Her innocence—exposed!London’s top relationship columnist Abby Hart can’t tell anyone her biggest secret: not only is her perfect fiancé entirely fictional, she is also utterly untouched. Invited to attend a prestigious charity ball with her ‘husband-to-be’, she throws herself upon the mercy of brooding millionaire Luke Shelverton.After his own engagement ended tragically, Luke is reluctant to take credit for Abby’s diamond ring. To protect her reputation he agrees to a convenient arrangement… Except Abby’s effervescence kindles a fire he’s tempted to indulge! And uncovering her innocence compels Luke to initiate his temporary fiancée into all the sinful delights of the bridal bed!Celebrating Melanie Milburne's 75th book with Mills & Boon!
Her innocence—exposed!
As London’s top relationship columnist, Abby Hart can’t tell anyone her biggest secret: not only is her perfect fiancé entirely fictional, she is also utterly untouched. Invited to attend a prestigious charity ball with her “husband-to-be,” she throws herself upon the mercy of brooding millionaire Luke Shelverton.
After his own engagement ended tragically, Luke is reluctant to take credit for Abby’s diamond ring. To protect her reputation, he agrees to a convenient arrangement. Except Abby’s effervescence kindles a fire he’s tempted to indulge... And uncovering her innocence compels Luke to initiate his temporary fiancée into all the sinful delights of the bridal bed!
Luke frowned. ‘You’re going to have to tell everyone eventually that you’re not in a relationship.’
‘But don’t you
He released a long sigh. ‘All right—you win. I’ll take you for two hours. But you have to accept this is a one-off occasion and it will
Abby had to stop herself from flinging herself into his arms. Or kissing him, which was even more tempting than she wanted to admit. ‘I promise.’
‘Oh, and one other thing,’ he warned. ‘I might be standing in for someone who doesn’t exist, but that’s as far as your little fantasy goes. Understood?’
‘I hope you’re not thinking I’d want you to actually
‘Good to know,’ he said enigmatically. ‘See you tomorrow, Cinderella.’
MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studying for her final exams. After completing a master’s degree in education, she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the Holt Medallion—a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.
Books by Melanie Milburne
Mills & Boon Modern Romance
The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal
The Temporary Mrs Marchetti
Unwrapping His Convenient Fiancée
His Mistress for a Week
At No Man’s Command
One Night With Consequences
A Ring for the Greek’s Baby
Wedlocked!
Wedding Night with Her Enemy
The Ravensdale Scandals
Ravensdale’s Defiant Captive
Awakening the Ravensdale Heiress
Engaged to Her Ravensdale Enemy
The Most Scandalous Ravensdale
The Playboys of Argentina
The Valquez Bride
The Valquez Seduction
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.
A Virgin for a Vow
Melanie Milburne
To my previous editor, Flo Nicoll.
It was wonderful working with you on so many books. You encouraged me, supported me and challenged me to constantly lift my writing.
I will never forget meeting you in person in Sydney. Nor will I forget all the funny conversations we’ve had over thirty-plus books.
Bless you for being wonderful you. xxxx
Contents
ABBY HAD ONE day left to respond to the invitation to the ball. One day. Twenty-four hours. Fourteen hundred and forty minutes. Eighty-six thousand and four hundred seconds. And if she didn’t come up with a ‘fiancé’ by then she was toast.
Burned and charred and utterly useless toast.
She sat at her desk and stared at the gold and black vellum invitation with its fancy copperplate writing.
Miss Abby Hart and Fiancé
Panic knocked on her heart like a boxer’s fist, threatening to punch it right out the back of her chest. She couldn’t show up at Top Goss and Gloss’s prestigious Spring Charity Ball alone. It was the biggest event on her career calendar. There was a three-to four-year waiting list for tickets. There were more senior people on staff than her who had never received an invitation. Receiving a personalised invitation from the head honcho as ‘guest of honour’ was a big deal. A seriously big deal. Declining the invitation was out of the question. Her boss insisted it was time for Abby’s adoring fans to finally meet her fiancé. If she showed up at the ball alone she might as well take her resignation with her instead.
Everyone thought Abby was engaged to her childhood sweetheart. Everyone at work. Everyone online. Everyone on the flipping planet thought she was engaged. But she didn’t have a childhood sweetheart. She hadn’t even had a proper childhood. Not unless you could call being shunted in and out of foster homes since you were five years old a childhood.
‘Abby, have you got time for a—? Hey, haven’t you sent your RSVP for the ball yet? Wasn’t the deadline like a week ago?’ Sabina from Fashion asked with a frown.
Abby posted an everything’s cool smile on her face. ‘I know but I’m still waiting to hear back from my fiancé about it. He...he is super-busy with work stuff just now and—’
‘But surely he’s taking you to the ball?’ Sabina said. ‘I mean, that’s what a fiancé does, right? This is the night everyone finally gets to meet your mysterious Mr Perfect. That’s why the ball has been such a massive sell-out. I think it’s so cool how you always call him that in your column and blog. You’ve created such a mystery about his identity. It’s like it’s London’s best-kept secret.’
Abby had only been able to keep his identity a secret because Mr Perfect had no identity. He didn’t exist other than in her imagination. Her weekly blog and column was all about relationships. Dating advice. About finding and keeping true love. Helping people find their own happy-ever-after. She had hundreds of thousands of readers and millions of followers on Twitter who wrote in for her advice.
Gulp.
Yes, millions.
Who all thought she was happily engaged to her own perfect man. She even wore an engagement ring to prove it. Not a bona fide diamond but a zirconia, which was so darn realistic no one had noticed it wasn’t the real deal and she’d been wearing it for the last two and a half years.
‘Oh, no, he would never let me down.’ It sometimes scared her how good she was at lying.
‘I wish I’d been invited to the ball,’ Sabina said with a sigh that Cinderella would have been proud of. ‘I’m absolutely dying to meet him. I’m sure that’s why you got the invitation to sit at the boss’s table. Everyone wants to meet this amazingly romantic guy who puts every other man out there to shame.’
Abby kept her smile in place but her stomach was churning so fast she could have provided enough butter for a shortbread factory. Two factories. Possibly the whole of Scotland. She had to come up with a plan. She had to come up with a man.
