by Lisa Wells
He gave her a full-on grin. “Then by all means, please say you’ll be my pretend fiancée.”
“What guarantee do I have that you’re not going to fall madly in love with me?” She tried to sound as confident in her own prowess to win the heart of any man she deemed worthy. She watched his expression closely.
“Good question.” He sounded sincere. Looked sincere. “As you’ve been fond of pointing out to me, I trusted in love once. Monumental mistake.”
“Kinley never told me what happened. Just that it happened. Do you care to share the details?”
“The quick version—she started dating me to get close to my best friend—Kinley’s now husband. When Ian turned her down, she decided I would do. And then she decided I wouldn’t do right before we were scheduled to say I do. And if you can’t trust, you can’t love.”
His words caused her to feel anger for a woman she didn’t even know. A woman who had used and hurt a man in such a callous way. “Do you hold a grudge against all women because of one woman? Not that I can say I’d blame you if you do.”
“Not at all. I don’t trust in trust. Or at least trust when it comes to love.”
“That we have in common.” She didn’t trust herself to choose a good man worthy of her love.
He laughed. “Good to know.”
The guy had a really nice laugh. One that made you want to laugh with him.
He straightened up, crossed to her, and grabbed her hands in his. “I know there’s nothing in this for you, but I’d be grateful if you said yes.” His sincere tone seduced her common sense.
“I wouldn’t be doing it for you. I’d be doing it for Kinley.” Adeline tried to tug her hands out of his. He didn’t let go. “Your sister cleverly played the friendship card. When you don’t have family, friends become your family.” Of all the cards Kinley could have played, the friendship one was the most powerful.
The fact she played that particular card proved that, although they hadn’t spoken a lot in recent years, Kinley still knew Adeline better than anyone else. Knew the hole in her heart was from lack of family and that Adeline would do about anything to fill that hole with an adopted family.
…
“Then, that’s a yes?” Jack pushed, resisting the urge to let her off the hook.
Her cute nose scrunched. “Why do we need practice dates?”
“Beautiful, I work with some very observant people. They can smell a fraud a mile away. The only way we’d convince them we’re engaged is if we exude a chemistry that shouts sexual fireworks.”
Her eyes sparkled as if she’d just caught him in a lie. “I thought we were talking about a nonsexual relationship?”
“Would you like it to be a sexual relationship?” Did she want more? He’d taken sex off the table because his subconscious tricked him into it. Of course, not having sex would help keep things simple. But, then again, simple was way overrated.
“Of course not,” she snapped.
Hell. “Nonsexual it is then.” Simple it would stay. “But my people would fully expect us to be having sex. We’d have to convince them we are.” He had a feeling she was really pissed about something, but damn if he knew what. He was treating her with the utmost respect. Only a horn-dog would expect sex during a pretend relationship. “That’s only going to happen if we’ve spent some time together getting to know each other. And although we wouldn’t have a sexual relationship, we would need to have kissed a few times to pull this off.”
He liked the feel of her pulse under his thumb, and at the moment, it was throbbing. Did that mean she liked the idea of kissing him?
She shivered. “I’m a good actor. We won’t need to kiss for me to convince them.”
He glanced down. Her nipples were visible, just as they’d been last night when she danced on the pole so seductively. “I’m not a good actor,” he said. He could have been Tom Hanks, and he would have said he was bad if it meant opportunities to kiss her. “We’d need at least five kisses.”
She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “I’ll give you three. Are the dates to see if I’m up to your standard?”
The insecurity in her voice tugged at his gut. For all of her bravo, she had some jagged holes in her armor. “The dates would be so I can get to know you. Something I’m looking forward to doing.”
Her nostrils flared like she wasn’t buying what he was selling. “I find that hard to believe.”
He shook his head. What happened to make her so uncertain of her charms? “Adie, I’d proudly show you off to anyone I know.” Never would he want her to think she wasn’t good enough.
