My Fake Fiancee

by Nancy Warren

  It wasn’t only so she could impress the wedding planner, he realized, but for her own confidence.

  He was suddenly filled with warmth and tenderness for this woman. “You’ll do great,” he said. Then he looked around the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. You’ve done so much already, lending me this kitchen and giving me a place to stay.” She met his gaze frankly for the first time since they’d slept together the other night. “I’ve rented the café and there’s an apartment above it. I’ll be moving out next week.”

  And just like that, his conviction that it was a terrible idea for them to continue sharing his place was gone. His mouth opened and words he’d had no intention of saying spilled out. “But you can’t move out. We have an agreement.”

  Her smile was sweet and a little sad around the edges. “I’ll still be your fiancée whenever you need me to be, don’t worry. But I think it will be better for both of us if I don’t live here. Don’t you?”

  Now that she was actually doing the direct-communication thing, he realized he didn’t like it at all. What was he supposed to say? Admit that he was confused as hell?

  “I… There’s no need.”

  “I think there is.” She wiped her hands on a damp towel.

  “If you’re talking about the other night, it was just two friends getting extra friendly.”

  She nailed him with her gaze, so clear he felt that she could see right through him. “Really, David? Is that all it was?”

  He gulped. If he’d been wearing a tie he’d have loosened it. “Sure. It happened, it was fun. Felt great. No reason to make a big deal about it.”

  “Then let me ask you one question.”

  He didn’t like her tone and was wary as he answered, “What?”

  “If it was no big deal and felt so great, then why haven’t we done it again?”

  He swallowed, felt like a spider was stuck in his throat and trying to crawl up. “I don’t know. You’ve been busy. I’ve been busy.”

  She shook her head and looked at him almost as though she felt sorry for him. “I don’t think that’s the reason at all.”

  “Yeah? Then what is?”

  She turned her shapely back to him. “You figure it out.”

  21

  CHELSEA HAD BARELY gotten to sleep after working until the small hours preparing for tomorrow when she was woken by something ringing. She’d set the alarm for six, but it was so dark outside, she was certain it couldn’t be six yet.

  She rubbed her eyes and only then realized it was her phone ringing. She grabbed at it, at the same time squinting at the clock. Four a.m. “Hello?”

  “Chelsea?”

  Oh, great, some drunk calling her at four in the morning. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Tom.”

  She sat up in bed, no longer even sleepy. Tom was her bartender and the guy with the panel van. And he sounded strange. “Tom? Where are you?”

  “The hospital. I was coming home from work and got into an accident. My van’s a write-off and I’m going in for an X-ray to see if my leg’s broken. I’m really sorry, Chelsea, but I can’t help you today.”

  She wanted to scream, to rail and curse, but it wasn’t Tom’s fault that he’d had an accident, so she pulled herself together. “It’s okay. You take care of yourself.”

  “I hate to let you down.”

  “It’s fine,” she lied. “There are other guys I can call, they just aren’t as good as you. Call me later and let me know about your leg, okay?”

  “Sure. Yeah.”

  “Is someone with you?”

  “My wife’s on her way.”

  “You take care.”

  She hung up and took a moment to wallow in her own panic, then she flipped on the light and tried to think what to do.

  It wasn’t a disaster, she told herself. Not yet. She had time to rent a van and hire a bartender. All she needed to do was find a rental place that was open at four in the morning and start calling everyone she knew in the business, which wasn’t very many people.

  As she crawled to the kitchen to put on coffee, she wondered when it was too early to start phoning around for an emergency bartender.

  She’d taken her first sip of coffee when a sleepy male voice said, “What’s going on?”

  She turned to find David naked but for a pair of shorts she suspected he’d just put on for her benefit. “David, I’m so sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t. I got up for a drink of water and saw the light.” He scratched his head, which made his hair stand on end adorably. “You look seriously stressed. What’s up?”

  “My bartender, the one with the van, got into an accident last night. He crashed the van and probably broke his leg. I am trying really hard to be sympathetic but mostly I’m trying not to panic.” She wasn’t exactly thrilled with David these days, but just for this one moment, it felt so good to vent her problems. “Do you have any idea where I can rent a van at this time of the morning?”

  He yawned hugely. “Pour me a cup of that coffee, will you?”

  “But, you don’t have to…” She stopped talking when she realized he was walking away from her and back upstairs.

  By the time she had his coffee poured and the dash of milk and one sugar, which was exactly the way he liked it, he’d added jeans and a T-shirt to his outfit and returned.

  He sipped his coffee and plopped himself on one of the kitchen stools. “What kind of van do you need?”

  “It has to be big enough to carry trays of food and boxes of supplies.”

  “I can think of a few options. A few of my buddies have kids, and they all have the mom vans. But my squash partner, Mark, he coaches a soccer team and I’m pretty sure they had a van specially fitted out with shelves and stuff. That would probably be our best bet.”

  “That would be ideal, but honestly, any kind of van would be so amazing.” She sipped her coffee, feeling panic start to subside. “Now all I need is a bartender.”

  “I could be your bartender.”

