His Holiday Girlfriend: Fake Love, Real Christmas
When Emma Walsh catches her boyfriend cheating just days before their holiday getaway, she's left heartbroken, homeless and jobless. Stranded in New York City with nothing but her luggage, she wanders into a bar where one reckless night with a brooding stranger changes everything. Liam O'Connor, an emotionally guarded man who is a brilliant lawyer and a single father, had promised his mother that he would return with his girlfriend. With Christmas fast approaching, he needs a fake girlfriend to survive the holidays back home. And Emma needs a fresh start with a little revenge. The deal is simple: fake smiles, pretend love with no real feelings. But when Emma meets his adorable daughter, bonds with his mother, who is warm-hearted, and starts to notice the cracks in Liam's cold exterior, the difference between real and fake starts to blur. Especially when his ex returns and secrets from the past threaten to uncover everything.
Can two broken hearts find something good under the mistletoe?
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
NOT THE CHRISTMAS I PLANNED
Emma's POV
The drive to the stranger's house was in a blur. We'd had a few more drinks, and I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I'd found myself giggling and laughing like a teenager who was having a fun time with her crush.
In his car, my fingers trailed his body and stopped when I reached his groin.
"Uhhh," I moaned as I felt his huge bulge beneath his trousers. Biting my lower lip, I squeezed it while staring into his eyes.
I saw his eyes close for a beat, and a groan escaped his mouth. Taking it as my cue, I pulled down his zip, freeing his huge c**k. My eyes widened at his size. He was at least twice Declan's size.
I started by stroking his huge shaft, squeezing it intermittently. My heart raced as his c**k grew in size as I stroked it. Then I felt his right hand roam my thigh to my chest, grabbing my breast in a squeeze.
A moan escaped my lips, and my grip on his c**k tightened, and I stroked him faster. He pulled my head down on him, he filled my mouth, and I gagged.
"Fuck," I heard him mutter as I sucked him.
When we arrived at his house, he carried me up the staircase, and my back crashed on a soft mattress. It only took a matter of seconds for my clothes to leave my body. And his eyes, hands and mouth ravaged my body.
I woke up to silence with no unfamiliar man sprawled next to me or pulling me back under the covers. The bed still smelled like him, and his woodsy cologne filled the room.
My thighs ached, my nipples felt like they'd been worshipped all night. I felt my entire muscle scream with pain like I'd done five marathons on my back. I winced, covering my face with my hand as last night's memories returned.
The way his wet tongue had teased my skin. How I'd screamed multiple times with pure ecstasy and how my legs had trembled when I'd climaxed.
God, how many did we...?
I blinked at the ceiling, remembering the sinful way he'd kissed me like he wanted to ruin me, which he did exactly that. I'd climbed him like I was auditioning for the best horse rider of the year.
Every corner in the room had been a perfect place for different positions. I had even given him a drunken blow job in the car and several other times.
A corner of his bed was wet, I'd squirted multiple times. Oh goodness me! I made a total mess of his room.
Shaking my head, I dragged the covers over me and sat up. I quickly spotted my bra on the lamp, and my dress was thrown in a corner of his room. It took me a minute to find my underwear.
Slipping into last night's clothes, I padded barefoot into the hallway. The place was surprisingly nice. I hadn't noticed it when we entered last night.
The faint sound of a voice pulled me toward the kitchen. I pushed at the door and peeked in. I froze.
There he was, shirtless, standing in navy joggers and holding a mug in one hand and his phone in the other. His back was to me. He had broad shoulders and tanned skin with a faint scratch mark under his shoulder.
I felt my cheeks heat up; the mark had probably been created by me.
"I know I said I'd bring someone, but obviously that's not happening. I don't have a girlfriend." He said into the phone and paused.
"Yeah, Patrick, I know how my mom is. She'll give me hell, but I can't just pull a girl out of nowhere."
'Maybe he's talking to his friend,' I reasoned, but stayed still.
"I'm not skipping Christmas. I already promised her."
I stood frozen, my heart beating faster. 'So... he needs a girlfriend? Interesting.'
He turned just as he hung up the call, and his eyes locked with mine.
"Oh " He set the phone down. "You're awake."
