by Avery Flynn
Forget pink. Her cheeks were fire engine red. “Your ego is out of control.”
Probably, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation. “If I’m so off base, then why did you stick around and watch the show?”
“Poor life choices.”
“What happened to the woman who proposed a no-strings, six-week fling while we’re fake engaged?” he asked and then pressed his advantage. Two could play hardball here. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone all small town conventional on me.”
That did the trick.
Her chin jerked up, her face glorious with righteous indignation. “I am not that kind of person.”
“It’s okay. I always had a little bit of a thing for Mrs. Cleaver in the Leave It To Beaver reruns.” He traced a fingertip across her collar bone above the edge of her scoop neck tank top. “Maybe we should look for a pearl necklace. Do you think anyone sells one of those here?”
She smacked his hand away. “You are an asshole.”
“Pretty much.” He laughed and picked the medical utility cart back up again and started walking. “But you’d better keep that to yourself tonight at my mom’s cocktail party.”
She nearly stumbled, but he grabbed her hand again and kept her upright. “What cocktail party?”
“It’s a standing event.” God save him from family traditions. “I haven’t been in a few months, so it’s past time I made an appearance.”
“Not so easy to do when your mom is throwing models and socialites at you?”
“Exactly.” He nodded, sneaking a glance at her and noting the way she was chewing her bottom lip. “But now I have you.”
“You have serious mommy issues,” she grumbled.
No. He had don’t-make-the-grieving-widow-cry issues. “Stop deflecting because you’re nervous.”
“Who said I was nervous?”
“You are trying to gnaw your bottom lip off.”
Like the delicate flower she was, Clover flipped him off as they strode out of the flea market’s front gate and into the parking lot. Linus was waiting beside the Town Car. He gave the thing Sawyer was carrying a slow and slightly horrified up and down look but kept his mouth shut as he opened the spacious trunk. They were pulling out onto Eighty-Eighth Street five minutes later, and Clover was still going to town on her lip.
“Don’t worry, I know you haven’t had time to use the black card yet. I ordered you a dress. It’ll be delivered by the time we get home.” He’d been planning to make it a surprise but offering up the news now seemed like the better plan.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No way.”
Clover had gone stubborn. What a shock.
“So you already have a cocktail dress?” he asked.
“No.”
“Well, you do now.”
Her eyes were still narrowed, but not so much that she could hide the curiosity glittering in their dark depths. “It had better not be totally fugly.”
For all he knew, it could be. He’d snapped a surreptitious picture of Clover while they were wandering around the flea market and had sent it to a personal shopper at Dylan’s Department Store along with a few notes about what Clover needed. Jaqui had never done him wrong when it came to presents for his mom, so he was confident she’d come through again. Explaining all of that to Clover though would take the fun out of it.
“It’s completely hideous,” he said with as much seriousness as he could muster.
She rolled her eyes. “The next six weeks are going to last forever.”
“Just keep your eye on the fifteen-thousand-dollar prize, Clover, and you’ll make it through.”
Good advice for himself, too, as long as he remembered to take it—especially tonight. His imagination was already torturing him with images of her in a million sexy dresses. And out of them.
Chapter Eleven
Clover twirled around in front of the mirror one last time and smoothed her already stick-straight hair. Procrastinating? Her? Never. Who wouldn’t want to brave a cocktail party at the Dragon Lady’s den and spend the evening lying her ass off?
Completing her spin, she had to admit the dress Sawyer had bought was not fugly. The multicolored, striped sheath dress was fun, fit like a dream, and guessing by the name of the designer on the label, cost as much as her rent. The new black heels, which matched the dress’s black-beaded, sleeveless neckline, were a tad tight on her toes, but not enough to make her take them off. They were gorgeous. She definitely looked put together, but there was no way she was passing for a high-society girl. Thank God, they’d worked that into their cover story during the trip to the flea market.
“Are you going to hide in there all night?” Sawyer asked from the other side of her closed bedroom door. “I didn’t take you for a chicken.”
Nerves eating away at her stomach lining, she clucked quietly to herself as she crossed the room. She sucked at lying. It made her nervous and when that happened, well…
“Tu es betes comme tes pieds.” Yes, she transformed into someone who was as smart as the bottom of her feet. Deep breaths, Clover. I’m sure Mrs. Carlyle won’t be as scary this time. Third time’s the charm. Or curse.
Forcing a confidence into her spine that she sure as hell didn’t feel, Clover opened her bedroom door. “Because I’m not a chicken…”
Her voice trailed off as she noticed Sawyer in a black suit and a patterned pale pink tie that perfectly matched one of the stripes on her dress. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Whoever had gone shopping and left the Dylan’s Department Store garment bag on her bed had obviously left one for him as well.
“You look nice,” she said, voicing the understatement of the year.
The suit did everything possible to highlight Sawyer’s broad shoulders, and noticing that did funny things to her stomach—not to mention all points south, making it hard to remember exactly why it was that she shouldn’t follow her own advice and have a little adventure climbing Mount Stuffykins.
His focus was only for her and he gave her a slow, heated up and down once-over. “You look ready to unwrap.”
