His Secretary's Surprise Fiancé

by Joanne Rock

  It bothered him how much he wanted to know.

  “It’s none of their business.” He didn’t care what anyone thought. His brothers were too caught up in their own lives to pay much attention to Dempsey outside of his work with the Hurricanes. He’d been the black-sheep brother ever since their father had shown up with him in tow as a scrawny thirteen-year-old. “The engagement is important, since Valentina threatened to cause trouble for the Brighter NOLA fund-raiser by going to the media with some story about my nondisclosure agreements. The announcement of my marriage to you trumps her ploy ten times over. No one will care about her story, let alone believe it.”

  “Ah. How convenient.” Adelaide wrenched her purse onto her lap and started digging through it. Finding a tube of lip balm, she uncapped it, twisted the clear shiny wand upward and slicked it over her mouth until her lips glistened.

  His own mouth watered. Then he recalled her words.

  “It is useful.” He watched her smooth her dark hair behind her ears, the primping a sure sign of nerves. “The engagement helps me to keep you close and prevents Valentina from sabotaging something you and I worked hard to develop. That foundation is too important for her to derail our efforts.”

  “Well, I don’t find it useful. Or convenient.” Adelaide’s eyes flashed a brighter jade than normal, her cheeks pink with a hint of temper. “I am not an actress. I can’t make an engagement believable to your family when they’ve hardly noticed me in all the time we’ve known each other.”

  “We can address that.”

  “If you think I’m going to start tossing my hair—” she exaggerated some kind of feminine hair fluffing “—or slinking around your house in skintight gowns to convince anyone that I’m the kind of female who could capture your attention...”

  “You think that’s what I notice in a woman?” He couldn’t say if he felt more amused at her attempt to toss her hair, or dismayed that she perceived him as shallow.

  Her shrug spoke volumes.

  “Your challenge could not be clearer if you’d thrown a red flag on the field.” Something stirred inside him—something deeper than the earlier flashes of attraction.

  A bone-deep need to prove her wrong. He was not a shallow man. He’d simply dated women who could go into a romantic relationship with eyes wide-open. He refused to give any woman false expectations.

  “I’m not challenging you.” She bit her lip again, her shiny gloss fading as her anxiety spiked. “Simply pointing out what has historically intrigued you about the fair sex. I won’t be the only one who finds our decision to marry a total farce.”

  She reached for her door handle as if to end the conversation on that note.

  He reached for her, bracketing her with his arms. Stopping her from exiting the vehicle.

  “No one is going to doubt that you have my attention.” The space around them seemed to shrink. He noticed she remained very, very still. “That much is going to be highly believable.”

  She swallowed hard.

  “Do you believe me, Adelaide?” He wanted to hear her say it. Maybe because it had been a long time since someone had questioned his word. “Or shall I prove it?”

  Her eyes searched his. Her lips parted. In disbelief? Or was she already thinking about the kiss that would put an end to all doubts?

  “I believe you,” she said softly, her lashes lowering as her gaze slid away from his.

  He had no choice but to release her then, his argument won. He should be relieved, since he didn’t want to give Adelaide false expectations of their relationship. But as they exited the SUV and headed into the house, he couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t challenged him on that last point, too.

  He’d been all too ready to prove that the attraction he felt for her was one hundred percent real.

  Three

  Everything about this day felt off-kilter to Adelaide as she followed Dempsey up the brick steps onto the sprawling veranda of his house. Fittingly, she limped up the steps in her broken heel, unable to find her footing around him.

  He’d commissioned the home when he’d first taken the head-coaching job in New Orleans, though it hadn’t been completed until last spring. As if the Reynaud family complex hadn’t been impressive enough before, now Dempsey’s stalwart white mansion echoed the strong columns of the main house where he’d grown up. His place, just under ten thousand square feet, was only slightly less intimidating than Gervais’s historic residence on the hill that had been built in the same style two centuries prior. She could see the rooftop from here, although the live oaks gave the structures considerable privacy. It helped to have the billions from Reynaud Shipping at their disposal, though the generations-old wealth was one of many reasons Adelaide had always felt out of place here.

  Today, she had even more reason to feel off her game.

  From the erratic pounding of her heart to the all-over tingle of awareness that lingered after their talk in the back of the Land Rover, she felt too dazed to don her usual armor of professionalism. What had he been thinking to focus that kind of sensual attention on her? She’d been so breathless when he’d bracketed her between those powerful arms, his chest just inches from her own, that she hadn’t been able to think straight. Hadn’t been able to question why they needed to enact this crazy charade for his family that had always intimidated her.

  She slipped off her unevenly heeled shoes at the door and walked barefoot into his house. Once she shook off this fog of attraction, she would talk sense into Dempsey and leave. She’d wanted a clean break from him, and now he’d changed the playing field between them so radically she didn’t know what to expect. Should she put her product launch on hold? Or should she keep fighting to end her commitment to the Hurricanes? She needed to sort through it all without the added confusion of this new sensual spark between them.