…
Adeline melted just a little. Okay, a lot. That had been a really good answer. “We have an agreement—but, you should know, I’ll never be available for a Saturday night date.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Thank you,” he finally said, like a proper gentleman not bent to probing into a woman’s secrets.
“When would you like our first date to be?” Adeline asked, offering him a sweet smile.
“Tonight.”
Dear Lord, wasn’t the guy listening? “Tonight’s Saturday night. I have standing plans on Saturday nights.”
He frowned, his brows bumping together like two men in a boxing ring. “With a guy?”
“That’s none of your business.” Ha. Chew on that, Mr. I-Don’t-Want-a-Sexual-Relationship.
His strong jaw stiffened. “Starting tomorrow it will be my business, because starting tomorrow you are officially my fiancée. How about a breakfast date tomorrow morning?”
“Who does breakfast dates?” She bit her lip to keep from adding, that’s the accounting nerd in you showing.
“A guy anxious to get to know his intended wife.”
Her belly dipped. Hell. That was another good response. Not nerdy at all. “Where shall we meet?” She was suddenly looking forward to a breakfast date.
“I’ll pick you up,” he said in a non-negotiable voice.
“I’d prefer to meet you somewhere,” she said, channeling Kinley’s don’t-mess-with-me tone that had worked so well on him last night.
“Are you always this difficult to date?”
Having no control over her life growing up had definitely cultivated control issues as an adult. Anyone who knew her well, knew this. “I could tell you, but it will be much more fun letting you discover the answer on your own.”
Chapter Ten
Adeline knocked on the front door of the old two-story white wood house and waited to see who would answer. She didn’t have to wait long.
“What do you want?” Dottie stared hatefully at Adeline from behind the screen door. She wore a Kansas City Royals stocking cap over her bald head, and layers of winter clothing covered her frail frame despite the warm spring evening.
A lump the size of a baking potato formed in Adeline’s throat. She never knew which Dottie would greet her. Lately, it had been this one. “Hi, Dottie.” Adeline blinked back the tears and gave her a sloppy smile, reminding herself Dottie couldn’t help that cancer had worsened her Alzheimer’s.
Dottie frowned. “I’m a dying woman, I don’t have time for greetings. What do you want?” Her voice reeked of hurt, disappointment, anger. Just as it had the night Adeline called from jail her junior year in college and asked Dottie to bail her out. A memory Adeline tried hard to forget.
Unfortunately, it was a memory Dottie’s cancer-battered brain recalled more and more often whenever she saw Adeline or heard her voice on the phone. The good memories they shared were rarely evoked.
She swallowed her recollections of the time she’d broken the heart of the one woman who had refused to let Adeline sabotage their bond back in her teenage rebellious years.
“I brought you fresh-baked bread and homemade ham chowder soup, just like we used to bake every Saturday when I lived here.” She always mentioned their tradition in the hopes it would trigger a good memory for Dottie.
They’d worn full-length aprons and chef’s hats
during those baking sessions. Dottie’s crisp white apron proclaimed Hot Stuff on the front; Adeline’s Hot Stuff’s Pride and Joy. Dottie made them the very night Adeline came home from middle school and proclaimed she would become a chef, attend Le Cordon Bleu, and then come back and teach Dottie everything she learned. After all, Dottie gave up on her dream to attend the culinary school when she made the decision to foster her. Adeline always felt like it was the least she could do.
“Hi, sugar,” Dottie’s wife, Alice, said from behind Dottie. Alice and Dottie got married after Adeline moved out and went away to college. Alice was Adeline’s sixth foster mom. When Alice gave up on Adeline, Dottie stepped in and announced she was going to be Adeline’s seventh and final foster mom. At the time, Alice and Dottie worked together at a local bakery.
“Don’t call her sugar. She’s nothing but a common thief,” Dottie said, before turning and walking away.
Pain exploded in Adeline’s chest, burning and pulsing until tears fell down her cheek.
“Don’t you take it personally,” Alice said. There was a croak in her voice. “You know she loves you.”