She halted in mid-stride on her way out the door. Okay, with the pink, navy, and merlot colored stripes on a white background, the dress looked a little like Christmas paper, but that didn’t mean he had to say it out loud. An embarrassed heat inched its way up her chest. “If you didn’t like it, why did you get it?”
“Who said I didn’t like it?” he asked, the lines in his forehead carving a V that disappeared behind the top of his black-framed glasses.
Head high and chin pointed up, she strode right past him on her way to the elevator. “You did.”
“I was trying to compliment you,” he shot back.
“That’s not exactly your strong suit.” No. Being a pain in her ass was his greatest strength.
“No.” Not missing a beat, he was beside her in an instant matching her stride for stride and getting to the elevator down button a half second before she did. He mashed it with more force than necessary. “It’s definitely not.” Twelve very slow, very silent seconds later, the elevator arrived and the doors parted. “Shall we?”
The doors whooshed shut behind them.
She tried to hold on to her annoyance for Sawyer’s crack about her dress but the urge to start nervously clucking was too much for her to shut off. “Do you think we can really carry this off?”
Sawyer let out a breath, the tension melting out of his rigid stance. Taking her hand, he slipped it into the crook of his elbow. “We met at a Starbucks in Singapore. You turned too fast, knocked into me, and spilled my drink all over me.”
That was not exactly what they’d discussed. The man was a wreck when it came to details. Still, the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You were standing too close to me so there was no way for me to avoid it. You’re just lucky it was an iced coffee.”
“Didn’t matter. After one look at you, nothing would have cooled me down.”
The rough gravel in his voice took
the cheesy line and turned it into something more. One look at his reflection in the mirrored elevator doors as they descended, and that something became a promise of the hot, dirty, and multi-orgasmic kind.
“Cavolo,” she muttered. Holy crap, indeed.
Sawyer raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glasses.
Merida, she’d done it again. She really needed to staple her mouth shut. Talking in another language to herself was weird enough when she was alone. In front of someone else, it was boarding the Weirdo Express. Desperate to cover up her non-English exclamation, she rushed on. “That’s a good line. Be sure to use that one.”
His forearm tensed underneath her palm. “Told you I was a quick study,” he said with a chuckle that held a touch of bitterness.
Determined to get on steadier ground, she pushed ahead. “So we had a whirlwind romance. Of course, I had no idea who you were because I am most definitely not a gold digger.”
“I kept my identity a secret because I wanted to make sure you were only after me for my hot bod, not my bank account.”
“Exactly.” She nodded, working her bottom lip over with her teeth as the elevator sped down to the lobby.
“And when I finally told you, you tried to break it off with me with some asinine plan that we’d split up when we came home to the states.”
“So of course when you saw me at Carlyle Tower the other day, you begged and pleaded for me to give you a second chance.”
He snorted. “No one will believe that.”
“Why not?”
His gaze ate her up as he gave her the kind of slow and assessing look that usually ended up with two people getting naked. “I don’t beg.”
God, was it hot in here? Yes. It was definitely hot in here.
“Too much pride?” There, that almost sounded like her panties weren’t on fire.
The bastard gave her a smug grin. “Too much good sense. If something isn’t working, making a fool out of yourself sure isn’t going to change anything.”
The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, letting in some of the lobby’s air-conditioned air. It brushed against her like a cool breeze of sanity. Was she going to get naked with Sawyer? Oh yeah. Come on. He was sexy as sin, unattached, and her fake fiancée. Why not indulge in a little limited-time-offer sex? Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to make him work for it.
She sashayed out of the elevator on Sawyer’s arm, her heels clicking on the lobby’s marble floor. “Well, in our case begging and pleading is exactly what you did.”
“Why?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the lobby.
She looked up at him and caught her breath. It wasn’t fair. No man should look so good in—and out—of a suit. “Because it was the only way to win me over.” Unable to stop herself from touching him, she reached up and straightened his already straight tie. His muscles tensed under her touch as she smoothed her palm down the silk. “And for that you’d do just about anything.”
“Would I?” he half asked, half growled.
Judging by the dark and dangerous look in his eyes at the moment? “Absolutely.”
His lust-hazy gaze dropped to her mouth; he leaned down and the world stopped. The people walking in and out of the high-rise’s plate glass door letting in the horn blares from Harbor City’s never-ending traffic disappeared. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears as she tilted her face up. Later, she’d worry about how easily he did this to her—made her forget about the rest of the world—but for now all she wanted was for him to follow through on what his body language promised. A long, hard kiss, the kind that steals your breath and fills you with possibility. She parted her lips and raised herself on her toes so that her heels didn’t even touch the floor. He dipped his head toward hers but swerved at the last moment and brushed a soft kiss right under her earlobe.
“You really do look amazing,” he murmured and straightened, sliding his hand to the small of her back, and led her through the door Irving held open and into the waiting Town Car.
Clover’s brain was like one of those old-fashioned cars where the driver had to crank the engine to get it to start. She was turning it over, but nothing was happening. That happened too often around Sawyer and that way lay danger. Having a little fun was one thing, but anything more was totally unacceptable because forgetting the “fake” in fake fiancée for even a minute meant nothing but trouble.
