Читать книгу Fill-In Fiancee - DeAnna Talcott - Страница 11

Carmella Lopez, executive secretary to Lloyd Winters, CEO of Wintersoft, was cleaning off her desk when Brett Hamilton walked into her office, file in hand.

“Lloyd said he needed these. They’re suggestions for the contract changes for the overseas markets.”

Carmella took the file, thinking that Brett was one eligible bachelor who shouldn’t be overlooked. “Fine. I’ll see he gets them. He’s in a meeting now, and I expect it to run late. But you? Duty calls. I’m not letting you out of here until you sign these.” She pushed a stack of papers at him.

Brett grimaced and checked his watch. “Can they wait? I’m meeting someone and—”

Carmella drew back, surprised. “Brett? I’ve never known you to weasel out of anything that has to do with work.”

He grinned. “I know. But I’m getting a new roommate. And I’m meeting her after work.”

“Her?” A sudden, guilty flush crossed his face, making Carmella only more curious. “Okay, what gives?” she pressed. “Is there a lady in your life that we don’t know about?”

“No.” As if feigning indifference, he pulled the papers to his side of the desk.

“Brett, I know you. And you look guilty as sin,” Carmella accused. “Out with it.”

“It’s nothing,” he protested, his attention riveted to the required signature line. “Everything’s innocent. But because it’s someone who works here—”

“What?”

He sighed heavily. “What is the matter with me today? I’m making a habit of saying too much of the wrong thing. It’s good I’m not in the sales department.”

Carmella pinned him with her gaze. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“Well, I don’t want anyone thinking office collusion, office romance or anything. You won’t mention it to anyone else, will you?” When she made a cross over her breast. He paused momentarily, then sucked in a deep breath. “It’s Sunny Robbins, from legal.”

“No!” Carmella sat back in amazement. She’d had no idea that Sunny and Brett even talked—and now they were moving in together? This would put a new twist on Emily’s plans to pair him off with Josie, in public relations.

Brett shrugged. “Sunny needed a place to stay and I needed someone to help me out when my parents visit next week. It made sense. And I—” he flipped to the last page for one more signature “— I don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”

“Tell me first. Exactly how is she helping you out with your parents?”

He moved on to the next paper, then signed with a flourish. “Sunny is going to move in with me and pose as my girlfriend,” he said. “Of course, there’s nothing to it. But my parents claim to have the ideal woman picked out for me—and I just want to show them I can pick my own friends. My own girlfriends.”

“My.” Carmella’s plump hand fluttered to her chest. “That’s the kind of plan that’ll get you into trouble.”

“I don’t think so. She’s just going to fill in for me.”

“Brett, you might be surprised. That girl is a sweetheart.”

He looked up at her and grinned, pen poised over the next document.

“Guess I’ll have to find out, won’t I?”

Shaking her head in mock dismay, Carmella wagged her finger at him. “I suggest you take this seriously.”

“Come along, luv. Sunny’s only moving in for a couple of weeks and just for fun.”

Emily, the only daughter of Lloyd Winters, and senior vice president of Global Sales, popped her head in the door. “Um, I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but…” she hesitated, frowning at Brett “…did I hear you say Sunny Robbins is moving in with you?”

“Not like that,” he exclaimed, capping the pen and handing it back to Carmella. “Sunny has family at her place, and I needed a little feminine touch in mine, so we worked out a deal.”

Emily’s head swiveled, and Carmella knew just what she was thinking.

“You and Sunny. Really?”

He nodded. “Mutual benefits, that sort of thing. In fact—” he rolled his wrist over and checked his watch again “— I’m meeting her now. Provided she doesn’t think I’ve stood her up. Look, Em, Sunny and I just don’t want to get this all mixed up with work. So you won’t say anything, will you?”

“Absolutely not! I only came in because Carmella buzzed me, not because I was keeping tabs on you.”

“The thing is, it’s all come about quite suddenly, and I’m in a fix—but I don’t want to give anyone here at the office the wrong impression.”