But who?
Just then a text message pinged in on her phone from her best friend, Ella Shelverton.
Her best friend who had an older brother.
Of course! It was a brilliant solution. But would Luke want to go with her? She hadn’t seen him since that night six months ago when he’d been acting a little out of character, to put it mildly. She had never been that physically close to him before. He was always a little standoffish and gruff—understandable since he was still getting over the tragic death of his girlfriend, who had been killed five years ago. But that night when Abby had called in to collect something Ella had left behind the day before, Luke had been so out of it his head had rested on her shoulder and he’d slurred his words so much she’d had to help him into his bed. Once she’d got him into bed, his hand had taken hers and for a moment she’d thought he was going to pull her down to join him, but instead he’d touched her face as if he was touching a fragile orchid and then he’d closed his eyes and promptly fallen asleep. But she could still feel the tingles in her flesh if she allowed herself to think about it.
Which she absolutely never did.
Well...only occasionally.
‘Is that your fiancé texting you?’ Sabina asked, leaning forward. ‘What did he say? Is he coming with you?’
Abby covered the screen of her phone with her hand. ‘One of Abby’s rules is don’t share your lover’s texts with your friends. They’re private.’
Sabina gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘I wish I had a lover’s text to share. I wish I had what you have, Abby. But then, everyone wants what you have.’
What exactly do I have?
Abby kept her expression in caring colleague mode. ‘I hate to sound like an agony aunt but that’s what I am so here goes. You’re a gorgeous person who deserves to be happy just like anyone else. You can’t let one bad experience with a two-timing jerk—’
‘Three-timing. Possibly four but I’m not sure if he was boasting about the redhead.’
‘Right, yes, I forgot—three-or four-timing jerk discourage you from finding the amazing and loving and commitment-friendly man who is out there just waiting to find a wonderful girl like you,’ Abby said.
Sabina smiled. ‘No wonder you’re London’s top relationships columnist. You always have the perfect answer.’
* * *
Abby had thought long and hard but eventually decided against calling Luke before she turned up at his house in Bloomsbury. She didn’t want to give him the opportunity to fob her off using the excuse of being too busy with work. He was always working on one of his medical engineering projects for which he’d become globally recognised. She’d made Ella promise not to say anything to him about her plan until she had spoken to him in person. Ella was surprisingly keen on the idea of Luke taking her to the ball when Abby had told her about it. Although, maybe it wasn’t so surprising given Ella made no secret of the fact she longed for her big brother to get some sort of social life happening again.
Not that Luke was likely to answer a call from Abby even if he did have his phone on. He kept his distance from most people, but especially from her, which made his up close and personal behaviour that night all the more unusual. But the kind of conversation she had in mind would be much better done face to face.
And because she knew he was a sucker for a bit of home baking, turning up on his swanky doorstep with a box of chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies still warm from the oven would hopefully work a treat.
Well, it would if he would jolly well answer his door.
Abby balanced the cookies under one arm and huddled under her umbrella, trying to ignore the icy spring rain spiking and splashing her ankles. She pressed the brass button for the fifth time and left it there. She knew he was home because there were lights on in his office and another one in the sitting room.
Maybe he has someone with him...
No.
She dismissed the thought out of hand. Luke hadn’t had anyone with him since his girlfriend Kimberley’s death five years ago. Not that he had been much of a party animal before that, but after Kimberley was killed in a car crash he became even more of a loner. He was the epitome of the locked down workaholic. It was sad because she couldn’t help thinking he might be quite a fun person to be around if he let himself go a bit.
Abby finally heard the tread of firm footsteps and took her finger off the bell just as the door opened. His frowning expression wasn’t what you could even loosely call welcoming. ‘Oh, it’s you...’ he said.
‘Nice to see you too, Luke,’ Abby said. ‘Can I come in? It’s kind of wet and cold out here.’
‘Sure,’ he said while his expression clearly said an emphatic no.
Abby blithely ignored that, stepping over the threshold and folding her umbrella, which unfortunately sent a spray of water droplets on to the plush carpet runner that was threatening to swallow her up to her knees. Maybe even up to her neck. ‘Have I called at a bad time?’
‘I’m working on something—’
‘There are more things in life than work, you know,’ Abby said, hunting around for somewhere to place her umbrella.
‘Here.’ He held out his hand with a long-suffering look. ‘I’ll take that before you take out a window.’
Abby gave him the squinty eye. ‘I am housetrained. It’s just your house is always so darn perfect it makes me feel like I’m walking into a Vogue Living set.’
He took the umbrella and placed it on a stand near the door, somehow without allowing a single droplet of water to fall. Amazing. ‘Isn’t Ella with you?’
‘She’s got a parent teacher meeting at school this evening,’ Abby said. ‘I thought I’d drop in by myself. To...erm...see how you are.’
‘I’m fine—as you can see.’
There was a pregnant silence. A triplets or even quads pregnant silence.
Abby wondered if he was thinking about That Night. Did he ever think about it? Did he even remember it? Did he remember touching her so gently? Resting his head on her shoulder and then cradling her cheek in his hand like he was going to kiss her?
His eyes moved between each of hers in a studying way, like an academic trying to make sense of a complicated article. He was the only one who looked at her like that. In that quiet, assessing way that made her nerves start to jangle. As if he was searching for the frightened, abandoned child she had hidden deep inside herself so many years ago.
The child no one ever saw.
No one.
‘Abby.’ His voice contained a note of censure. ‘I’m really busy right now so—’
Abby shoved the box of cookies towards him. ‘Here—I made these for you.’
He took the box like he was taking a detonating device. ‘What’s this for?’
‘They’re your favourite cookies. I made them before I came over.’
He gave a God-give-me-strength sigh and put the box down on the polished walnut hall table. He led the way to the sitting room, offering her the sofa with the wave of a hand, but he remained standing as if he had set himself a time limit on her visit. ‘What do you want?’
‘That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? Just because I call on you with your favourite cookies you immediately assume I want something in return,’ Abby said, folding her arms and affecting a wounded expression that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a three-year-old.