Adeline nodded, afraid to speak as she wiped at the tears. Every week she got her hopes up that they’d have a good visit. And when it didn’t happen, she spiraled into an abyss of sadness.
Alice opened the door wider and took the bread and soup out of Adeline’s hand. “I’d invite you in, but the doctor said not to let her get agitated.”
“What else did the doctor say?” Maybe when the treatments were over, Dottie’s brain would recover.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, babe, but he gives her six months to a year.” Alice had never been one to sugarcoat bad news.
Adeline made a guttural cry and grabbed the doorframe. “I thought the chemo was working. That her memories would eventually clear up.” Dottie couldn’t die. They had unfinished business.
“We all did.” A tear slipped down Alice’s face. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“I start at Le Cordon Bleu in the fall. I finally got the acceptance. Will you tell her when she’s having a good day?” It was a lie. A lie Adeline was willing to tell because when Dottie was lucid, knowing Adie got in would make her proud. Hopefully, someday soon, it would be the truth.
Alice rubbed the back of her neck. This past year had taken its toll on her. Caring for someone you love, while watching them fight for their life, couldn’t be easy. “Of course. I’m happy for you. She’ll be happy for you. When will you leave?”
“I won’t. Not until after…I’ll wait. But I want Dottie to know. I need for her to know.”
Chapter Eleven
Adeline awoke from a bad dream in which rump roasts were burning and dry red wine was gushing from the kitchen ceiling sprinklers. Only the alcohol was making the fire worse.
She slapped in the direction of her alarm. The slap sent the pink, fat-faced old fangled alarm clock across the room. The noise stopped. Then it started back up. Then it stopped. Then it started back up. What the heck? That’s not how her alarm clock worked. There wasn’t a snooze button. It didn’t start and stop.
Which meant it wasn’t her adorable clock assaulting the lazy, Sunday morning silence. But if that wasn’t the instrument of pandemonium, then what was it?
She pulled the covers off her head and listened closer.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
How had she confused that deep booming noise with the shrill ring of her alarm?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Someone was trying to break down her front door. Was it a crew of sexy firemen wearing— Crap. Was her house really on fire? Had her dream not been a dream?
She popped up, sniffed the air for burned roast, and glanced around for flames. Nothing. She glanced at the Fitbit on her wrist. “Son of a bitch.” Nine freaking a.m. Not only had she overslept; she’d waaaaay overslept.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The remainder of Adeline’s sleep fog evaporated, and she hopped out of bed. Shit. Shit. Shit. That was him knocking at the door. She’d bet her KitchenAid mixer on it. “I’m coming.”
Adeline grabbed her robe, stuck one arm in the armhole, shoved a handful of cinnamon candies into her mouth from the tin on her night table, and hurried to open her front door, tripping over the alarm clock on the way. “Fuck.” She awkwardly slipped her other arm into the robe as she fumbled with the locks. She swung the door open. “I’m. So. So. Sor….” The fierce expression on Jack’s face caused her words to trail off.
She sucked in a breath and yanked the sash on her robe. “Wha…what’s wrong?”
He glanced heavenward, almost like he was saying a prayer, and then at her. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?” he thundered, the tension vibrating off of him caused her to take a step back.
“I was asleep,” Adeline replied in a tone of neutrality. A tone a therapist taught her to use even when she wasn’t feeling it. Who was Jack to raise his voice at her?
He glanced past her as if he was looking for someone. A storm brewed in his eyes. “Did you stand me up on purpose?”
Was that sweat on his forehead? “Of course I didn’t stand you up on purpose.” She did a more inclusive scan of his appearance. He wasn’t angry. He was disheveled. His face was red. It was as if a kitchen-grunt had dropped him down the garbage disposal, and he’d spent eternity crawling out of the slimy dungeon. As if…
Her thoughts skidded around in her head like they were on an oil-slicked road. “You were worried about me?”
Could that really be the reason for Jack’s crazed look?