Holy hell, he's still shirtless. My brain blanked again. I tried not to look at his abs. But I failed.
I knew this man had been inside me. Five different positions last night, but now that I was sober and facing him in the morning light?
He was stupid hot. His light brown hair was in a messy bedhead style, a sharp jaw, a chest with little hair and toned abs that belonged to someone who worked with his hands.
"You okay?" He asked, breaking the silence.
"Mo... morning," I stuttered and stepped inside.
He walked over to the counter and poured coffee into another mug. "You want some?"
"Desperately." I nodded.
He handed me the mug, and as I took it, our fingers brushed. I stared at him for a moment and a ridiculous idea formed in my head. The crazy, reckless, very me kind of idea.
"So," I said slowly, leaning on the doorframe. "I didn't quite catch your name last night."
His brows rose. I quickly raised a finger. "In my defence, when you told me I was a little... preoccupied with you."
He chuckled, that same low, rumbling sound that had my toes curl last night. "Liam. Liam O'Connor."
"Emma Walsh," I said, giving a little mock curtsy. "Nice to meet you... again."
"I heard your call," I said in a low tone.
I noticed his muscles tense, but he relaxed immediately. "Right."
"You need a girlfriend. And I need a distraction."
"You want to be my fake girlfriend?" He asked, raising a brow.
I nodded before speaking. "Your family wants someone. I'm someone."
I paused, taking a sip of the coffee, letting it warm my throat. "You take me with you for Christmas. We pretend to be madly in love. Everyone's happy."
"You barely know me." He countered.
I shrugged. "You were inside me almost throughout the night. Feels like a fast track introduction."
He choked on his own sip, laughing. "Jesus."
"Come on," I said, leaning on the counter. "I need to get the hell out of London. I have nowhere to go, and I'd rather not spend my Christmas crying over a man who used my savings to screw someone else. Plus... you already promised your mom."
Liam stared at me, his grey eyes piercing into me. "You're serious."
"Completely."
He crossed his arms, staring thoughtfully at me. "You do know this would involve lying to my whole family throughout the year?"
"Yup."
"And staying in the same house as me."
"Worked out fine last night," I said with a cheeky smile.
"You're insane," he said, rubbing a hand on his face.
"I've been told so before," I said, rolling my eyes. "Is that a yes?"
A beat passed. "Alright. Let's do it."
You may also like
7.8
After eight years in a cold marriage, I watched my husband, Damian, run past me during a raging fire. He ignored my screams, his only focus on saving another woman.
That night, he coldly admitted he never loved me. Our entire marriage was just a business deal he was forced into.
But his betrayal didn't end there. His mistress, Aida, framed my innocent younger brother for a crime he didn't commit. Damian believed her lies without question.
He stood by as she had my brother murdered in his hospital bed. He even forced me to crawl over broken glass to apologize for "upsetting" her.
The final blow came when he threatened me with my mother' s heirloom box, not knowing it held my brother' s ashes. He had taken everything from me-my love, my family, my dignity.
He thought he had broken me. But he only forged me into a weapon.
Now, I'm back. And as the new majority shareholder of his company, I'm here to make him pay for every last sin.
9.7
My Chanel suit was ruined, stained with road dirt and torn at the sleeve, while the hospital bodyguards stood like stone walls to keep me away from my husband’s room.
Inside that room, Ashely Berger was being treated for "multiple fractures" after allegedly lunging into the path of my car—a car I know she threw herself into on purpose.
The press swarmed me, flashing cameras in my face and hurling accusations of attempted murder, while my husband, Corbin, marched past me without a single glance, his eyes filled with nothing but cold, lethal disgust.
He didn't ask if I was hurt; he didn't care about the truth. He only cared about the woman behind the door, whispering gentle promises to her while treating me like a piece of filth that had somehow contaminated his life.
I stood there, hollowed out, as he demanded a divorce and threatened to strip me of everything, branding me a monster in front of the entire world to protect his precious reputation and his mistress.
The injustice burned, but as he turned his back on me to comfort her, I realized the game had changed. I wasn't going to let him ruin me for a crime I didn't commit, and I certainly wouldn't let her steal my life without a fight.