Luke’s gaze went to her pouting lower lip, lingered there for a beat before coming back to mesh with hers. When those dark blue eyes locked on hers something wearing feather slippers shuffled across the floor of her belly. He cleared his throat and scraped his hand over his jaw. ‘Scraped’ being the operative word because the amount of stubble he had going on there was a telling reminder of the potent male hormones surging through his body. He was normally so clinically clean-shaven it was a shock to see him so ungroomed. Not a nasty shock. A pleasant I-would-like-to-see-more-of-this-side-to-him shock.
Which was kind of shocking in itself because Abby had taught herself not to notice Luke Shelverton. He was her best friend’s older brother. It was a boundary she had sworn never to cross. But for some reason her eyes were getting a little too happy about resting on Luke’s staggeringly handsome features. His sapphire-blue eyes were framed and fringed by jet-black eyebrows and lashes, but his hair was a rich dark brown and was currently ruffled as if he’d been combing it with his fingers. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, with an abdomen you could crack walnuts on, he was the stuff of female fantasies. He had the sort of facial and body structure that would have made Michelangelo rush off to stock up on chisels and marble.
‘Look, about that night...’ he said.
‘I’m not here about that night,’ Abby said. ‘I’m here about another night. The most important night of my life.’ She took a quick breath and let it out in a rush. ‘I need you to do me a favour. I need a fiancé for one night.’ There. She’d said it. She’d put it out there.
Everything on his face stilled. His entire body seemed to be snap frozen as if every muscle and ligament and corpuscle of blood had turned to stone.
Even the air seemed to be sucked right out of the room.
But then he let out a breath and walked over to a drinks cabinet. ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Would you like a drink before you go?’
Abby sat on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other as if she was settling in for the evening. No way was she leaving until she had this nailed. ‘I’ll have a red wine.’ White wine wasn’t going to cut it this time. And she certainly wasn’t in the mood for champagne.
Not until she convinced Luke to help her.
Luke came over with the wine and handed it to her. Abby tried to avoid his fingers in the exchange but somehow they both let go of the glass at the same time and it landed with a blood-like splash over the front of her brand-new baby blue cotton and cashmere blend sweater. Well, it wasn’t brand new—she’d bought it at a second-hand shop for a ridiculously cheap price—but it was cashmere.
‘Oops!’ She leapt off the sofa, almost knocking him over in her scramble to get up. But her leap sent more drops of wine splashing over the cream carpet and the sofa. ‘Oh, no...’
He steadied her with two strong hands on her upper arms; the sensation of his fingers pressing into her skin even through the layers of her clothing was nothing short of electrifying. He dropped his hold as if he’d felt the same voltage, and took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket. For a moment she thought he was going to mop her breasts for her but then he seemed to collect himself and handed it to her instead. ‘Don’t worry about the carpet and the sofa. They’ve been treated with a stain resistant.’ His voice was so husky it sounded like he’d been snacking on gravel.
Abby dabbed at her breasts and tried not to notice how close he was. She could smell the subtle lime notes of his aftershave and a base note of something else, something woodsy and arrantly masculine. She could even see the individual pinpoints of his regrowth on his chin, the way it was liberally sprinkled around his well sculptured mouth, making her want to press her fingertips to it to see if it felt as prickly as it looked.
She balled the soiled handkerchief into one hand while the other pulled her soaked sweater away from her breasts. ‘Do you have something I could wear while I take this off and rinse it?’
‘Can’t you just put your coat over it or something?’
Abby blew out a breath. ‘This sweater cost me a week’s wages.’ No way was she going to admit it was second-hand. ‘And don’t get me started about my bra.’ Which wasn’t second-hand and had cost a packet because no way was she going to wear someone else’s underwear. She had done that for most of her childhood.
His frown made his forehead wrinkle like isobars on a weather map. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘What? Why do you say that?’ Abby asked. ‘I work at a fashion magazine. I have to wear the latest fashion. I can’t be seen out and about in last season’s threads.’
‘Don’t they give you freebies or a discount?’
Abby moved her gaze to the left of his. ‘I’m not a fashion editor. I just write a weekly relationships column.’
‘Come with me,’ he said and led the way out of the room to the downstairs bathroom. ‘Wait here. I’ll bring you something from upstairs.’
Abby closed the bathroom door and took off the sweater. She grimaced at the state of her bra. Why had she worn the virginal white one when she could have worn the red?
Because you’re a virgin?
Don’t remind me.
Which made her wonder...when was the last time Luke had sex? Had he had sex with anyone since Kimberley’s death? Five years was a long time to be celibate if you’d had a regular sex life before. Which Abby was pretty certain he’d had. Men as sexy as Luke Shelverton did not have to work too hard to find lovers. One look from him and women came out of the woodwork like termites.
There was a knock at the bathroom door and Abby held a hand towel across her breasts and opened the door. Luke handed her a finely woven sweater the colour of his eyes. ‘I know it’s too big but I don’t have anything your size.’
Abby took the sweater from him and held it against her chest along with the towel. She could smell the clean scent of wool wash on the soft fibres and even a faint trace of him. ‘Ella told me she thought you still had some of Kimberley’s clothes.’
His eyes hardened to chips of blue ice. ‘Is this scheme of stand-in fiancé something you and Ella have cooked up together?’
Abby held the sweater against her chest like armour. ‘No. It was my idea but she thought it was a good plan. She said it was high time you went to something other than a boring engineering function. And since you and Ella are the only people in my life who know I’m not really engaged, in a way you’re the only one who can help me.’
‘What about your family? Don’t they know?’
Family. That was another thing Abby had done some considerable embellishing over. She hadn’t even told Ella the truth about her background. Abby didn’t have a family. She didn’t want her friends, much less her adoring public, to know she had grown up in numerous foster homes with a bunch of other needy kids and overworked, overwrought, overbearing at times foster parents. The last family she’d stayed with had been the most functional, but even they hadn’t kept in touch with her once she’d left the foster system.
Even Abby’s surname was a stage name because she had more skeletons in her closet than she had clothes. She didn’t want anyone putting her real surname in a search engine and linking her to a now deceased drug-addicted prostitute and a man currently in jail for assault with a deadly weapon. She couldn’t bear reliving the shame all over again. Being reminded she had never been loved as a child should be loved, never protected as a child should be protected.
Never wanted.