  “You might remember from the blueprints that there’s an extra bedroom upstairs and one downstairs.” He led her through the wide foyer past a grand staircase. He used an app on his phone, she realized, to switch on lights and lower blinds as they moved through the space. “Both have en suite facilities. I can send Evan to your place to pick up some things for you when he retrieves your car.”

  They paused in an expansive kitchen at the back of the house, connecting to a dining area with floor-to-ceiling French doors that opened onto the yard overlooking the lake. There was another set of French doors in the family room, also accessing the back gallery and lawn. It was a perfect place for entertaining, although she would be surprised if Dempsey had hosted many people here. She certainly hadn’t been invited to any private parties at his home even though she’d helped choose any number of fixtures and had spoken with his contractors more often than he had.

  But in all fairness, Dempsey had always spent the majority of his time on the road or at the office. She doubted he’d spent many nights here himself.

  “The house is beautiful,” she said finally. “You must be pleased with how it turned out. I know I looked at the plans with you when you first approved the blueprints, but seeing the real thing... Wow.”

  She shook her head as she took in the ceiling medallions around matching chandeliers that were either imported antiques or had been designed by a master craftsman. The natural-stone fireplace in the kitchen gave that space warmth even when it wasn’t lit, while another fireplace in the family room had a hand-carved fleur-de-lis motif that matched the ceiling medallions.

  “Thank you. I haven’t spent much time here, but I’m happy with it. Why don’t I order some food and we can hash out a plan for the next few weeks while we eat?” He set his phone on the maple butcher-block top of the kitchen island, one of the elements of the house she’d helped choose, along with the appliances.

  But when she’d been comparing kitchen options on her tablet, she’d simultaneously been investiga
ting a wide receiver’s shoulder injury and a competing team’s new blitz packages. No wonder she’d all but forgotten the details until now.

  “Anything is fine.” She wasn’t in the mood to eat, her body still humming with awareness and a sensual hunger of a more unsettling kind after those heated few moments earlier.

  Even in this giant house, Dempsey’s magnetic pull remained as potent as if they were separated by inches and not feet. When he walked toward her, her breath caught. Her heart skipped one beat. Then two. It had been one thing to ignore her reaction to him when he’d always treated her as a friend. But now that he’d opened that door to a different kind of relationship, teasing her with hints of the possible chemistry they might have together...her whole being seemed to spark and simmer with the possibilities. That kind of distraction would not make figuring out her professional life any easier.

  First she needed to strategize a method for dealing with him and this fake engagement, then find a way out of the house as soon as possible. She couldn’t survive spending twenty-four hours a day with him, especially when she wasn’t sure if he genuinely felt some kind of attraction, too, or if he’d always known about the feelings she thought she’d kept well hidden. Would he be so cruel as to use that attraction now to his advantage?

  “Gervais has a full-time chef at his place now that Erika is having twins.” He gestured in the general direction of the house on the hill where his older brother had settled his soon-to-be wife, a beautiful foreign princess who would fit right into the Reynaud family. “It’s easy to have something sent over.”

  “I’m too wound up to eat.” She shrugged. “I would make some tea, though.” She peered around the kitchen, not seeing a kettle or any other signs of basic staples.

  “Tea.” He typed in something on his phone and shook his head. “I’ll ask for a few things.” He set the device aside. “Evan will bring it over in half an hour or so. I’ll show you the rooms so you can choose one. You’ll be safer from the press here. You have to know that my family’s security rivals that of Fort Knox.”

  The very last thing she wanted to do was choose a bedroom in Dempsey’s house, especially when her pulse fluttered so erratically just to be near him. It didn’t matter to her body that she was angry with him and his high-handed move. Some fundamental part of their relationship had shifted today; a barrier that she’d thought was firm had caved. She felt raw from having that defense ripped away.

  He stalked through the family room into the western wing of the house and pushed open the door of an expansive bedroom with carpet and walls in blues and grays, a king-size modern bed with a pristine white duvet and a white love seat in front of yet another fireplace, this one with a gray granite surround.

  The en suite bath on the far end of the room had a stone bathtub the size of a kiddie pool, spotlighted with an overhead pendant lamp on a dim setting. Gray cabinets and white marble were understated accents to the dominant tub.

  “You didn’t take this one for your room? I thought you had chosen that tub especially for you,” she asked over his shoulder, realizing as she said it that she’d allowed herself to stand very close to him to better see the whole space. If she leaned forward just a little, she could rest her cheek against his back where broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist.

  It didn’t help that she’d been thinking about him lounging in that huge custom tub, muscles glistening.

  “The view is better from the suite upstairs.” He turned to face her and it was all she could do not to scuttle backward. She did not need to have both Dempsey and a bed in her field of vision. “I’ll show you the bedroom near mine.”

  “No. I mean—there’s no need.” She would sleep downstairs by herself if it meant they could end this tour faster. “I can sleep here tonight.”

  She wasn’t committing to spending any more time than that in this house. One night was bad enough, but she had too much to work out with him to leave just yet.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right alone down here?” He frowned. But then, he knew when they traveled she preferred a room close to his. Her house had been broken into as a teenager—after he’d moved away from her. And she felt jittery at night sometimes.