I walked into the room, locked the door, and looked at the woman playing the victim. She wanted to play the role of the tragic, broken angel? Fine. I was ready to show her exactly how a real Mcgowan fights back.
7.2
I didn't hear it from my mother or from family... I saw it online, just like everyone else. A headline, a picture, a ring on her finger. And the man standing beside her? Philip Davenport. Billionaire. CEO. Untouchable. The kind of man who takes what he wants and keeps it. Including my mother.
I was supposed to hate him-the man who replaced my father, the man I swore I'd destroy. So I made a plan: get close, get under his skin, make him want me... then watch everything fall apart. It was simple.
Until he looked at me like I was the only woman in the room. Until his touch lingered longer than it should. Until every glance, every word, every moment started to feel like something I couldn't control.
Now I'm caught in a dangerous game of desire and deception, where the lines I drew are slowly disappearing. The closer I get to him, the harder it is to remember why I started. My mother trusts me, my boyfriend loves me, and the man I was supposed to ruin is becoming the one I can't resist, and every step I take only pulls me deeper into something I was never meant to feel.
I wanted revenge. What I got instead was something far more dangerous. And now? I might lose everything. Because falling for my mom's fiancé was never the plan. And if I'm not careful, I won't just lose the game... I'll lose myself.
8.9
Three years after I buried an empty casket for my husband, I found him alive in a grocery store parking lot.
He was rubbing a stranger's pregnant belly, smiling a soft smile I had never seen in our years of marriage.
My husband, the ruthless Don of Chicago, had become "Arthur," a gentle man with no memory of the empire he ruled or the wife he left behind.
To protect his happiness, I swallowed my agony and lied.
"I am his cousin," I told his pregnant fiancée, Mia.
I brought them home to his estate, enduring the torture of watching him give her the tenderness that used to belong to me.
But my mercy was rewarded with cruelty.
Dante looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes and slapped divorce papers onto the table.
"Sign them," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want to marry Mia before the baby comes. I want a fresh start."
He didn't know I was dying of a heart defect caused by the stress of grieving him.
He didn't know I stalled for two weeks not for money, but because I wanted to be buried with his name.
I died the morning the deadline arrived, taking the secret of my love to the grave.
Ironically, that very night, a bullet grazed his temple during an ambush, unlocking the memories he had lost.
He remembered the peach orchard. He remembered our blood oath. He remembered that I was his soulmate.
He ran to my brother’s gates, screaming my name, blood pouring down his face, desperate to beg for forgiveness.
But my brother just stood there, blocking the entrance to the cemetery with a cruel smile.
"She waited for you every single day," he spat.
"And you killed her."
8.0
For five years, my husband kept me in a dog cage because he believed I murdered his fiancée, my stepsister Kinsley.
He stripped me of my dignity, my name, and my humanity, all to avenge a woman who wasn't even dead.
When Kinsley finally returned, alive and smiling, I thought my nightmare was over.
Instead, she framed me again.
Right in front of Courtland, she pushed my little brother down the stone steps of the estate.
I held my brother's broken body in the rain, screaming for help.
But Courtland just stood there, shielding Kinsley under his umbrella, looking at me with cold indifference.
He chose the monster over his wife.
That night, I realized love wasn't enough to save me.
So, I stood on the edge of the hospital roof and let gravity take me.
I wanted him to mourn. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to burn.
Three years later, at a gala in New York, the Ice King dropped his champagne glass.
He stared at me—the woman in the red dress, the fiancée of his rival.
I looked him dead in the eye and smiled like a stranger.
He cornered me later, his voice trembling with rage and obsession.
"Death is the only divorce in my world, Anastasia. And you are still very much alive."
8.6
A forbidden mark. A fallen prince. A destiny that could burn kingdoms.
Avalora spent her life hiding the strange mark on her wrist. But the night it starts to glow, every magical creature begins hunting her.
Saved by the mysterious Fallen Prince, she is dragged into a world of shadows, prophecies, and deadly secrets. She hates him... until she discovers that her fate is tied to his, and her touch might be the only thing keeping him alive.
But loving him could destroy the world.
Or save it!