“She’s also posing as his girlfriend,” Carmella interjected.

“She’s what?”

Brett shifted uncomfortably. “Emily, you’ve been a great friend to me, so I guess I can tell you that my parents seem to think they have the perfect woman picked out for me. I’m determined to show them I can find my own. I don’t need their help.”

“Oh…” A dawning realization lit Emily’s features. “Well, I agree! You go, Brett. Go.” She shooed him out the door. “Don’t keep your new roommate waiting.”

Brett buttoned the center button on his suitcoat, then lifted a hand. “Thanks.”

“And Brett…?” Emily asked.

“Yes?”

“Have fun.”

The moment Brett walked out the door, Carmella and Emily exchanged glances. Significant glances.

“Okay. What gives?” Emily asked.

Carmella lifted both shoulders. “A minute after I buzzed you to let you know Todd Baxter was here, Brett walked in.”

“Wait,” Emily interrupted, her gaze straying to her father’s closed door. “Todd’s here? In there?”

Carmella nodded, whispering, “Apparently, with all this downsizing, he lost his job.”

“I heard about his job, but puh-leeze.” Emily shot a second wary look at the door to her father’s office. “I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Why does my dad always treat Todd like the son he never had?”

“Oh, honey. Don’t think like that. Todd’s just down on his luck right now. He wanted your dad’s advice, that’s all.”

Emily lifted a shoulder noncommittally and finally said, “Funny, isn’t it, that Brett’s trying to avoid the same situation I got roped into?”

Carmella pinned Emily with a sympathetic look. “Mmm, I know. Parents mean well. Apparently Brett’s parents have someone in mind for him—not unlike someone else we both know and love.”

Emily shook her head, and Carmella knew exactly what she was thinking.

Years ago, Lloyd Winters had hoped to marry Emily off to one of the executives at Wintersoft—and, remarkably, he’d managed it! To the former Wintersoft wonder boy now sitting behind door number one, Todd Baxter. But Emily had married Todd for all the wrong reasons, and the marriage immediately crumbled. They’d divorced less than a year after their wedding. When Todd left Wintersoft, Carmella knew it was because he’d finally realized his chance to take over the company as Lloyd’s son-in-law ranked right on par with the status of his marriage certificate: null and void.

But Lloyd apparently still wasn’t convinced that his daughter couldn’t be happy with one of the successful bachelor executives at his company. The big-hearted widower thought he had his only child’s best interests in mind, but Carmella knew that he wouldn’t stop trying to match her up with someone until she was married. In fact, she’d heard him talking about it.

So Carmella had helped a desperate Emily hatch a plot to systematically marry off every bachelor in Wintersoft. It would take Emily off the hook and put her right where she wanted to be: single, free and unattached.

Brett was the next man on their hit list. When they’d discovered he was an English lord, they knew that they’d have their work cut out for them. They figured it would take a sophisticated, worldly woman—and they’d agreed Josie was all that and more. But now, after all their efforts, he’d just waltzed in and announced he was moving in with the wrong girl!

“You know, I feel kind of sorry for Brett,” Emily said softly. “Been there, done that. But what about Josie? I was certain she’d be perfect for him.”

“I don’t know about Josie. But I think we should keep his secret.”

“Their secret,” Emily reminded her.

“Sunny, of all people,” Carmella mused, picking up the documents Brett had signed. “Sunny and Brett…It’s an odd combination. But then, they say opposites attract.” She momentarily pondered Brett’s signature. It was the same, but rushed, hurried. Not like him at all. “He says it’s nothing, but I get the strangest sense from him. As if he’s awfully eager to have Sunny as a roommate—and that makes me wonder. It really makes me wonder.”

Sunny picked the most secluded corner booth in the Key-stone Coffee Shop and waited for Brett to arrive. He wanted to talk to her privately after work, so they could hammer out the details of their new living arrangements.