…
Sawyer’s mom pounced as soon as they walked through her door. Okay, pounced wasn’t the right word. More like glided over on her own ice float, sharpening daggers in her socially-acceptable almost-smile. Instinctively, Clover gulped and tightened her grip on Sawyer’s arm. Before she could threaten to short sheet his bed if he abandoned her even for a second, Helene Carlyle was smack dab in front of them.
“I’m so glad you two were able to make it with all of the wedding planning you’ve been doing,” Helene said, her voice just loud enough to carry across the room to the two dozen or so relatives and family friends scattered amongst the Tiffany lamps and plush wingback chairs. “I can’t wait to hear all about what those plans entail. Sawyer, why don’t you go get your lovely bride-to-be a drink.”
Clover sank her nails into Sawyer’s thick forearm. She had to get through his suit sleeve, crisp shirt, and sinewy muscle, but she just might have hit bone. Thank God, Sawyer got the hint.
He placed his palm over her hand. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Helene gave Clover a quick, assessing up and down before lowering her voice, fake concern thick in her whisper, “She’s not pregnant, is she?”
It took a second for Helene’s words to slither through the thick fog of freak-out surrounding Clover and bite her on the ass. Once their meaning pierced her, though, her intimidated hesitation evaporated. It made sense in a weird twisted little way. From Helene’s perspective, there couldn’t be any other reason why her son would be with someone like Clover unless she’d trapped him with a baby. Ha. More like she would be trapped then, her free-spirited wings clipped to fit the Harbor City high-society mold. That was never going to happen.
“No,” Clover said, straightening her spine and putting as much fuck-you in her tone as possible. “I’m not.”
Helene’s smile didn’t flicker. “Then I’d say champagne is called for so we can celebrate this pleasant surprise.”
The fact that she wasn’t pregnant or that Sawyer was supposedly getting married? Honestly, it could go either way.
Okay, so that’s how we’re going to play it.
That was fine with Clover. She could play chick dirty with the best of them. Of course, she couldn’t do that with Sawyer around. Mama Bear here wanted to deliver a message and drive it home with a verbal stiletto and, unless the world had started spinning in the opposite direction, she wouldn’t do it with her son around. So be it. She wasn’t about to let the Dragon Lady see her sweat.
Pasting on a socially-acceptable fake smile of her own, Clover turned toward Sawyer. “A glass of champagne would be wonderful.”
One eyebrow shot above the top of his black-rimmed glasses, but she went up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his cheek before he could protest. He looked on the verge of saying something, but after a quick look from his mom to her, he nodded.
“As you wish,” he said and crossed over to the bar set up next to a fireplace big enough to walk inside.
Did he… She shook her head. No way was Sawyer Carlyle the kind of guy to quote The Princess Bride.
“Let me show you some of my favorite photos of my boys.” Helene slipped her arm through Clover’s as if they were sisters in some old movie about pioneers and led Clover over to the baby grand piano.
Framed family photos sat on top of its closed lid. On vacation at a ski resort. At a beach. Aboard a yacht. Each one showing off the Carlyles with their big, open smiles and easy togetherness. She picked out Sawyer right away. Even as a little boy in a dirty baseball uniform he had a stubborn
set to his chin.
“How about neither of us insults the other’s intelligence and you tell me what’s going on?” Helene asked, an icy hardness to her voice that didn’t match the calm, borderline aloof expression on her patrician face.
Clover glanced around the room filled with men in suits and women in little black dresses. “Looks like a cocktail party to me.”
The other woman’s gaze narrowed and her pasted on smile faltered. “Is it a matter of money?”
Oh no. She went there. “Excuse me?”
“Disappear and I’ll have my financial manager cut a check.”
“Wow. How much?” She shouldn’t have said it, but there was no way she could let Helene get away without busting her chops for this bullshit.
Helene lifted the photo of young, baseball-playing Sawyer and showed it to Clover. From a distance, it had to look like two people having a friendly chat about how hard it was for the housekeeper to keep Sawyer’s white uniform pants clean. “Sign a non-disclosure agreement and a contract saying you’ll cut off all contact immediately and I’ll make it worth your while.”
She threw out the biggest number she could think of that didn’t make her sound like a bad Bond villain. “Half a million?”
“Yes,” Helene said without blinking.
Damn. If she was another kind of person, that offer would be beyond tempting. “No deal.”
“You want more?” The other woman sighed and put down the photo. “How much will it take?”
Clover couldn’t resist taking another poke at her. “One point five.”
“You learn quickly.” Helene nodded. “But not a penny more.”
“Is it always just about money for you?” Clover shook her head. “No deal. Honestly, there’s no amount of money you can offer me to stop me from marrying your son.”
Helene arched an eyebrow in a way that was almost an exact copy of her son. “You’re not the first to try this. Everyone has their price.”
Ouch. Now that had to have hurt him. If she wasn’t so annoyed with Helene’s attitude, she’d totally be on the other woman’s side. “I’m different.”