There were some things you just had to keep private.
Abby couldn’t quite meet Luke’s gaze. ‘Of course they know. But it’s not like they can do anything. You’re the only one I can ask to do this.’
‘I’m sorry, Abby. You’ll have to find someone else.’
Abby forgot about covering her wine-splashed bra and handed him back his sweater. ‘Look, Luke, I know the last five years have been tough on you, really tough, but don’t you ever want to just go out and have a night on the town like normal people do?’
His eyes flicked to her bra-covered breasts and then returned to hold her gaze in a steely blue trap. ‘What’s normal about pretending to millions of people you’re in a relationship that doesn’t even exist?’
Abby grabbed her sweater from the marble basin console and pulled it back over her head, thrusting her arms through the sleeves with such force she nearly tore a hole in one of them. ‘I’ll tell you what’s normal,’ she said, popping her head out of the collar to glare at him, not caring that her wavy hair was as ruffled and wild as her temper. ‘It’s normal to help friends out when they’re in a pickle. But you keep pushing all your friends away since Kimberley died, which is so sad because your friends and family are who you need to get you through this. You’re needed, Luke. Ella and your mum need you and I do too.’
His mouth was so tightly set a postage stamp couldn’t have been pushed between his lips. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’
No way had Abby said enough. She wasn’t going to be put off her plan. She had to get him to agree to it.
She had to.
‘My entire career is at stake here. I can’t go to the ball without a partner. I’m supposed to be half of one of London’s most influential couples. I’ll be fired on the spot if they find out I’ve made him up. I want so much to raise funds for this charity. It’s my way to really make a difference in the world. There’ll be sponsors there who are going to pay hundreds, possibly thousands of pounds to see me there with my fiancé. You have to help me, Luke. You have to go with me. You have to!’
He slowly shook his head at her as if she were a child having a tantrum, his arms folded across his chest, his feet firmly planted like centuries-old tree trunks. ‘No.’
Desperation was climbing up Abby’s spine like hundreds of faceless creatures with hooked claws. So many people would be at that ball. Important people. Stars, celebrities, movers and shakers and even minor royalty. Possibly major royalty. Maybe the Queen would be there—she’d turned up at the Olympics, so why not the Spring Ball?
People were expecting to see Abby there with her fiancé. It was unthinkable for her to be there on her own. Her chance to do her bit for disadvantaged kids like her would be ruined if she didn’t show up on the arm of her soulmate. The thought of those poor little kids missing out on the things she had missed out on because her fundraising attempt had blown up in her face was heartbreaking.
Why couldn’t Luke do this one small thing for her?
Abby stalked past him out of the bathroom and went back to the sitting room, where she had left her bag and phone. ‘Right, well, then. I thought you were a friend but clearly I’m mistaken about that.’
His expression showed no trace of emotion. ‘Your sweater is on back to front.’
Abby looked down at her sweater and suppressed a groan. Why was she always so clumsy and gauche around him? It hardly helped her cause to be acting like a clown in a farce. She put her phone down and drew her arms out of the sleeves while still wearing the sweater and turned it around so it was facing the right way before poking her arms back through the sleeves. ‘There. Happy now, Mr Perfect?’
Mr Perfect?
His eyes dropped to her mouth but then just as quickly jerked back to her eyes as if he was fighting some inner demon and only just winning the battle. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to Ella about that night?’
‘How do you know I didn’t tell her?’
‘She would’ve mentioned it by now if you had.’
Abby let out a long breath. ‘I didn’t want her to know you were drowning your sorrows in booze. She worries about you enough as it is.’
He looked taken aback. ‘I wasn’t drunk...’ He paused for a beat. ‘I had a migraine.’
‘A migraine?’ Abby frowned. ‘But there was an empty wine glass on—’
‘I’d had one drink after work but it triggered a migraine. I get them occasionally.’
Did his sister and mother know about his migraines? Did anybody know? Abby couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to his mouth and back again. Had it been wishful thinking on her part to think he had almost kissed her? Had she wanted him to kiss her?
Damn right she had.
‘Do you remember anything about that night?’ Abby said. ‘Anything at all?’
‘Not much.’ His tone had an edge of something she couldn’t quite identify. ‘I didn’t...do or say anything to you that I shouldn’t have, did I?’
She couldn’t control the impulse to send her tongue over lips that suddenly felt drier than the carpet she was standing on. His gaze followed every millimetre of the journey, leaving a trail of blistering, tingling heat along the entire surface of her lips as if his mouth and not his eyes had rested there. ‘You mean like make a pass at me?’
A flicker of worry flashed over his face. ‘Please tell me I didn’t.’
‘Maybe if you kissed me again you’d remember if you did or not.’
Are you completely and utterly crazy?
Abby had no idea why she’d issued such a daring challenge but it popped out of her mouth and was now hovering in the air between them like an intoxicating vapour.
Or maybe she did know why she’d said it—because she wanted him to kiss her. Had wanted it ever since that night.
A real kiss.
Not an almost one.
She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his mouth, or pull her mind away from the thought of his firm disapproving lips pressing down on hers. Wondering how his mouth would feel—hard or soft or somewhere deliciously in between. How he would taste—salty with a hint of coffee or mint or maybe even a lick of top-shelf brandy. She was getting tipsy on the images her mind was spinning—images of him taking her by the shoulders and pulling her against his broad chest and plundering her mouth with his.
Yes, plundering, like one of those swashbuckling heroes in the period dramas she loved to watch on rainy Sunday afternoons.
Luke stepped closer and placed his hand beneath her chin, his fingers warm and firm against her skin. She couldn’t remember him ever touching her before, apart from That Night, but the same thing happened now. Nerves she didn’t know she possessed leapt and danced and all but fainted at his touch. The space between their bodies pulsated with magnetic energy—energy that rippled in the air like an invisible current.
His eyes held hers in a searing tether that made something in her core quiver and a shiver rolled down her spine like a runaway firecracker. This close she could see every thick lash fringing his mesmerising lapis lazuli eyes, the way his pupils were black and wide like bottomless pools of ink. She could see the detailed sculpture of his mouth, the deep philtrum ridge and the well-defined vermillion borders, and wondered again what it would feel like to have those lips clamped to hers.
