My Fake Fiancee

by Nancy Warren

  However, there were things she needed to get straight now that Mike was no longer some faceless Internet confidant. Like the fact that they’d met under false pretenses.

  “What made you e-mail me the first time?” she asked him. There’d been no photograph accompanying her profile; even David wouldn’t stoop that low.

  Mike thought for a few minutes. “I don’t know. That was a while ago. I liked your profile. How straightforward you were. Like, this is who I am and what I want. No apologies. It was straight-up. You communicate directly, almost like a man.”

  She looked into his frank, innocent eyes and knew she had to tell him. “The truth is, a man did write my profile.”

  He finished chewing a bite of sandwich and swallowed. “Why didn’t you write your own?”

  “It was my brother who put up the profile. He did it as a joke.”

  Mike didn’t seem particularly shocked by her admission. She got the feeling that he liked to think things through, see all sides of an issue and come to conclusions slowly. Not jump to judgment like she did. “If it was a joke, why didn’t you take your profile down when you found out?”

  Which wasn’t the first question she’d have asked if their positions were reversed, and one she found difficult to answer. Yet, if they were to continue, she supposed they needed to be honest with each other, even if it made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. “You e-mailed me. I liked what you said, so I stayed on for a while.” She shrugged. “Once I felt comfortable giving you my personal e-mail address, I deleted my profile.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “It’s not completely cool. You see, the part that was a joke was the way my brother described me.” She felt hotness creep into her face. “Like I was a frustrated spinster looking to get married and have babies, and not interested in sex before marriage.”

  She wrapped up the remains of her sandwich and put it neatly into the bag he’d brought along for garbage.

  He watched her as though waiting for her to go on. She didn’t. So he said, “So, are you?”

  A laugh shook her. “Am I what? All those things my brother said? Of course not.” She thought for a moment. “Well, in the legal sense, I am a spinster. It simply means unmarried woman. And of course I plan to get married some day and probably have kids, but it’s not the top thing on my agenda.”

  Which left the sex thing hanging out there in the breeze like the muted sounds of animals from nearby enclosures. Again, Mike didn’t speak but waited for her to tackle the subject she’d so rashly brought up. She fought cases in court, argued down some tough opponents. She didn’t blush and dither. Yet now she felt an urge to do both. Finally, she said, “Let’s just say I’m not saving myself for my wedding night.”

  “I see.” Carefully, he packed away his garbage. Unlike her, he’d eaten every scrap of his sandwich, left only the barest core of apple. “So, you want to go somewhere and have sex now?”

  “No!”

  A tiny rumble that could have been a laugh shook his frame. “Then, I guess, somewhere between a first date and marriage is when you’d feel comfortable having sex with a new partner?”

  “Why are we talking about my sex life?”

  “You seemed to want to. You brought it up.”

  “My point is that I’m not as conservative as that profile made me out to be.”

  “You know, we’ve been e-mailing for a while now. Don’t you think I might have figured out a few things about you for myself?”

  “Like what?”

  The sun shone through whatever those fancy, lacy trees above them were, casting snowflake-shaped shadows on his face and body. “Like you work pretty hard making sure people see you the way you think you should appear. But when you relax and let down your guard, there’s another Sarah in there. A softer woman who doesn’t get out much.”

  And there it was, the thing she’d dreaded from the beginning. “So, you’re interested in soft, squishy Sarah. Sarah the pining mom, Sarah the—”

  He interrupted her for the first time since they’d met. “I’m interested in all of you,” he said with unaccustomed firmness. “It’s your contrasts that appeal to me. I like that you’re smart and driven and take pride in your work. I also like the person inside who yearns for some things her tough exterior doesn’t think she should. It’s what makes you interesting.”

  “Oh.” She was rarely speechless, but she felt close to it right now. Naturally, she turned the tables. “What about you?” He’d obviously gone to that site for a reason. “If I’d said, yes, let’s go get naked in the bushes and do the deed, would you have gone along with me?”

  He really did have the sexiest mouth, especially when he gave her his slow smile. One that sent her temperature up a notch. “I’d have been tempted. I won’t deny it. I find you very attractive. But no. I wouldn’t. I don’t do that anymore.”

  Good to know he’d at least have been tempted. “Don’t do what anymore?”

  “The casual-sex thing. It gets old.”

  “Does it? It’s been so long since I even had sex I can barely remember.” She could have slapped her hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her?

  Mike appeared quite intrigued by her blurted comment. He leaned back on his elbows as if he had all day and nothing much to do. “How long?”

  “This is the weirdest first-date conversation I’ve ever had.” She huffed, scrubbed her bare feet a little in the grass to get rid of an itch. “About a year.”

  “Eight months for me.”

  “Somebody break your heart?”

  He rolled lazily onto one elbow and contemplated her. “Maybe me.”

  “You broke your own heart?” Probably just as well he was confining his progeny to zoo animals.

  “You really want my story?”

  “Sure.” She had a million things to do this afternoon, but it was a gorgeous day and no matter how hard she worked she’d always have another million things waiting.

