casual attire, laughing and carrying food. Two of the men look to be brothers and all appear to be in their early thirties.

“You’re new.” One of the brothers points a pair of tongs in our direction. The others wave and set themselves up around the barbeque. “Level six, right?”

“Word travels fast.” I stick my hand out. “Owen. This is my wife, Hannah.”

The W-word rolls off my tongue far too easily and it stirs something uncomfortable in my gut.

“Dom.” The guy is built like a bear and has a grip to match. “That’s my brother, Rowan, and our mate Matt.”

“We moved in today,” Hannah says, her smile a little too wide. I reach for her hand and squeeze—hoping it looks more loving and less like the warning it is. Rule number one of being undercover, never offer more information than you need to. “This morning, actually. We’ve been unpacking all day.”

She’s nervous. Hannah is like a fountain when she’s nervous, which normally I am all about. But now is not the time for verbal diarrhea. I squeeze her hand again.

“It’s a great building.” Dom nods. “Ro and I moved in about two years ago.”

If it’s true, it doesn’t really seem to fit the timeline, since the activity only started up within the last six months…but that’s a big if. Could be part of their cover story. I’ll get my hands on the building management documents and corroborate that information.

My eyes drift to the two men firing up the barbeque. They’re laughing and joking. Matt is dressed in all black and he could very well have been the shadowy figure who interrupted us in the garden.

“How did you all meet?” I ask.

“Matt went to high school with us. He’s a chef.”

Rowan looks up from the barbeque and grins. He has a cavalier air about him, like he’s a bit of a joker. “You wouldn’t know it with the way he butchered this meat. Looks like it was done with a hacksaw.”

“I can’t work magic with shitty tools,” Matt grumbles. Unlike Rowan and Dom, he’s fair-haired and has sharp grey eyes.

“What do you do?” Hannah asks, looking up at Dom.

“Ro and I run the family business, an art gallery.”

I have to actively conceal my surprise. Dom looks more like a bricklayer than the owner of a gallery—though admittedly, I know as much about art as I do about bricklaying. Zip.

“I run all the events,” Rowan says, wandering over and handing his brother a beer. “Deal with the temperamental artists and mingle with the buyers.”

In other words, he’s a professional party boy. Could be a good cover, getting to mix and mingle with all the big players in Melbourne and making connections. Maybe he scopes out the targets.

“And I make sure my brother doesn’t blow all our profit on champagne and canapés.” Dom grins. “You should come and visit us sometime. I’m sure we have something perfect for your new apartment.”

“That would be lovely.” Hannah brings her hand to her chest, so the stones on her engagement ring wink in the light. The gesture is subtle—authentic—which is why it’s perfect. I watch Rowan and Dom carefully, noting the way their eyes drift down to Hannah’s hand. “We were saying today that we’d like something special for the bedroom. Our old pieces don’t feel quite right anymore.”

That’s my girl. She’s finding her feet in the role now, which I know to be far from her real “true blue Aussie” life. I’ve met her family—her dad was a sergeant before he retired. Nice bloke. For some reason, watching Hannah in action brings back the surge of attraction I’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps. What can I say? Capability gets me hot.

“Isn’t that right, Owen?” She looks up at me with those luminous brown eyes and I wonder how in the fuck I am going to get to sleep tonight.

“Yes, dear.” I say it with just enough of a patronising tone that I get a chuckle from Rowan. It makes me feel like a class-A dick, but it’s part of the act. Still, I can practically hear my grandmother scolding me. “Whatever you’d like.”

“We’ve got an opening for a new artist later this week. Why don’t you join us?” Rowan looks back to where Matt is throwing the steaks onto the grill. The sound of searing meat hisses into the night air. “I’ll put an invite into your mailbox.”

“We’re number six-oh-one,” Hannah clarifies, looping her arm through mine. “It’s nice to meet you. Enjoy your barbeque.”

The men turn their attention to their dinner and Hannah leads me inside the building.

“What do you think?” she asks as we’re in the elevator.

“Not much to go on, but the gallery thing is unexpected. They don’t seem the type.”

“Agreed.” She bobs her head. “And I know what I’m doing, okay? You don’t have to freak out every time I open my mouth.”

“You seemed a little nervous.”

“I wasn’t.”

I would call bullshit, but I cut her some slack. Hannah’s nerves only ever come from wanting to do a good job. This position means everything to her. She told me week one of our academy training that she was going to make detective by thirty-five and she’s a couple years ahead of schedule.

It’s a tough job and competitive to even get the opportunity. She’s probably thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

“If I seemed nervous it was more likely revulsion,” she adds. But her clipped tone is all bark and no bite. “From kissing you, I mean.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Anderson,” I reply. “So long as you look the part when we have an audience, that’s all that matters.”

The way she kissed me is playing on my mind, however. It wasn’t the kind of kiss I expected, and she could easily have kept it low-key. Faked it.

But that wasn’t faking it, for either one of us.

I’ll have to do my best to ignore the burning chemistry and hope she’ll do the same. Because I have a feeling if Hannah asked me to fuck her senseless tonight, I’d have a really hard time remembering why it’s a bad idea.

Hannah

DAY TWO OF my fake marriage and I’m already questioning why I didn’t put up more of a fight when Max suggested bringing Owen back for this operation. I should have nipped it in the bud. But oh no, I had to go and think the golden boy’s shine might have worn off with absence. Mistake number one.

Mistake number two was not pushing the brother-and-sister undercover plan harder. But like any good public servant, I fell into line.

Mistake number three was kissing him. Well, kissing is kind of a soft description. I basically dry humped him against the fence.

Cringing, I shake my head. Last night I acted out of line—unprofessional. Owen made it clear years ago that he wasn’t interested and yet I threw myself at him the first chance I got. Pathetic. He’s probably having a good laugh about it.