‘Read my lips.’ His voice was so firm it sounded as if it was underlined. In bold and italics for good measure. ‘I am not going to the ball. Got it?’
Abby was more than reading his lips. She was studying them as if she was swotting for a final exam. Had she ever seen a more gorgeous mouth? Not that it was a mouth that ever smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him crack a grin. But then, his air of brooding gravitas had always secretly fascinated her.
Abby had to get him to change his mind about the ball. She had to. Had to. Had to. Her career depended on it. Her reputation. The children at risk charity she was raising funds for would not reach its target if she didn’t show up with a fiancé in tow.
She blew out a breath and cast him a shamefaced glance from beneath her lashes. ‘Okay, so I might have misled you a bit about that night. You didn’t kiss me. You didn’t even try but—’
‘Then why did you let me think I had?’ Luke dropped his hand from her face and frowned as if he was doing it for The Guinness Book of Records.
Abby’s cheeks were feeling so hot she thought she might end up with a world record herself. ‘I don’t know...’
‘You don’t know?’ His voice had a razor-sharp edge to it that nicked at her nerves.
She bit down on her lip. ‘I guess I was a bit shocked when I found you so out of it that night. I stupidly jumped to conclusions and assumed you were drunk.’
‘But why mislead me to believe I made a pass at you if I didn’t even touch you?’
‘Actually, you did touch me.’
His eyes flared as if her words shocked him to the core. ‘Where did I...?’ He left the question hanging in the air.
‘You put your arm around my waist when I helped you into bed,’ Abby said. ‘And you rested your head on my shoulder and looked at me kind of like you were thinking about kissing me.’ She couldn’t bring herself to mention the way he’d stroked her face.
‘There’s a big difference between thinking and doing.’
Abby looked up into his frowning gaze and blinked back the sting of tears. She’d taught herself not to cry over the years but she was scarily close to breaking point. ‘Please, Luke, don’t make me beg. I’m really sorry about my little white lie. I shouldn’t have made you think you’d almost kissed me. But I have a lot riding on this ball. It’s just one night and then it will be over and I won’t ask you to do another thing for me ever again. I promise.’
‘Why’s the ball such a big deal? Isn’t it just another one of your show pony parties?’
Show pony parties? Was that how he saw her? As some shallow little party hopper with nothing better to do than have a spray tan and get a manicure? Which reminded her—she had to get a spray tan and a manicure. ‘I know my career must seem ridiculously vacuous to a nerdy engineer like you, but I happen to love working at a gossip magazine and tomorrow night is the biggest fundraising event of the year,’ Abby said. ‘There’s a silent auction as well as a live auction and amazing lucky door prizes worth thousands of pounds and a dinner cooked by celebrity chefs to raise funds for a children at risk charity. The ball has a three-to four-year waiting list for tickets. I can’t not go because my boss will fire me when she finds out I’ve been pretending to be engaged all along. And I especially can’t show up without my other half since we were nominated as one of this year’s most popular and influential couples.’
His frown was a deep trench between his night sky eyes. ‘You’re going to have to tell everyone eventually you aren’t in a relationship.’
Abby knew she would have to announce some sort of breakup eventually, but how much easier would that be if Luke stood in as her fiancé at the ball? She could even blog and tweet breakup tips once the ball was out of the way. The thought of telling everyone that she, the relationships expert, was single and still a virgin was not something she wanted to do in a hurry—if ever. ‘But don’t you see? I need a stand-in fiancé in order to break up with him. I’ll find someone for myself eventually. Maybe I’ll try one of those dating apps. But I have to get through the ball first.’
He did an I-can’t-believe-you’re-for-real eye-roll and made a move to the sitting room door, holding it open in a pointed manner. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to get back to.’
Abby knew this was her last chance to get him to change his mind. ‘Please, please, please do this for me, Luke. Just for a couple of hours. You can leave early—no one will suspect anything. Think of all those poor little disadvantaged kids you’ll be helping. You will literally be changing their lives by pretending to be my fiancé for two hours.’
He kept looking at her without speaking for so long she began to mentally dictate her resignation letter. But then he released a long and weighted sigh. ‘All right—you win. I’ll take you for two hours, tops. But you have to accept this is a one-off occasion and it will not be repeated.’
Abby was flooded with such a tide of relief she had to stop from flinging herself into his arms and hugging him. Or kissing him, which was even more tempting than she wanted to admit. ‘Okay. Okay. Of course. I only need you for one night. I promise.’
They briefly discussed arrangements about Luke picking her up and what to wear and then he walked her to the front door of his house. ‘One other thing,’ he said.
Abby glanced up at him. ‘Yes?’
He seemed to be having some trouble keeping his gaze away from her mouth. It kept tracking back to it as if programmed to do so. ‘I might be standing in for someone who doesn’t actually exist but that’s as far as your little fantasy goes. Understood?’
Abby wondered what he meant by such a comment. ‘I hope you’re not thinking I’d want you to actually marry me because that’s just utterly ridiculous.’
‘Good to know,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow, Cinderella.’
LUKE CLOSED THE door after Abby left and let out a curse so blue he was mildly surprised to find the walls of his hallway were still white. Damn that girl. How had she got him to say yes? Had she cast some sort of spell on him? Why had he agreed to such a charade? He didn’t do balls. He didn’t do parties. He didn’t even do dinners unless work required it of him.
And he definitely didn’t date.
Since Kimberley’s death he’d had no motivation to date. He felt the urge now and again but he just as quickly squashed it. He was a bad bet when it came to relationships. He had tried with Kimberley. And tried damn hard because with his father playing musical partners like some sort of born-again playboy, Luke had wanted to prove to himself he wasn’t cut from the same cloth. But, for all his efforts to be a good partner, his relationship with Kimberley had floundered and he’d called time on it. He hadn’t felt ready to take their relationship to the next level. Kimberley had stayed overnight several times a week and had even left some clothes and toiletries at his house, but he hadn’t been willing for her to move in with him permanently. It had seemed too much of a commitment. Back then he hadn’t been against marriage, he’d seen it as something he might do one day with the right person, yet over time it had become obvious Kimberley wasn’t the right person.
But within hours of him ending their relationship Kimberley was dead.