  “I was living in California, working as a surf instructor and a yoga teacher as well as working in a school. The thing is, when people do sports they tend to get a nice endorphin rush going. And I had a lot of female students.”

  A picture was starting to form. “Tanned California girls in bikinis.”

  He grinned. “Sometimes. And yoga wear. All these lithe, fit women and I know I’m going to sound like a conceited jackass here…but some of my students would come on to me. Seemed pretty harmless. I was flattered, we’d built up a bit of a good vibe from surfing or yoga or whatever and next thing you know I’d be having sex with these women.” He shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. “After a while, I started to feel like the pool boy.”

  She had to suppress a laugh. “You mean these women were using you for sex?”

  “Let’s just say I didn’t form a lot of long-term relationships.” He rolled to his back. “I think I like sex as much as the next guy, but I’m looking for more than casual hookups.”

  “So you moved to Philly. A lot fewer girls in bikinis needing surf lessons here.”

  “I got offered a permanent teaching job out here. And I decided it was a chance for a new start. I made some rules for myself. So far I’ve followed them.”

  “Don’t you miss it?” she had to ask. He was such a physical guy. She thought of David giving up sex for eight months and her mind couldn’t contain the thought.

  “Do I miss sex?” He rolled to his side so he was facing her again. “Absolutely.” He reached for her hand, the most intimate gesture he’d yet made. Linked their fingers together. She was shocked at how sexy it felt. How good. “How about you?”

  “I keep pretty busy. Most of the time I don’t think about sex, but when I do?” She thought of the warmth coursing between them from the simple touch of their linked hands. “Yeah. I miss it.”

  They stayed like that for a minute, comfortable, easy with each other and yet with a current of sexual tension that was buzzing through their linked hands.

  “About these rules
you made for yourself…” She didn’t know how to continue. “How long…?”

  “Look, I’m really not into rules and rigid structures, I’m not saying I have to know someone a certain amount of time or anything, I’m just saying, I’m not a scratching post for every woman with an itch.”

  An unexpected snort of laughter erupted from her mouth. “That is some image you just put in my head.”

  He grinned at her. “I want to sleep with someone because I genuinely like her and want to get to know her better, and I want her to feel the same. No timeline.”

  “Got it.”

  “Does that work for you?”

  “Yes, I think that could work for me.”

  They cleaned up the rest of their picnic and she shook out the beach towel and rolled it up neatly before handing it to him. They walked to where she’d left her car, the sun scorching. She pulled out her sunglasses and slid them on. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “No. I’ve got my bike.”

  “Right. Well…” She had no idea how to say goodbye.

  He handed her a flyer. She was so surprised she looked down to read it. Saw a trio of distorted bodies and it took her a minute to make the connection. “Oh, it’s your yoga studio.”

  “The schedule’s on there. I teach Saturday mornings. Be great to see you.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to seduce you after class?” she teased.

  “I hope you will,” he replied, then with a swift kiss—so quick it was over before she’d realized he was about to kiss her—he turned away and left. Her lips felt tingly and alive. And, she realized, the rest of her felt pretty good, too. Maybe they were both about to end their sexual dry spells.

  She drove away with a smile on her face. Who’d have thought. One thing she was determined on. David was never, ever going to find out that she’d met a great guy through his bogus profile.

  Never.

  15

  “ARE YOU GOING TO BE home for dinner tonight?” Chelsea called to David as he headed off for work.

  He paused. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I’m trying out a new recipe with stuffed chicken breasts in a wine sauce.”

  “My pants are getting tight. I skip my workouts so I can eat your food.”

  “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

  “I feel like I’m living on the set of Julie and Julia. People aren’t meant to eat so much butter and cream and wine.”

  “Nonsense. Julia Child and her husband both lived into their nineties. I’ll take butter and cream over a bag of potato chips any day. Healthier and tastier.”

  “I don’t eat potato chips.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “If you’re going to be grumpy about this, I’ll toss you a green salad.”

  “I’ll be home for dinner.” He walked by her and his lips quirked. “And stuff me a chicken breast.”

  When he got to work he realized he was going to have to do something about the routine they’d fallen into. It was too easy, too comfortable, too damn domestic.

  But, oh, that woman could cook. It was strange because she looked like one of those women who lived on carrot juice and celery sticks, but she didn’t. She not only cooked the way Mozart created music, but she also had a hearty appetite and enjoyed food so much it was a pleasure to watch her eat.

  He figured she was blessed with a fast metabolism, plus, she wasn’t one for sitting around. She always seemed to be busy doing something. All that food was getting burned off all right. Sadly, not on hot sex.

  He’d promised to keep his distance, but that woman was becoming an obsession to him. Having slept with her once, it was like she was a drug he couldn’t get out of his system. He fantasized all the time about what he’d like to do to her in an apron, and nothing but an apron. Never in the past had he thought of a kitchen as more than a place to store beer and reheat pizza. Now he thought of it as the most erotic room in his town house.

  And the more he wanted Chelsea, the more she treated him like a cross between a business coach and the big brother she’d never had.

  An unaccustomed frown settled on his forehead and wouldn’t budge.