  She was so surprised she gaped. “You? A bartender?”

  “Sure. I put myself through college bartending. I might be a little rusty, but I can still make any cocktail you can throw at me.”

  “It’s a simple bar. Beer, wine and highballs. No fancy cocktails.”

  He spread his hands and sent her his killer smile. “Then your problems are solved.”

  “But I can’t ask you to—”

  “You didn’t. I volunteered.” His grin disappeared. “Unless there’s somebody else you’d rather have. I could be your last-resort bartender if you want.”

  “No. You’d be perfect. I mean, I’d be thrilled to have you if you really don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind at all. I didn’t have anything planned for today anyway.”

  By six they were both showered and, in spite of her protests that it was too early, David called his squash buddy. She had no idea what words were exchanged or how unhappy the man was to have been woken so early on a Saturday, but the good news was that the team had no game that day so the van was theirs to borrow. The only stipulation being that they returned the van with a full tank of gas.

  She was so happy she threw her arms around David in an impulsive hug. “Thank you.”

  The second their bodies touched she realized her mistake. Even at six-fifteen in the morning with a stressful day ahead of her and a night of very little sleep behind her, she couldn’t help but feel the current of attraction between them.

  She backed off immediately but not before catching the look of baffled longing on his face. Fool he was, but a good-hearted fool who was helping her out in her hour of need.

  He was also muscular and cheerful, and she discovered that when he put himself into a project, he put his whole being into it.

  Not only did he pack along a bartender’s guide “just in case,” but he also went and got the van, unloaded all the soccer paraphernalia and stopped at a car wash to get the inside of th
e vehicle thoroughly vacuumed and washed.

  Then he helped her load the food and supplies and drove her to the mansion where the wedding would be held.

  The wedding planner was already there, supervising the sound system setup, when they arrived.

  Karen appeared as competent and in control as when Chelsea had met her in her office and she tried to act as nonchalant, as though she catered weddings every day of the week. As David came in behind her, hefting a box, Karen said, “Hello, gorgeous.”

  Chelsea had no idea how to introduce David. As her friend? Fiancé? The guy who was helping her out since her bartender had crashed his van? There was a split-second pause as she scrambled and then he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m David. The bartender.”

  Karen shook his hand. “I haven’t seen you before. I’d have remembered.”

  “I work exclusively for Chelsea,” he explained.

  “Excellent. Well, let’s pull off another wedding miracle, shall we?”

  “We shall,” Chelsea said, suddenly certain that everything was going to go fine. She’d prepared fabulous food, had timed her day exactly so that everything would run smoothly. And she was toting along the world’s most gorgeous bartender.

  When they were alone in the kitchen she said, “Thanks. I owe you.”

  He sent her a scorching glance. “I’ll collect later.”

  It was a light, foolish comment, but it still sent a sizzle right up her spine.

  YOGA WAS SUPPOSED TO be relaxing, Sarah reminded herself as the class ended and she and the rest of the participants settled into Savasana. Corpse pose. You were supposed to lie on your back with your arms and legs flopped out, body in total relaxation mode while Mike talked softly, reminding them to quiet their thoughts and let the world go.

  Hah. Quiet her thoughts? Was he kidding? All she could think about was how much she wanted him and how crazy-making this whole situation was.

  As for letting the world go, she’d never been so conscious of the world, of the hardness of the floor and the soft wash of air across her stretched and limbered body, the beat of her heart and the flow of her blood. And the burning heat between her thighs.

  She spent so much of her life in her mind, behind a desk, barking on a phone, staring at a computer. How often did she bother to connect with her body? Now that she’d started, her body seemed obsessed with sex, and with one bicycle-riding, orangutan-adopting, yogic school counselor in particular.

  She wanted to jump off her mat and drag him out of here to the closest place where they could get naked and she could use this newfound awareness of her body’s needs and wants.

  But they were “taking things slow,” she reminded herself. If she was lucky, she’d get coffee. Again. Big deal. She was sick of slow.

  At least she’d worked up the courage to invite him to the wedding and he’d agreed to be her date. It was a start, she supposed.

  When the ten eons that five minutes of meditation and relaxation felt like were finally over, she jumped up and began rolling her mat. However, as quick as she was, a lithe, supple redhead, who wore more makeup than anyone could consider appropriate for a yoga class, had uncoiled herself and was asking Mike something.

  Sarah felt a scowl beginning to form. She wasn’t going to compete for Mike. Not on any playing field. In fact, she was sick of games altogether. He and the redhead were talking softly, closer together than was necessary, way inside each other’s personal spaces.

  She grabbed her clumsily rolled mat and left the studio for the showers.

  When she emerged, her hair still damp from her shower and her temper almost under control, Mike was waiting for her, his bag hanging from his shoulder. He ambled up to her, in no hurry, kind of how he did everything. “I’m done for the day. You feel like a coffee or something?”

  Tilting her head back, she looked him right in the eye. Enough already. “Or something.”

  He grinned down at her. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The studio was in the art gallery area, an up-and-coming neighborhood, as Realtors liked to say. As they left the studio, she found herself slowing her steps to avoid ending up blocks ahead of him. “You sure are in a hurry,” he commented.