The thought of a new relationship made him feel claustrophobic. Like someone was wrapping him in steel cords, pulling them tighter and tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think of the word commitment without his chest seizing.
But helping Abby with her little problem... Well, it had been rather nice of her to make sure he was okay that night six months ago, and he was grateful she hadn’t sent his mother and sister into a fit of panic over him ‘drinking’ by telling them about it. Abby had come on her own to pick up something Ella had left behind the day before. He wished he could remember more about that night, but Kimberley’s birthday was always hard and it always triggered a migraine. Always. He’d come home from Kimberley’s parents’ house, where they’d had a cake complete with candles. Even presents she’d never open.
They always invited him and he always went out of respect. Out of duty.
Out of guilt.
There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t opened the door to Abby that night. He’d only been home half an hour and he’d had half a glass of wine—foolish, he knew—to try and ease the tension behind his eyes, but then the migraine had hit him like a sledgehammer and wiped out his motherboard, so to speak.
But he could remember Abby arriving on his doorstep with a sunny smile and those amazingly bright and clear toffee-brown eyes looking up at him like a cute spaniel.
And her mouth.
He had no trouble remembering her mouth. He could be in an induced coma for a century and still be aware of it. Dear God, what was it about her mouth? It never failed to pull his gaze to its plump fullness. It never failed to make him fantasise about how those luscious lips would feel under his. Damn it. It made him think of sex. With her.
Which was downright wrong given she was his kid sister’s best friend.
That was a line he wasn’t going to cross. There were some things you didn’t do, and that was definitely one of them. That was, if he was actually interested in having a relationship with anyone, which he wasn’t.
Not again.
He didn’t want the responsibility of someone else’s emotional upkeep. How could he ever relax in a relationship after being blindsided by Kimberley’s tragic end? Even though he hadn’t loved her, it didn’t mean he didn’t deeply regret her passing. Every day since he’d thought of all the things she was missing out on, the things her family were missing out on. Nothing he could say or do would ever make up for their loss.
He couldn’t do that to another person, to another family. He was better out of the dating game so there was no possibility of anyone getting hurt.
But what was he going to do about Abby?
One of the little flashes of memory Luke had of that night was Abby’s chestnut hair tickling his face when he leaned his pounding head against her shoulder. Her hair smelt of spring flowers. Her touch... He couldn’t remember if she’d touched him first or if he’d touched her...
But no matter. The crucial thing was he remembered how it felt. It was the same feeling he had when he’d touched her face earlier. Her skin was as soft as the petal of a magnolia bloom. Her nose had a cute dusting of tiny freckles over the bridge that reminded him of chocolate sprinkled on the top of a cappuccino.
He might not have kissed her that night but he’d sure as hell wanted to. He remembered all too clearly. How could he forget a mouth like that, migraine or not? He’d thought about that mouth for the last six months. Thought and fantasised about holding Abby in his arms, touching her, kissing her.
And, yes, God strike him down, making love to her.
Luke wasn’t sure why he’d finally agreed to be her stand-in fiancé. Well, maybe he did know. Seeing Abby’s tears had triggered something in him. Worry that she would do something. Something silly and reckless that would destroy...
He pulled away from the thought. No, Abby wasn’t like Kimberley. Abby was pragmatic and resourceful and resilient in a way Kimberley hadn’t been. Abby’s tears were understandable given the ball was a big deal for her. It was two hours of his time and he surely owed her that since her Florence Nightingale act six months ago.
Two hours pretending to be Abby’s Mr Perfect.
How hard could it be?
* * *
Abby was trying to pull up her zip at the back of her ball gown when she heard Luke arrive at her flat the night of the ball. She gathered the back of her dress in one hand and shuffled out of her bedroom to answer the front door. She hadn’t seen Luke in black tie before. Even in casual clothes he was traffic-stopping gorgeous. But in formal attire he would have stopped air traffic. Possibly even a space shuttle. At take-off.
He was certainly stopping her breath. She had to swallow a couple of times to get her voice to work. ‘H...hi. I’m having some trouble with this zip. Do you think you could give me a hand?’
‘Sure.’ He stepped inside and closed the door. ‘Turn around.’
Abby held her breath as his fingers drew the zip up her back, the gentle brush of his knuckles on her bare skin sending a shiver shimmying down her spine and straight into her lady land. Secretly fizzing and smouldering there like an ignited wick. She could feel the tall frame of his body within half a step of hers, triggering her hormones like they had never been triggered before. It was as if her body recognised something in his—something deeply primal and elemental. Her senses were singing like a mezzo-soprano in the Royal Albert Hall. If she so much as leaned back she could be flush against his chest and hips and...other things.
Male things.
But the zip would only go to a certain point.
‘There’s a bit of fabric caught up in the mechanism,’ Luke said and continued working on it, bending over so his warm breath as well as his fingers brushed over her skin.
She suppressed a shiver and breathed in so he could gain better access, at the same time breathing in his aftershave, this time lemon and lime and a faint trace of bergamot with an understory of country leather. She couldn’t stop thinking of his hands going lower, dipping down to the curve of her bottom, caressing her, shaping her, slipping his fingers between her legs...
Finally the zip moved all the way up and Luke stepped back. ‘That’s done it.’
That’s done it all right. Abby hadn’t felt so turned on in her life. She turned around and hoped her wicked thoughts were not painted bright red on her face. But it certainly felt like it. If she didn’t stop blushing soon she’d be able to turn the heating down. Or off. ‘Erm... I have something else for you to do... I’ll just get it from my bedroom.’
Abby came back out with the fake diamond pendant she wanted to wear and handed it to him. It was a very good fake. You could hardly tell the difference. Hardly. ‘The catch is so tiny I can never do it up by myself.’
Luke trailed the fine chain over his fingers, his narrowed gaze examining the ‘diamond.’ ‘Who bought you this?’
‘You did.’
His brows came together. ‘When did I ever—?’
‘Not you as in you,’ Abby said. ‘You as in Mr Perfect. My fiancé.’
His expression seemed to suggest he thought a white van and a straitjacket might be handy right about now. ‘Are you serious? You actually buy stuff and pretend it’s from someone who doesn’t exist, other than in your imagination?’