  When Jane had to remind him of a scheduled meeting off-site with an important client, he knew he was losing the laserlike focus that made him so successful.

  David wasn’t a man who got distracted by women, or one who kept glancing at the clock, willing the day over so he could run home and see the woman waiting for him at home.

  And when he got there what did he get? Hot, crazy sex? No, artery-clogging meals that were shortening his time here on earth.

  On his way to the client’s his scowl deepened. Seemed to him that little Miss Cordon Bleu was setting all the rules in this relationship. She didn’t want sex. Fine. They didn’t have sex. She wanted to cook constantly, start a business from his kitchen. Fine, he’d been decent about that. But using him as her test-kitchen guinea pig? No, that one wasn’t going to work.

  Not without some serious concessions on her part.

  He wouldn’t mind eating rich food and enjoying decent wine if, at the end of it, there was somewhere for all that decadent pleasure to go.

  Of course, she had Philippe. But Philippe was in France, very far away. He wasn’t the one eating all of her food, he wasn’t the one sharing a home with her. If he didn’t want another guy poaching his territory, why wasn’t he here? David knew for damn sure that if Chelsea was his woman he wouldn’t be letting her shack up with another man. And, knowing what her food did to a guy, he wouldn’t be letting her cook for her roommate, especially if said roommate was a red-blooded male who wasn’t getting any.

  As he went over his sales pitch for the meeting, the pitch where he convinced the owner of a local record label that his company was large enough now to institute a corporate insurance plan, he realized that he’d been handling the whole Chelsea thing all wrong.

  He’d lived by her rules so long he’d forgotten that rules were meant to be bent until they broke.

  What did he do best in all the world?

  He was a salesman.

  If he couldn’t sell a woman who was young, attractive and also not getting any—oh, yeah, and living with him—to have sex with him, then he might as well find a job in an anonymous cubicle somewhere because he had no place on the executive level of any business.

  He spent the drive out to the record label mentally sharpening all the weapons in his seduction arsenal.

  Like closing any sale, the prospect of getting Chelsea into bed filled him with excited anticipation. He couldn’t wait for tonight.

  A bit of compunction hit him as he stopped for a red light. What if she and Philippe were serious? When he arrived at the record company a few minutes early, he called Sarah.

  “Sarah Wolfe,” she barked when she answered.

  “And that’s going to scare any business away.”

  “I knew it was you. And I’m in a pissy mood.”

  “You can hardly tell.”

  “Do you want something?”

  “Yeah, actually, I do. You got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s about Chelsea.”

  “What did you do to her? I swear to God, David, if you upset her in any way, I’ll kill you. She’s vulnerable, you know? She’s still finding her feet back here at home, she’s trying to start a new business and that’s not easy. So if you’re giving her any trouble, I’ll come over there and pack her up myself and she can move in with me and you can look after my cat.”

  For a few seconds there was silence. He could hear her aggressive breathing and waited until it had calmed a bit. “That was quite some rant. Feel better now?”

  She laughed, which was a good sign. “Damn you, yes. Sorry. I’m having a personal issue.”

  “You’re not getting any, either, are you? I know the signs.”

  “This whole sex thing is the worst evolutionary invention.”

  “Speak for yourself. As a matter of f
act, that’s what I’m calling about.”

  “If you want the birds-and-bees talk, sweetie, you want Dad. He and Mom are back next week. I hear a family barbecue is on the agenda.”

  Oh, she was definitely starting to feel better. “I am calling about Chelsea. There’s this guy she talks to a lot on the phone. Philippe. You know anything about him?”

  “Her gay friend in Paris? The one she went to cooking school with? What about him?”

  The birds began to sing, the sun had never shone brighter, life was a magical feast and he was about to chow down. “Her gay friend Philippe? Yeah, that’s the one. I was just wondering if he knows the truth about the fake engagement. I mean, can we trust him?”

  “The guy’s in France and doesn’t speak English. Frankly, I think you have a whole lot of bigger problems to worry about, bro. Like that family barbecue. You better hope Mom hasn’t been knitting baby booties on her trip.”

  “You’re right. Listen I gotta go, I’m late for a meeting, but we should get together real soon. Hey, maybe we could all go out one night. You and me and Chelsea and I’ll find a fourth.”

  “I can find my own date, thanks.”

  He was surprised. “Really? I didn’t think you were seeing anyone.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Shouldn’t that put you in a good mood?”

  “Wrong again.” She muttered something and then “Later,” and she was gone.

  He shook his head as he got out of his car. Women in general were difficult enough to figure, but sisters? Or maybe it was just his sister.

  16

  “I LOVE YOU, STOVE,” Chelsea cooed as she removed a tray of absolutely perfect profiteroles from the oven. Maybe the saying “You get what you pay for” wasn’t always true, but in this case, the expansive range was a dream to work with.

  Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, and an apron covered the skirt and blouse she wore. She’d always taken time to freshen up and dress in her nice clothes when she’d been working in restaurants, and now that she was working from home she saw no reason to change her ways. If she made sure to shower and change and put on makeup before David got home, that was purely coincidental.