Author: Christine Bell

She stared at him, nonplussed. “What do you mean? All that stuff I named is for me. I like Abby. And I like baking, too. Some of the people at the home have no one, Owen. I might be their only visitor all month.”

God, this woman was a sweet soul, always giving. Reminded him of his sister. “But is there anything you do for yourself? Something self-indulgent, silly even, that you do for the sheer joy of doing it?”

She cocked her head and seemed to mull that over. For a long while, she didn’t speak. “I guess I enjoy singing. Yoga. And dancing.”

“There you go. What do you like to sing?”

“Oldies, mostly. I love cheesy fifties music. Melba and I did a mean duet of ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ the other night when we were making dinner.”

“And dancing? Have you had lessons?”

She nodded once then looked away. “My, uh, mom used to teach ballroom dance. When I was little she’d take me to the studio with her. We’d go early and she’d twirl me around and around until I got dizzy, and—” She cleared her throat. “Well, anyway, that was a long time ago. Now I shake my booty when I get the chance, but that’s about it.” Her voice sounded so small, almost hollow, and it made his gut ache. He could’ve kicked himself for bringing it up. Elspeth returned with their drinks, saving him from having to respond, for which he was grateful.

After she’d gone, he held up his scotch. “Sláinte.”

She clinked her snifter to his glass and mimicked the traditional Irish toast, nailing the pronunciation. Then, she pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger and knocked it back in one swallow.

“Oh, that’s a sipper I think,” he said too late.

She choked and coughed, tears pooling in her eyes. The watchful attendant scurried over with a bottle of water, which Lindy took with a thumbs-up of thanks. She gulped a quarter of it down before wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her four-hundred dollar jacket. “Smooth,” she rasped with a shaky smile.

“Glad to hear it.” He returned her smile with one of his own. More and more, he found himself wanting to do that around her. The fasten seatbelt sign blinked off and he took a quick swallow of his drink then stood. “You okay alone for a minute? I’m going to speak to the pilot and then get you some food.”

“Sure thing.”

Once he’d gotten an ETA and secured some snacks, he headed back to his seat to find the overhead lights on bright. Lindy was leafing through one of the men’s magazines he kept in stock and looked up when he approached. “They sell vibrators,” she said in a stage whisper. “What would a guy need a vibrator for?” Her eyes were bleary and her body weaved, leaning his way.

One drink and Lindy was well and truly inebriated, fluthered. He bit back a grin and plucked the magazine from her limp fingers, giving it a glance. “No, love. That’s not a vibrator. That’s a neck massager.” But damn if her assumption didn’t give him ideas. She gazed up at him, all sleepy and soft looking, and the urge to kiss her gripped him like a boa constrictor.

No. That wouldn’t do at all. They had a task to complete. Even if they didn’t, there was a kind of woman a man could have a laugh with and move along. Lindy wasn’t that kind of woman.

He sat down and put on his seatbelt. Before he’d even settled in, Lindy’s head was tucked against his shoulder, her soft snores tickling his chin.

Yes, for some man—one far less jaded than him—Lindy was a keeper.

Chapter Four

Six hours later, Lindy stared out the car window and swallowed hard, trying to work up some saliva. Awesome how, in her drunken slumber, she managed to leave a giant puddle of drool on Owen’s jacket, but now her mouth was dry as a bone.

“Feel all right?” Owen asked, sparing her a quick glance before training his gaze back on the road.

“Not so much. A little woozy and super thirsty. Could I seriously have a hangover from one drink?”

“It was a big one, and straight alcohol. Not much of a drinker, I imagine?”

“No. I mean, I enjoy a wine cooler as much as the next guy, but the hard stuff? No.” His lips twitched and she stared at him suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing at all. You’ll be able to quench your thirst soon. That’s the resort in the distance.”

She followed his finger and sighed. While she was whining, she’d been missing out on the spectacular view. The mountain was glorious. Twin peaks against the purple morning sky. Nestled at the bottom was a sprawling split-log chateau trimmed out in thick, white snow so pristine, it looked like icing on a wedding cake.

She let out a long, low whistle. “Nice.”

Owen’s face hardened, and he nodded. “My sister’s money was well spent. That reminds me. In my briefcase in the back seat, there’s a wide, flat box. Grab it, would you?”

She turned in her seat and did as he asked, then set it on the console between them.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing with a jerk of his chin. “Open it.”

She laid the large, leather box in her lap and tugged the lid off. A royal blue swatch of velvet covered the contents, and she pushed it aside. Jewels, like something out of a pirate’s chest, twinkled up at her. Glorious emeralds, rich, blue sapphires, fiery opals. And the diamonds…dear God, the diamonds. If anyone had said she was the type of woman to lose her breath over gemstones, she would’ve rolled her eyes. Yet here she was, positively gobsmacked.

“Holy crap,” she whispered, reaching out a finger before jerking it back with a shake of her head. “I’m scared to touch them. I feel like Daffy Duck in ‘Ali Baba Bunny,’ or Golem from Lord of the Rings. What if they make me crazy and I’m all ‘My preciousss’ afterwards?”