‘So? It’s all for a good cause,’ Abby said. ‘I help people. It’s what I do. I help them have better love lives.’
‘While presumably having no love life of your own.’ There was a dry edge to his tone.
‘Like you can talk.’ Abby turned around rather than face his piercing gaze. She had her hair in an up-do that gave him free access to her neck but even so every fine hair reacted to the presence of his fingers with tingles and shivers that went straight to her core.
‘How do you know I don’t have a love life?’ she said, turning back around once the necklace was in place. ‘I might have dozens of secret lovers stashed away.’
‘None of whom you’ve managed to convince to take you to the ball.’ He shrugged at her beady look. ‘Just saying.’
Abby wasn’t going to go into the details of why she’d got to the age of twenty-three without having dated regularly or had sex with anyone. Even Ella didn’t know the full story. How could she tell her best friend her mother was a heroin-addicted prostitute? And that hearing her mother service her clients in the next room—and in the same room when she had been under three—had seriously messed with Abby’s sexual development? She had only been kissed a couple of times and had called a halt before anyone could get any closer. She even wondered if she was frigid.
‘I would have dated someone well before this but I got the job at the magazine, which, quite frankly, I didn’t expect in a million squillion years to get,’ Abby said. ‘I was the least qualified candidate but somehow they chose me. I wrote my first couple of columns about my childhood sweetheart and somehow the readers assumed he actually existed. And then because they loved hearing about him so much I had to keep running with it.’
‘How long have you worked at the magazine?’
‘Two and a half years.’
His frown hadn’t left his forehead but was now even deeper. ‘You’ve been pretending for two and a half years that you’re—?’
‘I know it sounds crazy. It probably is crazy but I wanted that job so much and I was prepared to do anything to get it.’
‘Anything?’
Abby did a little lip chew. ‘Well, maybe not anything, but pretending to be engaged to a guy who ticks all the boxes wasn’t that hard. I mean, guys like that must exist, right? People do get married and live happily-ever-after.’
‘Just as many end up in the divorce courts.’
‘Just because your parents went through a hideous divorce when you were a teenager doesn’t mean—’
‘If we don’t get going soon your two hours will be up before we even get to the ball,’ Luke said, tinkling his car keys, his look more forbidding than a Keep Out sign on an army-training minefield.
Abby picked up her wrap from the back of the sofa where she’d left it earlier. She wrapped it around her shoulders, refusing to be daunted by the boxed up set to his features. ‘If Kimberley hadn’t died would you two have got married?’
‘Abby.’ His voice was like a stop sign.
‘I’m sorry. Am I being pushy? I just wondered how long you dated.’
His lips were pressed almost flat. ‘Three years.’
‘Did you ever discuss it? Marriage, I mean?’
A muscle flickered near his mouth like a faulty switch during a power surge. ‘Look, do you want me to take you to this damn ball or not?’
Abby hadn’t worked in journalism for nothing. She had been known to get blood out of stones before. Whole litres of it. It was a trick of hers to get people talking about themselves so she didn’t have to share anything about herself. ‘Were you in love with her?’
He opened the front door and jerked his head towards the exit. ‘Out.’ His eyes were dark and brooding with bottled-up anger. Anger or something else...
Abby shifted her lips from side to side in a musing manner. ‘Are you angry with me or at life in general? Grief can do that to—’
‘Don’t play the amateur psychologist with me,’ he said. ‘Save it for those foolish enough to fall for it.’
‘I’m sensing a little resistance from you on the subject of your relationship with—’
‘I wasn’t in love with her, okay?’ He took a deep breath as if to calm himself, one of his hands rubbing over his face like he wanted to erase something. ‘And no, I wasn’t going to marry her.’
‘But you still miss her.’
He gave a movement of his lips that was closer to a grimace than anything near a smile. ‘She was a nice young woman. She didn’t deserve to have her life cut short.’
Abby touched his arm. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you moved on with your life. You don’t have to grieve for her for ever.’
The way he looked at her made her insides suddenly quiver. ‘Are you offering yourself as a replacement?’
Abby dropped her hand from his arm as if it had been scorched. ‘Of course not. You’re not my type.’
‘Not perfect enough for you?’ There was a hint of cynicism in his tone.
‘There is nothing wrong with wanting the best for yourself,’ Abby said. ‘Especially when you’re a woman. Women often settle for second best or good enough instead of perfect. Why shouldn’t we have what we want? Why should we have to compromise over something so important as a life partner?’
‘So far the only perfect partner you’ve found is the one inside your head.’
‘So far,’ Abby gave a small nod. ‘But I haven’t given up hope yet.’
‘Good luck with that.’
* * *
Luke helped Abby into his car but he was having trouble keeping his eyes away from her cleavage. The emerald-green ball gown was as sleek as a glove on her, showcasing her assets in a way that made his hormones honk and howl and do a happy dance. She wasn’t super-slim but all her curves were in the right places—places he was getting hard just thinking about. The imitation diamond pendant—he knew it was an imitation because he could spot a fake a mile off—swung just above the shadowed cleft between her bra-less breasts, making him want to place his lips and tongue in that scented hollow, to taste the creamy flesh, to graze his teeth over the nipples he could see pressing against the silky fabric. The dress skimmed her waist and hips and fanned out behind her in part mermaid tail and part train. Her hair was in one of those up styles that looked like it took no time at all to do but still managed to look elegant at the same time. And it framed her face, highlighting the slope of her porcelain-smooth cheeks. Her smoky eye make-up made her brown eyes pop, but it was her mouth that kept pulling his gaze. Glistening with a shimmering lip-gloss, her Cupid’s bow tortured his self-control like a yo-yo dieter at an all-you-can-eat banquet.
He had to stop drooling over her mouth.
Luke got in the driver’s side of his car and curled his fingers around the steering wheel before he was tempted to reach across the console and place his hand on her silk-clad thigh. Was she even wearing knickers under that dress? The thought triggered a flare of lust so powerful it snatched his breath as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.
Abby glanced at him. ‘Are you okay?’
Luke opened and closed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Yep.’
‘You made a funny sound...kind of like you were in pain. You’re not getting one of your migraines, are you?’