  “I hate wasting time,” she snapped, trying to control her urge to speed ahead so as to catch the walk signal before it turned red.

  “But time just is,” he said in his slow, deliberate manner. “Whether you pack a hundred things into an hour or take care over one thing.”

  “I never understand that argument. Why wouldn’t a person want to accomplish a hundred things rather than only one?”

  He shook his head at her. “It depends on the one thing,” he said in a slow, sexy drawl. “Maybe I should give you an example of what I mean.” His eyes crinkled in that sexy way he had. “That is, if you’ve got an hour to spare?”

  “As it happens, all I have to do today is get myself dressed up and go to my friend’s wedding. So, I’ve got a couple of hours to spare.”

  “Even better. Come on.” He headed off walking and she struggled to stick to his slow pace. They passed her car, but he declined a ride, telling her instead to look around her and take in the scenery. He headed in the opposite direction of the coffee shop where they’d gone the last few Saturdays.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s not the destination, Sarah, it’s the journey.”

  “Are you deliberately trying to sound like a Buddhist calendar?” She could even imagine the photograph. A pair of sandals, walking through a desert, leaving a track of prints.

  “I like to challenge your beliefs a little.”

  “What about you? Don’t you think you should be challenged?” Why was it always her who needed to change?

  “Oh, believe me, you challenge me every time I’m with you.”

  She had no idea whether that was meant to be a compliment. Somehow, she didn’t think so. They were walking down a quiet street of older, residential homes. Nothing fancy, but there was a nice sense of community here.

  Before she could ask him to explain what he meant, he’d turned and indicated steps leading up to the front entrance to a row house.

  “This isn’t a coffee shop.”

  “No. It’s my house.”

  “Your house? You’ve never invited me to your place before.”

  “Today I am. Would you like to come in?”

  22

  FOR SOME REASON SARAH felt nervous. Which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman who’d been longing to get him alone for weeks. Now that he seemed to want to let her into his house, she wondered what other intimacies were in store, and whether she was as ready as she thought she was.

  Trying not to let him see her feelings, she nodded and followed him inside.

  It was always interesting to get inside a single man’s house. Was he a slob? A sports junkie? Did he have a collection of comic books? Had he decorated his space? Were the legacies of girlfriends past to be found? All this was yet to be discovered as she walked into his living room. And felt a strange sense of peace.

  There was very little in the room. A few pieces of comfortable furniture, some black-and-white photographs hanging on pale gray walls, a tidy stack of books. Mostly there was space. No carpets covered the refinished wood floors, no ornaments cluttered the fireplace mantel or the single table.

  He didn’t immediately flip on music, so she was conscious of the quiet as well as the feeling of calm in the room. “I don’t have coffee. Would you like some green tea?” he asked her.

  Why was she not surprised?

  “Yes. I would.”

  She followed him into the kitchen and it was as neat as the living room. A couple of green plants in the window, bare countertops, four cookbooks in the space where a microwave was meant to be. “Don’t tell me you don’t possess a microwave?”

  His eyes gleamed with self-deprecating humor. “I’m more into the slow food movement.”

  She felt like banging her head against th
e gleaming, naked countertop. What was she doing here?

  Then he turned and walked toward her. He raised his hands to cup her chin and slowly leaned in, kissing her in the slow, unhurried way he did everything.

  And in that moment, she had an inkling that some things were really much better done slowly.

  His lips were warm, gentle, and his hands moved slowly from her face to her hair, still slightly damp, she imagined when she felt his hands push into it.

  He kissed her for a long time, standing in the middle of his kitchen, while the kettle sighed softly on the stove and her body grew increasingly aroused. She wanted to rip his clothes off him and take him right here on the kitchen floor, but she understood that he wanted them to take their time, and for once she was willing to give over control, fairly certain she’d be rewarded for her patience.

  And it was taking all the patience she possessed and some she thought she must be borrowing from somewhere to stand still and let him diddle-daddle around, playing with the earring in her lobe, tracing patterns on her fully clothed back.

  All the while her pent-up excitement grew. When the kettle finally blew its whistle she knew exactly how it felt. The noise startled them both, and he pulled away, saying, “Maybe the tea can wait.”

  “I think so.”

  Then he took her hand and led her upstairs to his simple, sleek bedroom. No television, one book on the nightstand, no clothes scattered everywhere. A black wardrobe, one chair and the bed. It would look like a monk’s cell except for that bed. A king size with nubby linen sheets that had the ecofriendly expensive look. She got the feeling that while he didn’t have a lot of stuff, what he bothered to own he treasured and chose carefully.

  Dappled light played through his window, patterned to lace shadows by a tree outside. He resumed kissing her. Right where he’d left off, as though he’d forgotten the taste of her and needed to start all over again.

  Time seemed to drift as she stood there, feeling lazy and special. When he’d explored her mouth fully, he finally got around to helping her off with her hoodie, making such a production of it that she felt like she was doing the dance of the seven veils. Mysterious and sexy.