“Yes.” The one-word admission came out of Jack as an accusation. An accusation that raised the hairs on the back of Adeline’s arms.
“Why?” she squeaked, her heart rate accelerating. The last time she had caused someone to look like their world had been tossed on its ass, she had just admitted to her birth mom she had told the family secret.
Jack exhaled loudly and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “We thought you had died.” He spoke in a low voice, more controlled, yet overflowing with wretchedness.
“We?” Her brain had cobwebs trapping half-formed thoughts, keeping them from meeting up with their completing half.
He gave her a curt nod.
She took a deep breath, trying to fight through the cobwebs.
Who just assumes someone died because they got stood up for a date?
“Did you think I died of old age over night?”
He didn’t smile at her lame attempt at a joke. Instead, he stepped inside and closed the door, turning what had been a comfortable hallway into a small space. “When you didn’t show up this morning, I called Kin to see if you were the type to just flake out on a promise. She managed to convince us both you might be dead from your concussion.”
Oh. Adeline’s confusion cleared. He was suffering from guilt anxiety. He thought she was dead, and it was his fault. “I relieve you of all guilt over my head injury.” As she spoke, she zigzagged her hand from his shoulders down to his waist as if she held a magic wand. She didn’t wish guilt on anyone. And in case he didn’t believe she held a magic-erase-thy-guilt wand, she added, “I fell because I was drunk, not because you turned off the lights.”
For several long seconds, he didn’t respond. He just stared into her eyes, as if he knew the code to open her private thoughts.
Think no thoughts. Think no thoughts. Think no thoughts. Could he read her thoughts? God, he’d know she wanted to have sex with him. Think no thoughts. Think no thoughts. Think no thoughts.
He ran a hand through his hair. Visibly relaxed his shoulders. And gave her a naked stare. One he hadn’t used on her before. One that showed his vulnerability.
Her mouth went dry. She found it hard to take a full breath. “Jack—”
“Adie,” he said in a choked voice, “I’m glad you’re alive.” He reached out and yanked her into his arms and covered her mouth in a hungry kiss. His hands tangled in her hair, tugging her
body into his, radiating the pain he’d been feeling before she opened the door.
She responded immediately. Desire flaring through her like an out-of-control rocket. A low moan escaped from her throat as she opened her mouth, kissing him as forcefully as he was kissing her. Exorcising her own demons.
Their tongues tangoed to a triple-time beat, as their hands clutched and explored each other’s bodies. Adeline felt the sash of her robe loosening, but she was too caught up in the moment to care that she was wearing absolutely nothing sexy underneath.
Then, as quickly as it began, he dropped his hands and took a step back. His eyes averted from her gaping robe that exposed her high collar nightgown.
Adeline didn’t understand. “What was that about?” she whispered, yanking together her robe. Dottie had bought her this virginal nightgown. Adeline wore it every Saturday night. It made her feel close to Dottie.
Jack’s face was flushed. “Checking for a pulse,” he muttered. He turned away, pulled out his phone, and started texting. “I told Kin I’d let her know if you’re alive.”
Adeline trembled and tried to gather her senses. “Most people just place two fingers on the inside of a wrist when they want to check for a pulse.”
He turned, leveling her with a serious stare. “I’m not going to apologize for kissing you.”
She gave him a frown. “I didn’t ask you to.”
He pulled her toward him and rested his chin on the top of her head, causing her stomach to flip. “I’m really glad you’re alive.”
“Oh.” A warmth, the kind you get when someone makes you feel special, filled Adie. She had to remind herself that it was only natural he’d be glad she was alive since he thought her supposed death was his fault. Still, the kiss didn’t feel like that kind of kiss; like a Get Out of Jail Free kiss. It felt like the beginning of a bodice-ripper novel.
She placed her hands on his chest, and despite her desire to keep them there, she pushed away and stared at her toes. She didn’t want to feel warm romantic fuzzies toward Jack Foster. In her experience, warm fuzzies could morph into cold starks with very little forewarning.