  “I’m certain. Your family’s security rivals Fort Knox. Remember?” She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t sleep well under Dempsey’s roof for entirely different reasons than that long-ago robbery where she’d hidden under her bed for half an hour after the thieves had left. “But you mentioned discussing a plan for the next few weeks?” She backed up a step now, out into the hallway away from the warmth of his broad shoulders. “I’ll rest easier once we talk through this. Actually, if we can come up with a plan, I’ll say good-night and leave you to watch your game film.”

  She knew his habits well. Understood how he spent most nights after a day on the field, watching the action on the big screen where he could replay mistakes over and over again, making notes for the next day’s meetings so the team could begin implementing adjustments.

  “Come upstairs first.” He turned off the light and headed back toward the front of the house, where she remembered seeing the main staircase. “I want you to see my favorite part of this place.”

  Something in his voice—his eyes—made her curious. Maybe it was a hint of mischief, the same kind that had once led them into a haunted house, which turned out to be the coolest spot in their neighborhood after she got over being scared of the so-called voodoo curse on the place. Besides, she needed to see hints of her old friend—or even her boss—inside the very hot, very sexy male she kept seeing instead. So she focused on that “I dare you” light he’d had in his eyes as she padded up the dark mahogany stairs behind him, the two-story foyer a deep crimson all around them.

  He’d come a long way from the apartment on St. Roch Avenue where he’d battled river rats as often as his mother’s stream of live-in boyfriends, each one more of a substance abuser than the last. His mom had been a local beauty when she’d had an anonymous one-night stand with Dempsey’s father after meeting at the restaurant where she’d waitressed. She hadn’t read the papers enough to recognize Theo Reynaud, but when she’d seen him on television over a decade later, she’d remembered that one night and contacted him.

  Adelaide hadn’t been at all surprised when Dempsey’s real father had shown up to claim him. She’d known as soon as she’d met Dempsey—way back when he’d saved her from a beat down in a cemetery where she’d gone to play—that he was destined for more than the Eighth Ward. In her fanciful moments, she’d imagined him as a prince and the pauper character like the fairy tale. He had the kind of noble spirit that his poor birth couldn’t hide.

  And even though she wanted to think she was destined for more than her tiny studio still a stone’s throw from St. Roch Avenue, she was determined to make it happen because of her hard work and talents. Not because of all the wealth and might of Dempsey Reynaud.

  “Through here.” He waved her past the open door to another bedroom, the floor plan coming back to her now that she’d walked through the finished house. She recalled the two huge bedrooms upstairs and, down another hall, the in-law suite with a separate entrance accessible from outside above the three-car garage.

  She didn’t remember the den where he brought her now. But he didn’t seem to be showing her the den so much as leading her through it to another doorway that opened onto the upstairs gallery. As he pushed open the door, moonlight spilled in, drawing her out onto the deep balcony with a woven mat on the painted wooden floor. A flame burst to life in the outdoor fireplace built into the exterior wall of the house, a feature he must have been controlling with the app on his phone. An outdoor couch and chairs surrounded the fireplace, but he led her past those to the railing, where he stopped. In front of them, Lake Pontchartrain shone like glass in the moonlight, a few trees swaying in a nighttime breeze making a soft swishing sound.

 
“I haven’t spent much time here, but this is my favorite spot.” He rested his phone and his elbows on the wooden railing, staring out over the water.

  “If this was my house, I don’t think I’d ever leave it.”

  There was so much to take in. Lights from Metairie and a few casino boats glittered at the water’s edge. Long docks were visible like shadowy fingers reaching out into the lake, while the causeway spanned the water as far as she could see, disappearing to the north.

  “I wish I had more free time to spend here, too.” He turned to face her, his expression inscrutable in the moonlight. “But someone might as well make use of it. Move in for the next few weeks, Adelaide. Stay here.”

  Normally, Dempsey wouldn’t have appreciated an interruption of a crucial conversation. But Evan’s announcement of dinner had probably prevented another refusal from Adelaide, so he counted the disruption as a fortuitous break in the action.

  Now they ate dinner in high-backed leather chairs in the den, watching highlights from around the league. They attempted to name the flavors in the naturalistic Nordic cuisine with ingredients specially flown in to appease Gervais’s fiancée’s pregnancy cravings. The white asparagus flavored with pine had been interesting, but Dempsey found himself reaching for the cayenne pepper to bring the flavor of Cajun country to the salmon. You could take the man out of the bayou, but apparently his palate stayed there. Dempsey’s birth mother may have been hell on wheels, but before she’d spiraled downward from her addictions, she’d cooked like nobody’s business.

  “I can’t believe you have Gervais’s chef making meals like this for you.” Adelaide took more asparagus, finding her appetite once she’d glimpsed the kind of food prepared by the culinary talent being underutilized by Gervais and his future wife. “That is another reason I could never live in this house. I’d weigh two tons if I could have dishes arrive at my doorstep with a phone call. What a far cry from takeout pizza.”