“Better get over that, quick, because you’re going to be wearing them.” He raised his brows at her squeal of terror. “You’re the wife of an affluent businessman. You’ve got to look the part.”

Of course he was right. She reached out again with a tentative finger and poked at a diamond tennis bracelet.

“Good choice. That’s the one I was thinking for everyday wear. Classic, understated elegance.”

“Everyday wear? Understated? This has got to be, what, fifteen carats of diamonds here, Owen? Tell me these aren’t your family jewels.”

He shot her lazy smile. “If you had your hands on my family jewels you’d know it, love.”

She didn’t doubt that for a second but refused to allow herself to think on it for long. “You didn’t buy all this stuff, did you?”

“It’s on loan from a jeweler friend.”

Gripping his shoulder, she gave him an urgent shake. “On loan? Good grief, what if I lose something?”

He shrugged, and she tried to ignore how the muscles bunched beneath her hand. “Then it will be a purchase. It’s truly not an issue, Lindy.”

She let out a deep sigh and released him. “Okay, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Why didn’t you insure it?”

“I find the process tedious, so I only insure items I can’t afford to replace. Wait,” he said, taking a hand off the wheel to reach into his breast pocket. “I almost forgot this.” He handed her a small, square box.

Wedding rings. Had to be.

She opened it, and her emotions ran riot. The engagement ring was a princess-cut hunk of diamond surrounded by dozens of smaller stones set in platinum, while the wedding band was a row of channel-set stones in a matching setting.

“Put them on before we park so no one sees.”

She plucked them from the tray and slid them onto her finger. Perfect fit and truly stunning, but they left her cold. They had no character. No life to them. Which was apropos, since this whole thing was a sham anyway. Tears stung the back of her eyelids. Was she seriously sad because the fake husband she met last week didn’t realize she had her heart set on a vintage ring that conjured images of snowflakes instead of icicles? What a sap.

She blinked back the irrational tears and smiled. “Wow, very nice. I can skip the gym this week, I guess, huh? I’ll get all the exercise I need lugging this bad boy around.” She shot a glance at Owen’s hand. “Where’s yours?”

“I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think it important. A lot of men don’t wear wedding rings.”

“My dad did.” She knew she was being foolish, but suddenly it seemed crucial that he was as committed to their fake marriage as she was.

“So did mine, and it meant less than nothing to him.”

The clipped response oozed with bitterness. She winced. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not in the least.”

“Alrighty, then. This is your rodeo, boss. You don’t want to wear a ring, don’t. But if some floozies decide that’s an invitation, don’t blame me when I have to set them straight. Your love affairs are your business, but I won’t be humiliated in public.”

“My love affairs?” His lip curled into a half-smirk. “While the thought of you fighting over me is oddly intriguing, I’m certain I can mind my manners and curtail my ‘love affairs’ for a few weeks. If you recall, I fell victim to those tiny fists before. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“I wasn’t that mad. You should see me when I’m mad. You wouldn’t be laughing.”

The lopsided smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile, and she found herself grinning back. Lord, he was handsome. Suddenly her throat felt dry for a whole other reason. She tore her gaze away and busied herself selecting the bracelet then stowing the box in his briefcase.

Owen pulled the sedan up to the lodge. The brochure hadn’t oversold it even a little. It was gorgeous. A sprawling affair made of thick logs in a rich brown, it somehow managed to look both sturdy and elegant.

“Ready, Mrs. O’Neil?” Owen asked, sliding neatly into the row of cars parked in front of the empty valet stand.

She finished hooking the tennis bracelet onto her wrist, and he reached for her, taking her hand in his to examine it. “Looks really nice. You have beautiful skin.” He ran his thumb over the pulse point in her wrist, and she gasped. His gaze flew to meet hers, pinning her in place. “Lindy?”

“Y-yes?”

“Come closer,” he murmured and leaned toward her, his gray eyes heating to molten silver.

As if in a trance, she obeyed his command, drawn inexorably nearer. When they were only inches apart, close enough for his warm breath to feather her cheek, he dipped his head low. With the very tip of his tongue, he traced her bottom lip, skimming over the surface before delving further to taste the tender flesh inside. She moaned low in her throat, her ni**les tightening beneath her shirt. Owen lifted a hand to cradle her neck and deepen the kiss, fitting his firm lips to hers. God, his mouth was pure magic—

The slam of a nearby door startled her and she jerked back.

“Sorry about that, but try to act natural,” Owen said through his teeth. “Nico pulled up and is watching us.”

The pulse in her neck pounded like a jackhammer, but she willed herself to stay still. She dragged in a couple deep breaths through her nose, working up a smile for her “husband.”

It was fake. The whole thing had been fake. Here she was, a seething mass of need over a staged kiss, and he was as chill as the diamond on her finger. She tamped down her disappointment and struggled for clarity. This was a job, and he was her employer. He had no interest in her beyond the goal he’d set for their trip. If she hoped to get through the next three weeks without throwing herself at him, she was going to have to remember that, because, phony or not, that kiss was potent. Even now, she found herself longing for a repeat performance.