She would never admit to him the real reason she was playing the part of the smitten fiancée. It wasn’t so much to help him as it was to help herself. She needed to get away—and Brett had unwittingly provided her the opportunity. Her parents were driving her crazy.

Not in the same way Brett’s were, of course.

No, since they’d moved in with her a month ago, they’d taken over—and Sunny felt helpless to stop it from happening.

Her parents had that way about them. They just did things. Aggravating things.

Now Sunny’s windowsills had been taken over with little peat pots of scraggly herbs that flavored dinners of tofu stir-fry. Her bathroom, once decorated in lush shades of green, had become a jungle of hand-washed clothes because her mother didn’t think laundry detergent was good for the environment. Worse, Sunny’s thick, fluffy towels were now air dried—and wound up as stiff as cardboard and as scratchy as sandpaper.

And that wasn’t the half of it.

She couldn’t bear to recount her father’s quirky habits and eccentric ideas.

Her parents claimed they were going to move out. As soon as they found something. But they were making noises about finding an acreage in Vermont. Of raising goats and tapping sugar maples. Of living off the land.

It was an idealistic dream—one they couldn’t afford. And until they realized it, they’d be shacked up at Sunny’s, making her perfectly reasonable life insane and chaotic.

That was the real motivation behind Sunny’s agreement to help Brett: peace of mind. A little normalcy.

Living with an English lord might not be normal, but it was guaranteed to be proper and quiet and staid.

She’d settle for that. Gratefully.

In spite of the cool fall weather, Brett had shed his suit coat and strode into the coffee shop rolling up the sleeves of his tailored white dress shirt. Tall and darkly tanned, he was good-looking, Sunny grudgingly admitted. The kind of man who turned heads in his wake.

Brett’s gait was confident, athletic. His long arms swung loosely at his sides, and his wide shoulders and lean belly did great things for his business attire. She could imagine him in dungarees and a cotton knit sweater, too, his sinewy arms working the ropes of a sailboat. Heck, if his family was some kind of royalty they probably had a yacht. Maybe he just stood at the helm of it, like a hood ornament—or whatever they called it on a boat—with his hands folded behind his back, looking regal and important.

It fit, all of it.

His hair, the color of sun-drenched sand, was full-bodied, and so textured it actually reminded Sunny of ripples on the beach. His eyes, aquamarine-blue, were darkly fringed and deep set—as if made for staring out across an endless ocean.

Yet it was his accent that had caught Sunny’s attention all those months ago. Charming and bold, it added a musical, almost lyrical, quality to his deep, rich voice. The way he smiled when he talked made his mouth move sensuously, as if it had a will of its own.

All the women at Wintersoft rolled their eyes and fanned themselves in mock palpitations every time he walked by—and usually he’d toss off a teasing comment or a taunt. He was every bit the playboy who knew how to make feminine hearts flutter. Yet whenever Sunny stood next to him in the elevator, he barely nodded at her, or offered up some innocuous comment about the weather.

Their few encounters had left her feeling as dull and ordinary as the elevator music.

How, she asked herself, was she going to manage living with him? The Greek god of the English aristocracy.

He’d already predicted that his parents wouldn’t like her.

Heaven help her, what had she gotten herself into?

“Sunny,” Brett acknowledged, slipping into the seat across from her. He leaned so close she got a whiff of his aftershave, a tangy scent of saltwater and surf, heat and sand. “Sorry I’m late, luv. Lloyd wanted those contracts, and Carmella had papers for me to sign.”

“You know,” Sunny said wryly, “Lloyd’s daughter is the one you should be dangling in front of your family like a girlfriend.”

“Emily?” He looked surprised. “But she’s the boss’s daughter. Of course, she is rich. I suppose my parents would like that.”

“Well, I’m not rich,” Sunny informed him. “And it doesn’t look like I’m going to be. So please expect your parents to be highly disappointed.”

He chuckled as if she had said something extraordinarily funny. “Money isn’t everything,” he said. “They’ll appreciate your sensible qualities and your nice personality.”