Now why didn’t I think of that as an excuse? Not that he was the type of guy to renege on a commitment. When he made a decision he followed through on it. Two hours of his time was not a huge commitment. Thank God. ‘No. Just not looking forward to making small talk. It’s not my forte.’
‘Don’t worry, the music will be so loud you won’t be able to hear yourself think.’
Which could be a very good thing given the things Luke was thinking. Things he had no business thinking. Things like how she would look without that green dress. How her gorgeous breasts would feel in his hands, in his mouth. How those sexy legs would wrap around his hips. How she would feel around him when he—
He slammed the brakes on his thoughts. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Any sort of relationship. And Abby Hart with her happy-ever-after mission was the last person he should be thinking about. She was after the feel-good fairy tale. He still couldn’t get over the fact she’d been pretending to all her readers and followers she was engaged to someone who didn’t exist. Who did that? It took perfectionism to a whole new level. There wasn’t a man on the planet who could fulfil her checklist. And he was the last man on the planet who would even try.
He wasn’t going to try because he’d already been down that road and it had only ended in tragedy.
Abby began fiddling with the catch on her evening purse. ‘Luke?’
‘Yes?’
‘There are a few things you need to know about our relationship...you know, stuff I’ve told my readers about you.’
Luke flicked her a glance. ‘Like what?’
She nibbled at her lower lip for a moment. ‘Like how you proposed.’
Shoot me now. He could just imagine what her wacky imagination had cooked up. ‘How did I—?’ He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word.
‘You took me to Paris for the weekend and checked us into the penthouse suite of a ridiculously expensive hotel where you had organised fresh rose petals to be scattered all over the bed and flowers all over the suite,’ she said. ‘And you had champagne on ice and chocolate-dipped strawberries in a crystal bowl by the bed.’
‘And?’ Luke suspected he wasn’t going to get off that lightly. Paris and champagne and strawberries and rose petals were within reason. But nothing he knew about Abby was within the realms of reason.
‘We—ell...’ The way she drew out the word made the back of his neck start to prickle. ‘You got down on bended knee and told me I was the only one in the world for you, that you loved me more than life itself. You took out a ring box and asked me to marry you.’
Luke couldn’t imagine ever saying something like that to anyone, but still.
‘You had tears in your eyes,’ she said. ‘Lots of them. In fact, you cried. We both did because we were so happy to be—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He made a choked-off sound. ‘I can’t remember the last time I cried.’
‘I know some men find expressing emotion really difficult, but what about when you lost Kimberley? Didn’t you cry then?’
‘No.’
She gave a concerned frown. ‘Oh...’
Luke had been so guilt-ridden he couldn’t access any other emotion. When he’d been told the news of Kimberley’s accident he had felt completely numb. It didn’t seem possible that the woman who had been in his house only a couple of hours earlier was no longer alive. He’d put the phone down after that ghastly phone call from her parents and picked up a glass where Kimberley’s lipstick was still visible on the rim. How could she be dead? For the sake of her shattered family he had swung into action, helping to organise the funeral and dealing with the distressing task of informing people outside the family of her death. He had done it in an almost robotic fashion. He’d said all the right things, done all the right things, but he’d felt like there was a thick glass wall between him and the rest of the world.
It was still there.
‘Her family was having enough trouble dealing with her death without me adding to their distress,’ Luke said. ‘I had to hold it together for them.’
He felt Abby’s gaze resting on him as if she was trying to solve a Mensa puzzle. ‘But what about when you were on your own? Didn’t you cry then?’
‘Not every person cries when sad stuff happens,’ Luke said through gritted teeth. ‘There are other ways to express sadness.’
‘But it’s really healing to have a good howl,’ Abby said. ‘It releases hormones and stuff. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of crying just because you’re a man. That’s a ridiculous myth that harms men rather than helps them. Everyone should be able to cry regardless of their gender.’
Luke pulled up behind the queue of cars waiting to be parked by the valet team at the entrance of the premier hotel where the ball was being held. ‘Okay, Cinderella. Anything else I should know about myself before we make an entrance?’
Her cheeks went a faint shade of pink. ‘Erm... There is one other thing...’
The prickle moved from his neck to his spine. ‘Go on.’
The tip of her tongue swept over her lips, making his groin tighten. ‘You tell me you love me all the time. In public.’
Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d told his mother and sister he loved them, let alone anyone else. He wasn’t a wordy guy. He did rather than said. His father was the opposite—lots of words and empty promises and nothing to back them up. ‘O-kay.’
‘And you use a lot of terms of endearment. Like honey, and baby, and sweetheart.’
That was another thing he wasn’t big on, dropping cutesy endearments into every conversation. But a man had to do what a man had to do. ‘Got it.’
‘And we kiss. A lot.’
Luke’s groin was asking for more room. Urgently. Just looking at her mouth made his blood pound and head south of the border. What would it do to him to actually kiss her? ‘I’m not big on public displays of affection.’
‘You are now.’
Freaking hell. What had he got himself into? ‘Will you be okay with me kissing you?’ Luke asked, frowning.
Her gaze kept flicking back and forth from his mouth to his eyes. ‘Maybe we should have practised a bit first, you know, so we don’t look stilted or awkward together.’
Now he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. Imagining how it would feel against his. ‘Where do you suggest we practise? Here in the car?’
‘We have time before the valet guy gets to us,’ Abby said, glancing at the line of cars waiting to be parked. ‘The queue is long enough.’
But was Luke’s self-control strong enough? He hadn’t kissed a woman in five years. Not unless he counted his mother and sister but clearly a peck on the cheek wasn’t going to make the grade here. ‘You really think this is necessary?’
She was already over his side of the car, her face so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips. ‘Kiss me, Luke.’
Luke slid his hand along the curve of her cheek, his blood pumping so hard he could feel his erection pressing against his zip. He brought his mouth down to hers in a soft touch. Just brush her lips and get the hell out of there. He lifted off but her lips clung to his and something inside him gave way like tectonic plates shifting during an earthquake. He went back down again, breathing in the scent of her, relishing the fresh fruity taste of her. Her lips were soft and pillowy and tasted of strawberries or was it cherries? She made a little whimpering sound and opened to the stroke of his tongue, her tongue dancing with his, making his blood throb all the harder.
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