My Fake Fiancee

by Nancy Warren

  Returning with a doggie bag of Chelsea’s treats, she sat back down at her computer desk. Clarence, the black-and-white cat she’d found rooting around in the garbage two years ago, leaped into her lap and she patted him absentmindedly.

  She stared at the words. Took a breath. Because he was essentially an anonymous penpal, she’d been able to be honest with Mike in a way she never was with real men in her life. So, she told the truth. Typed:

  You seem so perfect. I love talking to you like this, all anonymous. You could be anyone. A man I work with, a guy riding past me on a bike as I go to work. The cute guy in line at the bank. I don’t know, so I can tell you anything and know you’ll answer me honestly. How many relationships like this do you have? I have none.

  She pushed Send.

  He replied almost as soon as she could have expected him to.

  I’ve never had a relationship like this one. Believe it or not, I’m not an online dating guy. A friend was posting and it sounded like fun at the time. Mostly I’ve found it’s time-consuming and wastes hours I could be outside on my bike. It would have been a total waste if I hadn’t met you. Maybe this is stupid, but I sort of believe things are sometimes meant to be. Maybe the reason I posted a profile that day was because I was destined to meet you. Who knows? We could have absolutely nothing in common if we meet, I know it’s a risk, but how long do we play this game of e-mailing secrets? Wouldn’t it be nice to know each other for real?

  She read the words. Read them a second time. For real. Those words haunted her. There was the problem, right there. In those two little words. For real? What was real about this? Nothing. It was fantasy. Glorious, delicious, secret fantasy.

  She e-mailed back, What if we don’t like each other in the “for real” world? We can’t ever have this back once we come out of the shadows.

  A couple of minutes later came his reply. I don’t want to live my life in the shadows. Do you?

  Some parts of it, she thought she did.

  She was debating how to answer him when her doorbell rang. Swiftly, she shut off her e-mail and put the cover down on her laptop.

  A peek through her peephole revealed one very stressed-out big brother.

  She put her grin away before opening the door.

  “Hi. This is a surprise.”

  “You set me up!” He was so outraged, so full of blustering innocence. She couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to blast her. She’d essentially done him exactly the favor she’d promised in setting him up with Chelsea. Except for the part where she’d encouraged her old friend to look her sexiest. That, she had to admit, was for revenge.

  She stuck a hand on her hip and recited, from memory, “I am a childless professional woman seeking a man who can see beyond the workaholic to the soft, caring mother within.”

  He had the grace to look guilty for about a nanosecond, then went on the attack. “That online profile was a Christmas prank. All you had to do was remove yourself from the site. Compared with this? You ruined my life.”

  “Oh, come on. You were desperate. You did all the lying yourself, remember? All I did was provide the perfect woman.”

  “I never knew Mom was going to find out.”

  She snorted with laughter. “What? Are you kidding me? How could Mom find out? She’s in Poland.”

  “One of her cronies lives on my street. Seems she saw me and Chelsea come home together the other night and has had binoculars trained on my house 24/7 ever since. She e-mailed Mom that I’m living with a woman.”

  “Okay, that blows.” Then her sense of the ridiculous overcame her once more. “I have to say, you getting busted by Mom was an unexpected bonus.”

  He stormed past her and started pacing her apartment.

  Sarah studied him for a moment, a puzzled frown on her face. “I don’t get why you’re so upset. Mom and Dad will understand if you put up an old friend for a few weeks. In the meantime, you’ve got exactly what you want. Chelsea told me herself that the dinner thing went really well. In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have come up with anyone who would be more perfect as a corporate wife than Chelsea. She cooks, she speaks French, she dresses well, has good table manners, no tattoos, addictions or her own YouTube porn video.”

  “Nannette was a performance artist.”

  “Whatever. I’m just saying, Chelsea’s fabulous. So why rip up at me?”

  But it seemed he hadn’t come to her only to storm at her. He started speaking, a little like a witness on the stand, like the words were forced from him. “My firm loves her. They want us both to go to a weekend corporate retreat. This is totally out of control.”

  “Well, don’t yell at me. What were you thinking would happen?”

  “I thought a couple of dinners, maybe the Christmas party and we’d be done. I never imagined she’d infiltrate my life this way.”

  “Infiltrate your life? Chelsea’s not a spy, David.”

  “No, but she’s changing everything. My house is full of food and there are flowers in vases all over the place, and suddenly I’m going to a corporate retreat with a woman. Everything’s all mixed up.”

  She hadn’t seen him this upset since his engagement broke up. She began to grow hopeful. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I had to get away. It’s like frickin’ domestic bliss. We had dinner together in my house, and she told me about her day, and I told her about my day, her stuff is all over the place, there are flowers in my living room—I think I already said that—and my family likes her and, and…”

  “And you can’t handle it.”

  He paced a little more. “I don’t even know why I came here. You know what?” He turned to her as though he had something profound to say and then suddenly said, “The one greatest benefit to living with a woman is denied me. She has these rules. No sex, no kissing… Oh, never mind.” And as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

  She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, he was in a mess of his own creating after all, but for some reason she did. He was just so clueless about his own needs and feelings.