Sunny bit down hard on the inside of her lip. “That,” she said, “is what people say about women they are trying to pawn off on a blind date.” Her voice drifted into a falsetto as she repeated the age-old line: “‘You’ll like her, she has a real nice personality.”’

Brett’s irresistible grin widened. “And cheery sense of humor,” he added.

“I have a common sense of humor,” she stressed. “Think common. As in commoner.”

He waved it off, unaffected. “It doesn’t matter, Sunny. Really. In spite of our differences, I have to believe my parents will come around. At least enough to let me out of this trap they insist on calling marriage.”

Sunny stared at him, realizing he had no idea how great their differences were. “I would have thought,” she said slowly, “that since you know so many of the women at the office, you might have asked one of them instead.”

“I…” He looked confused and lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really know any of them well.”

“But I’ve often seen you talking to all sorts of women.” Flirting, she wanted to say.

“Office demeanor,” he dismissed. “You know how some people like to carry on.”

Sunny was debating whether he was serious or not when the waitress, named Hazel, according to the plastic name tag pinned to her plump chest, stopped at their table. “Coffee?” she asked, simultaneously pulling a pencil from behind her ear and a notepad out of her apron pocket, “or something special?”

“Cappuccino,” Sunny said.

“A pot of tea, please,” Brett ordered. “With sugar and lemon.”

The waitress slid him a disbelieving look. “You into that antioxidant stuff, sonny?”

Brett’s lips twitched. “No, luv. That old English stuff,” he answered, pumping up his accent and giving her a broad wink.

The waitress snorted. “Cute,” she grumbled, jamming the pad into her pocket. “Everybody’s got to be a comedian. And they all think I got the time for it.”

As Hazel hurried away, Brett and Sunny looked at each other.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I don’t think she believed me,” Brett confided, his voice lowered.

Sunny felt the beginnings of a smile curve her lips. “Apparently not.”

“She probably wouldn’t have believed me if I professed to be an English lord, either.”

“Probably not.”

“That is a bit difficult, here in America, you know.”

Given Brett’s self-deprecating demeanor, some of the tension that had Sunny in knots subsided. She’d arrived at the coffee shop convinced Brett would lay out a list of expectations for her. He’d give her the dos and don’ts, all the while making her conscious of the haves and have nots. Instead, he’d come into the coffee shop with an apology for being late and a smile. Maybe she’d never given him a chance in the first place.

Brett sat back and openly studied her. “I don’t know why we haven’t really talked before,” he said thoughtfully.

“I imagine because we’re supposed to be working.” She shrugged, knowing that wasn’t the reason at all. He’d probably dismissed her as an underling. “You’re busy. I’m busy.”

“Mmm. Well, no matter. But I did want to talk to you about this—” Brett quickly glanced around to make sure he couldn’t be overheard “—lord and lady thing. So it’s probably good this came up as it did with the waitress. I would appreciate it if you would keep it in the strictest confidence. No one at the office knows.”

“But why?” Sunny lifted both shoulders. “I’d think you’d want to have that little prefix in front of your name. It must come with its own set of perks.”

“And responsibilities,” he said dryly. “No, I’d much prefer to just be me.”

Sunny didn’t believe him. Not for a moment. Here was a man who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’d probably grown up in a castle, or on an estate that had been handed down through the generations. He’d most likely gone to private schools and worn jodhpurs instead of jeans when he went riding. “That can’t be easy, Brett. Adjusting to life without your title?”

“What isn’t easy is being different. Or being treated differently.”

Brett, Sunny realized, apparently didn’t have any idea how difficult being “different” could be. “Come on. Admit it. There have got to be times you enjoy the privilege.” When Brett’s eyes narrowed, as if he wondered whether he should be offended, Sunny added, “I would.”

“But it all comes with a price,” he warned. “There are obligations. And sometimes I’d just as soon do without them.”

“But you’ve had the good life, and because of it I’ll bet you’ve acquired certain expectations, certain attitudes and behaviors. Like playing rugby instead of football. Or choosing escargot over onion rings.”

