Read Online Books/Novels:

Pretend You’re Mine

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Natasha Black

Book Information:

I can’t believe I’m that girl.

I woke up next to a complete stranger.

To top that, hes my new husband.

He’s a red-hot divorce lawyer with an ice-cold command.

Just pretend it’s real he says.

He needs a fake wife for the holidays to get his family off his back.

Maybe I can take this lemon and make lemonade..

Maybe the hot lawyer can do a trade and be my fake boyfriend in front of my parents.

Just for a few weeks.

Except we have wine with dinner. He feeds me dessert. Kisses me all the way to the bed…

All at once, it doesn’t feel like pretend anymore.

Books by Author:

Natasha Black Books



I’ve had my fair share of nice dreams, but this one took the cake. Maybe it was my subconscious mind’s version of an early Christmas present?

Through my squinted eyes and throbbing headache, I could still make out that the sleeping guy in bed next to me was hot with a capital H. He had the chiseled facial planes of a Greek God, and the six-pack torso to match. Despite his eyes being closed, for some reason I knew they were the type of electric blue that made you stare, while his black hair was cut short and I had to stop myself from running my hand along the curve of his head.

In this dream, despite everything, I somehow knew I could trust this man.

Until, he opened his eyes and spoke. “Morning wife.”

Uh – what now? There was no way I’d heard him correctly. Not one way. Wife? What the actual fuck?

The eyes that were watching me were the blue I’d somehow known they would be.

It was only once my feet landed on the cool wood panels of his floor that it occurred to me that this was no dream.

His gaze was no longer on my face, but lower down where… oh shit.

Yep, there was my birthmark. The small mark right between my breasts that I only saw when I was naked.

I dove for the shirt on the floor that looked to be mine. Throwing it over me, I glared at him. “Who the hell are you?”

His brows raised. “You don’t remember last night at all?”

I paused. Last night was a blur that I’d lost the thread of somewhere around my sixth drink. And this guy…

I studied him. This guy with the blue eyes so sharp they stunned you and the obnoxiously still-bemused smile, I remembered him slightly. Or, I remembered that I had met him last night, at least.

“Babylon,” I said. “I met you at Babylon.”

“Yes.” The man rose, clearly unbothered that he was as naked as I had been. His confidence was borne of good reason too, as his painfully sculpted torso was no dream, and an equally impressive part of him looked happy to see me.

“Xander,” he said. It was then I noticed his hand was extended.

I ripped my gaze away from his rock-hard erection. “Nice to, uh, see you again, I guess. I have to go now though.”

I quickly hopped into my jeans and grabbed my shoes while I hauled ass toward the exit.

“You can’t just leave. We’re married,” he said once I was halfway to the door.

I froze, glanced at him, then away. “You’re crazy.”

“We both were. Last night. If you’d just give me a minute to explain.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think on some drunken night, I’d actually…”

“Look at your left hand,” he interrupted.

I did as told and that’s when I started shaking. There it was.

Clearly cheap and fake like those lame rings you find in drugstores, there it was, on my ring finger no less.

“What the fuck?” I yelled.

His smile was amused and I tried to rip the thing off and chuck it at him.

“Too bad,” he said. “I did warn you last night that it was too small, but you were determined.”

That was it. Grabbing my purse by the door , I got the hell out of there. Whatever he called after me went thankfully unheard. This was pure craziness. Screw the insane hot guy and screw his stupid ring. No way had I actually married him; drunk or not.

I sped-walked all the way out into the lobby, past a chic collection of armchairs all facing my way as if they were judgmental spectators. I marched outside where the birds seemed to be chattering ecstatically for the sole purpose of worsening my migraine.

Under the gleeful glare of the sun, I rushed down the sidewalk. Right then, I just had to get to some private place so I could freak out or scream my lungs out.

My head roved every which way like a tourist on uppers, but all I could see was that I was exiting the nicest apartment I’d probably ever been in in my twenty-six years on this planet. And that, as befitted the Nicest Apartment Ever, it was surrounded by greenery, sweeping hills, verdant forests, and gay flower beds that probably got more attention than my dating life had.

At least until last night. Was that what had caused this big mess – my stifled sex drive letting loose? My sneaker stumbled on a slightly raised sidewalk stone and I flushed in embarrassment at myself as I composed my posture.

I had promised myself that after Eric I’d be careful. I would not settle down, until I knew, until I was 1000% certain, that whoever I was with was a good guy. Not a good-for-now guy or a good-time guy or even the more tempting good-enough guy. But a genuinely good guy, who would be good to me and bring out the best in me.