  She opened the door and shouted down the hall, “Do you even know how many years that amazing woman was in love with you? Clueless, you’re clueless.” He didn’t answer, was probably already riding the elevator down, and so she slammed the door and retreated back to her apartment.

  She stomped back into her home office, pulled her laptop open. People who played games with their love lives were idiots. Then, as she thought about what she was doing e-mailing her mystery man, she realized that she had more in common with her clueless brother than she wanted to admit.

  She took a deep breath, knowing she was about to risk losing something that had become special to her over the past months.

  Okay, she replied. I’m in. Let’s meet.

  She looked at the words for a long time. And then she closed her eyes and pushed Send.

  Do you even know how many years she was in love with you? The words spun round and round in his head like song lyrics that wouldn’t quit.

  Of course he’d known. Did his sister think he was completely stupid? Not love, that was Sarah the drama queen talking, but he’d known Chelsea had a thing for him. So, her friend had had a crush on him in high school. That was a long time ago, and the woman David had met in front of the hotel was not the kind of woman who pined after an old school crush. A woman with a body and face like that? She could have any man she wanted.

  Love. What did love have to do with anything anyway? It was the talk of an engagement that got everyone’s emotions on hyperdrive. What he and Chelsea had going was a simple business arrangement.

  But he halted in his tracks as he recalled Chelsea’s really strange reaction to the weekend away together. She’d said it would be tough to have to spend a weekend with him at a luxury resort. At the time he’d thought she was just yanking his chain, but with Sarah’s words still dancing in his
head, he began to wonder. Was it possible that she still had…feelings for him? After all these years?

  A strange warmth flooded him at the thought. She’d been a sweet kid, too smart and serious for her own good. Now? Now she was one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen. Was it even possible that a woman like that had never overcome a high school crush?

  He didn’t want it to be true, of course, but if it was, he could see he needed to treat her carefully. He didn’t want her thinking there was any more to this engagement than a chance for both of them to get ahead in business.

  Still, he wasn’t entirely able to quench a certain flattered pride that persisted when he returned to the town house they were now sharing.

  Everything made more sense. Especially her completely bizarre refusal to sleep with him when you could cut the sexual tension between them with a knife. Every time they touched he ended up weak-kneed. He wasn’t so full of himself that he could have mistaken the honest lust that had flared between them. She’d felt it as strongly as he had and he’d been surprised when she refused to take their wild attraction to its obvious conclusion and let them both enjoy each other.

  But maybe he’d misunderstood the situation. Maybe she had feelings for him.

  If that was the case he was going to have to tread warily. Still, he was grinning to himself when he walked back into his own home.

  The grin died a sudden death when he heard little Miss High School Crush laugh—a deep, sexy laugh that no woman would pull out for just anybody.

  He closed the door quietly; she was sitting back on a big comfy chair with her back to him. “Philippe, c’est impossible. Non.” Another ribbon of sexy laughter floated to his ears. And then she continued speaking.

  He had no idea what she was saying, but it was in French and that made everything sound dirty. He understood one word very clearly. Philippe. Yeah, no girls he knew were called Philippe. Obviously, Chelsea had a French boyfriend. No wonder she was willing to forgo any dating activity in Philly. That was why she didn’t want to sleep with him, that was why she didn’t want to spend a weekend away with him. It wasn’t because she was still hopelessly in love with him. It was because she was hopelessly in love with another man.

  He couldn’t wait to tell his sister how wrong she’d been.

  Chelsea wasn’t in love with him anymore, if you could even call a high school crush love. She’d moved on.

  He pictured some guy in a striped T-shirt and floppy hair smoking Gitanes and quoting Proust. The vision made him mildly queasy.

  He made a noisy production of entering his own home so she wouldn’t be startled. She glanced up, sending him a smile and a cheery wave. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, feet resting on the arm of his couch. Long, lean legs and the toe ring winking at him. And then she went back to cooing sweet nothings in French.

  David wasn’t a jealous man; he didn’t believe in an emotion that caused nothing but pain.

  However, he’d really, really love to have his own personal UN-style interpreter right now so he could understand exactly what his fiancée was cooing to another man.

  10

  “THERE’S ONLY ONE BED.” It was probably the stupidest thing she could have said, but the two of them were standing there inside the door of the suite on Friday night of the corporate retreat, both staring at the mammoth bed that dominated the room.

  Seemed like someone should mention it.

  “Looks like it.” He sent her a half guilty, half pleading look from under eyelashes that were far too long and lush for a man. “I could request two beds, but word would get around.”

  “No. Don’t do that.”

  He glanced down at the floor dubiously. “I suppose I could sleep on the floor.”

  “It’s slate. You’d be miserable. No, the bed’s huge. You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine. We’ll work it out.”