He smiled faintly, as if bored by her conjecture. “Now how do you know I like rugby?”

Sunny ignored his attempt to change the subject. “I don’t. But for the life of me, I can’t imagine why you’d want to give it up and walk away from such an existence.”

Hazel set Sunny’s cappuccino in front of her with a thunk, slopping it over the rim before she walked away. Brett pulled a napkin from the dispenser and automatically handed it to her.

Sunny reached for it, and when their fingers met, a spark of electricity went pinging up her wrist. The fine hairs on the back of her arm stood up.

Brett stared at her pensively, as if the touch that passed between them, and over a cheap paper napkin, had been enough to ignite and burn. An undercurrent of awareness sizzled.

Sunny’s fingers, still smoldering, fumbled to dab at the spill. “Thank you. I— I don’t want to get it on my skirt.” She paused while the waitress put down the teapot, cup and sliced lemons, then left again. “And Brett? I wasn’t trying to pry. Or even be critical. It’s just…” She pushed the soiled napkin aside. “My parents were on the move a lot, and I haven’t known very many people who have your kind of family history. Or that kind of security. It makes me wonder if you know what you’re giving up.”

Brett silently poured a cup of tea, then squeezed a bit of lemon into it. He wiped his fingertips, then crumpled the napkin, as she had done. “You’ll have a few weeks to get an inside look at my life, with and without my title.” Picking up a sugar packet, he ripped it open. He tapped a few grains into the tea, then stirred. “After my parents go home, you can give me your opinion. Should I barter myself away to a woman I don’t love, in order to secure a place in society and a hefty inheritance? Should I make love to a woman I don’t care about in order to secure an heir?”

Sunny shifted uncomfortably. The one thing her parents had taught her was unconditional love. Everyone needed it, deserved it.

Yet the life he alluded to seemed hollow, plastic, even devoid of emotion.

“Because,” Brett continued, putting the spoon aside and lifting his cup from the saucer, “after you’ve given a convincing performance for my parents, it can all be undone. I can grow weary of you and break our ‘engagement.’”

Uncertainty skittered up Sunny’s spine. But she refused to give in to the ominous suggestion—the same way she refused to fall victim to Brett’s piercing blue gaze. In some odd way she knew he was issuing her an ultimatum, and she felt she had to stand up to it.

“Fine. The day your parents go home and I move out of your apartment, I’ll tell you exactly what I think you’re giving up. And I won’t mince words.”

Brett lifted his cup in a mock toast. “I’m looking forward to it.” He took a sip, then gazed at her steadily over the rim.

Unable to tear her eyes away, Sunny took a long, scalding draft of her cappuccino.

“Take it easy, luv. You’re going to get burned,” Brett warned.

“I’ve already been burned. I mean I— I did that purposely, to clear my head,” she stated.

“And singe your tongue,” he said wryly.

They both, implicitly, understood the double meaning.

She set the cappuccino aside. “Brett? Are you sure you want to go through with this? With me? Because if you’ve had second thoughts, and want to change your mind or find somebody else—”

“No second thoughts.”

“If this blows up or backfires, or your parents figure it out, I don’t want to be held accountable.”

“Sunny, I think you’re being a jolly good sport about the whole thing. If it doesn’t play out like we planned, I won’t be any worse off than I am now.” He chuckled. “Of course, we’re going to have to think about how to manage this at the office. I’ll admit I mentioned it to Carmella and Emily. But Emily’s a good friend of mine, so she won’t say anything if we don’t want her to. Carmella won’t, either. I think we should keep up the status quo—a working relationship. That way there’d be no explanations.”

Sunny laced her fingers around the cup of cappuccino. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, right?”

“That’s it. Nodding acquaintances,” he confirmed.

“Hey, I’ll just look the other direction when I see you coming,” she volunteered, her insides twisting with what felt too much like rejection. Apparently she was good enough to be his fiancée, but not his friend. “If we meet in the hall, or share the same elevator or anything. I mean, we’ve never really talked before, so—”

“But there’s the rub, Sunny,” Brett admitted, his thumb stroking the rim of his teacup. “We really don’t know anything about each other, and we should. Especially if we’re going to convince my parents. Otherwise we’ll make mistakes. Tomorrow’s Friday,” he murmured thoughtfully. “You could move in tomorrow night and we’d have the whole weekend—and all of next week—to get to know each other. What do you say?”

“Tomorrow night? I thought you were joking about that.” Surprised, Sunny drew back. She hadn’t imagined he’d want her around until the last minute. The upside of his offer was that it included seven more nights away from her parents and the way their eccentricities were taking over her apartment. “If you have plans for the weekend, or dates next week, I’d be in the way. You’d have to explain me away.”

He offered up a toothy, irresistible smile. “Not a problem.”

“You won’t say I’m your American cousin, will you?”

“No, there won’t be any explaining. My calendar’s clear.”

Sunny debated. Even one less night of tofu and beans was appealing. “Um, if I moved in early, that would have to include dinner, too,” she bargained.

He lifted a shoulder as if the matter was inconsequential. “I know a great restaurant where we can celebrate our first night together. I can make reservations there, or we can hang out at my place and throw steaks on the grill.”

“So you do eat red meat.”

He gazed at her, clearly puzzled. “Is that an asset?”

“Definitely,” Sunny confirmed. “I’m not a vegetarian and I don’t intend to be. I’ll pack tonight. Because it looks like we have something in common, after all.”

Brett stood next to his car in the parking lot of the coffee shop. “What?” he asked. “You didn’t leave your car in the lot and walk over, did you?”

“Oh, no, I always take the bus to work.”

“Really?” He appeared surprised by the information. “Well, get in then. There’s no sense in you taking the bus home.”

Sunny took an involuntary step back and waved him off. “No, thanks. You probably have other things to do and—”

“Nothing but go back to the same apartment complex you’re going to.” Brett walked around the late model sports car and opened the door for her.

She hesitated. This was all happening too quickly. Tomorrow she was moving in with the office heartthrob. She’d just shared coffee—and tea—with him. And they’d actually touched—an unexpected contact that had left Sunny breathless, and quivery inside. The kind that put a great big question mark where her brains ought to be.

The thought of sitting beside him in the confines of that sporty little coupe, which was as blue as his eyes, made her go weak.

Sunny was not the kind of woman to rush into things. She methodically thought situations through, made logical decisions.

Yet here she was, swept away by a devil-may-care Englishman and his goofy scheme. She was moving into his life and jumping into the fancy leather passenger seat of his convertible as if she belonged there.

She reluctantly slid onto the seat, thinking luxury had never felt this good. The door closed after her with a quiet whoosh of air. She detected his clean, tangy scent, over and above the leather and the car polish.

“I didn’t expect you to drive me home,” Sunny said primly, as he put the car into Reverse.

“Don’t be silly.” He slipped a pair of reflective sunglasses on, then checked his rearview mirror.

From the corner of her eyes Sunny glimpsed the sunglasses, wondering if he was looking at her. She self-consciously adjusted the hem of her short skirt and tucked it under her thigh.

Brett’s mouth twitched, but he stared straight ahead at the road.

“You can, um, just drop me off at the pool house.” Sunny tried to sound casual, but the fact was she didn’t want to run into her parents. She’d wind up explaining them to Brett—and then he’d have the last laugh.

He didn’t answer, but expertly turned the car onto a main arterial. In less than five minutes they would be at the complex. “We may have to rethink our office game plan,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because it looks like we’ll be carpooling.”

“Oh, no. I’ll still take the bus,” she protested.

“But what would my folks think if I drove to work and you took the bus?”

“That maybe you work late, or I work early, or…”

“I don’t think so. They’d know in a minute I’d never let my fiancée ride the bus when I could share five minutes alone with her.” He paused. “I’ve always thought being alone in a car with someone of the opposite sex is kind of…sexy. Don’t you think?”