  The room was gorgeous, the resort fairly new and built in a style she thought of as eco-chic. All natural materials, stone and wood, big natural rock fireplaces and natural linens for bedding and towels. Huge French doors led to the woodland retreat outside. There were trees and wildflowers out there and plenty of privacy.

  “I am really sorry about this. I had no idea they’d put us in the bridal suite.”

  She giggled. “It’s not the bridal suite,” she said, glancing over a brochure that was on the desk. “It’s the romance package.”

  They’d left early in the day to avoid Friday night traffic and enjoyed a leisurely drive through rolling hills, past lakes and forests of trees that would be turning every color of fire come autumn, but for now were a deep, placid green.

  “I used to come up here a lot to go hiking and camping,” David said. “There are some great trails, waterfalls and good views.” He glanced at her sideways. “And not too many snakes.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “We should come up with a tent sometime,” he said, and then as though realizing that he was talking as though they had a future, added, “With a group or something. You know.”

  Piers and his wife had been so excited when they arrived, they’d all but accompanied Chelsea and David into their room. “We thought you could combine the corporate retreat with a bit of fun time to yourselves,” Piers had informed them.

  The double Jacuzzi bathtub in the middle of the suite, for instance, could no doubt be fun if you were in fact in love, and not faking it.

  There was a basket of goodies on the table that included champagne, chocolates and massage oil and a few more intimate items. Oh, dear.

  “I had no idea they’d do something like this. Honestly, I figured we’d get a standard hotel room with two queen beds.”

  “It’s fine.” Hoisting her bag onto the edge of the enormous bed, she began unpacking her case into the wooden drawers. “I trust you.”

  “What about Philippe?”

  “Philippe?”

  “Your French boyfriend. I overheard you talking to him on the phone.”

  She glanced up at him. “I didn’t know you could speak French.”

  “I can’t. But I picked out a few words.”

  “I see. Well, you don’t need to worry. Philippe knows he can trust me.”

  Philippe had studied with her and they’d bonded over béchamel sauce. Neither of them could stand the thick white sauce and tried to avoid using it in their own cooking. If David had picked up on passion during their conversation it was a passion for food, since Philippe was happily living with Raoul, a financial analyst from Nantes.

  She thought about disabusing him of his mistake, but stopped herself. A little consideration was all it took to make her realize that Philippe was the perfect excuse to keep her distance from the all-too-attractive and far-too-accessible David.

  She hadn’t had sex in months and the lack was getting to her, especially while living under the same roof of a man who reminded her she was a woman with a woman’s needs. Plus, with the stress and anxiety of opening a new business, some good recreational sex and a few laughs were exactly what she needed, but she wasn’t built that way. And with David, she didn’t think she could have a few laughs and walk away unscathed. She really needed to keep her distance.

  He was staring at her while she neatly put her clothes and things away. “You unpack for a weekend?”

  “Yes. I suppose you jumble everything together in your suitcase and wonder why your clothes end up creased.”

  “No,” he said in a constricted voice. “I unpack for a weekend, too.”

  She bit her lip. “Oh.”

  She hung her dresses neatly in the closet; he hung his jacket and slacks beside them. How intimate they appeared, those clothes, cosily snuggled up like lovers.

  They moved around each other fairly efficiently until she noticed he’d stopped and seemed to have turned to stone. She was unpacking her lingerie—she hadn’t even considered that he’d ever see it, and here she was with all her frilly, girly French silks and laces. Sexy lingerie was an indulgence she’d pic
ked up in Paris. No matter how yucky her day with food, how utilitarian her apron, she always knew that underneath all that she was feminine and sexy.

  It seemed he’d noticed. For a second she stood frozen, a black lacy bra and panties in her hand burning like a handful of live coals. He didn’t move, either; it was as though he couldn’t. Their gazes connected and she felt the scorch.

  He took a step forward then halted. Swallowed.

  He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got an hour until we have to join the crew for dinner.” He gestured behind him to the walking trails that meandered behind the lodge. “Think I’ll take a walk.”

  Oh, this whole place was altogether too romantic. A long walk seemed like a good idea, because if he took one step closer, they’d be cracking open the massage oil and champagne.

  “Okay. I think I’ll finish unpacking.”

  He nodded. “See you later.”

  IT WAS GOING TO BE A LONG weekend, David thought as he strolled among the pines and birch, enjoying the fresh air, the softness of the path beneath his feet and the fresh air. Fresh air. Right. If he kept repeating that thought, breathing in deep lungfuls of the stuff, he might keep his thoughts off the sexiest wisps of nothing that women considered as underwear.

  All he could think about was that glorious body covered in dabs of silk that he was pretty sure were designed more to enhance than reveal.

  This weekend was going to be torture. Pure torture. Between the stress of spending a sexless weekend in the sex palace and trying to impress the execs, he thought a three-day migraine might be easier to handle.

  He wandered aimlessly, wanting to go back and make love to that woman so badly his teeth ached, knowing he couldn’t. He reached a summit where a view of gently rolling hills seemed to stretch to New Jersey.