Sunny swallowed. “Sexy?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You know, luv. The idea of being alone, encapsulated in a moving car. Music and conversation. Sitting shoulder to shoulder.” He focused on the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Of course, you Americans have a phrase for it—’fast cars, fast women.”’

“I guarantee this is one woman who is not in the fast lane,” Sunny clarified. “In case you were wondering.”

An amused smile spread over his face. “I dare say that is probably for the best.”

A few moments slipped by before she realized he had intentionally hit a hot spot with her. One she’d have to address. “Speaking of parents,” she began hesitantly, “I’d just as soon keep mine out of this.”

“Oh?”

“Well, we might run into them, being in the same complex and all, and I’d just as soon not have that happen. I certainly don’t want them to know I’m posing as your girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” She waved her hand. “It’s enough for them to think I’m staying with a friend for a couple of weeks.”

“Okay. That’s fine with me. If that’s the way you want it.”

“I do.”

A moment later, Brett pulled off onto the side street adjacent to the apartments. Then, offering her a lopsided grin, he wheeled into the drive. Sunny clutched the armrest and pressed her shoulder blades into the bucket seat. She still slid into him.

“Don’t you just love the way a sports car takes the curves and hugs the road?” he asked drolly, letting the steering wheel spin back within his hands.

“Hugs?” she repeated, pulling herself upright. “I thought I was going to be in your lap.”

He passed the pool and clubhouse, and pulled up at the first intersection. She straightened her skirt again and unconsciously motioned for him to make a right, toward her apartment building.

“Of course, when we drive together you will need to hug me instead of the door,” he said.

“I wasn’t hugging the door,” she argued. But the truth was she had intended to leave as much space between them as possible. “And you can stop right here.”

Brett pulled into the first available parking space and threw the car into Park. He stripped his sunglasses off and tossed them on the dash. “Back to my parents again, okay? They’ll expect us to be lovey-dovey, you know. And they’ll like your proper edge, as it will make the story all the more believable. But…”

“Yes?”

“How about a kiss?” he suggested boldly, his gaze dropping possessively to her mouth. “For you may find that you can’t tolerate me. And that would be a pity, to put on a show for my mother and father, when you find me insufferable.”

“I— I never said you were insufferable.”

“Really?”

His gaze trailed over her curiously. He turned on the seat, leaning closer to her, then waited, giving her the opportunity to withdraw, to protest.

But she didn’t—and for the life of her she didn’t know why.

“Or we could say,” he whispered, his breath fanning her cheeks, “that we’ll share a kiss to seal the secret about who I really am.”

“I won’t tell,” she promised, feeling dizzy as he loomed closer.

“Mmm. Good…” His mouth first nuzzled hers. His lips, so soft and warm and tasting of tea and lemon, almost surprised her. The tip of his nose brushed against hers, and raspy stubble scraped her cheek. He smelled seductively fresh, like salt and sea air.

When Sunny involuntarily kissed him back—her mind in a muddle, her senses on overload—Brett deepened the kiss, sending earth-shattering sensations through her. Her respiration grew shallow and her heart started to pound. And behind her eyelids she saw a panorama of stars. Shooting stars. Spinning stars. Dazzling waves of stars.

Sunny’s hand went to his shoulder to steady herself, her fingers curving over the thick muscle there. His shoulders were so wide they seemed to envelop her, in a protective, supportive kind of way. Her fingertips inched upward, over the seam of his dress shirt. She discovered the warmth of his flesh above his starched collar and beneath his ear. The tip of her fingernail traced the neat edge of his haircut, the tiny hairs teasing the pad of her forefinger.

Brett flexed his shoulders, and groaned. He pulled reluctantly away, even as his mouth continued to taste hers.

Finally he broke the kiss and tipped his forehead against hers. “I do think we’ll get on,” he predicted softly. “My family should be suitably convinced that our affections are genuine. And if I didn’t know better, I’d be nearly convinced of it myself.”