by Maren Smith
Standing, Travis rounded to her side of the desk and sat down on the edge to face her more intimately. Jamie stared up at him, looking for all the world like a frightened doe caught in the headlights of a big truck, and he gentled his tone accordingly. “Miss Miracle, I have fourteen days to find a woman willing to pose as my wife. I would like that woman to be you, and I’m willing to offer a lot of money to tempt you to do it.”
“Two million dollars,” Jamie said softly, her brows drawing together uncertainly. “What’s the punch line?”
“My dear, ask anyone you like. They will all tell you I don’t have a sense of humor, and I never joke.”
A touch of panic crept into her eyes. “But this is the exception, right?”
Gently, he said, “I’m not going to fire you if you say no, Jamie, though I do ask that you keep our conversation here a secret. I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”
“No—Yes—I mean, I understand discretion, but—”
“All I ask is that you consider my offer carefully. Would fifteen minutes be sufficient?” He checked his watch.
“Fifteen minutes?” Then she laughed, though there was little amusement in it. “I don’t believe this!”
“You don’t believe you’re hearing it, or don’t believe you’re considering it already? I prefer the latter. That was quick. Good girl.”
“What? No!”
“You’re not considering it?” In the process of standing up, Travis sat back down on the edge of his desk, braced a hand upon his thigh, and looked mildly inquisitive. “May I ask why not?”
“Because this isn’t how it’s done!”
“I beg your pardon. I had no idea there was a set procedure for proposing a fake marriage.” He folded his arms across his broad chest. “All right, Miss Miracle. Educate me. How is it usually done?”
“I-I don’t know,” she floundered for logic. “But I’m pretty sure this isn’t it!”
“Ah,” he said, knowingly. “Are you perhaps referring to the lack of romance?”
“Well, I… yes… I-I guess.”
“‘Your words are my food, your breath is my wine. You are everything to me.’”
She looked almost horrified. “What was that?”
“Sarah Bernhardt. It’s a line from one of my favorite poems. I’ll admit I am rather old school when it comes to amorous advances, but poetry does still constitute as romance, doesn’t it?”
“This is wrong,” she protested. “It’s so wrong, I don’t even know where to begin trying to fix it.”
“I could cover you in roses,” he suggested. “I’ll clean out every flower shop in the greater Seattle area if that’s what it takes for me to win your acquiesce.”
“I-I’m allergic to flowers.” Jamie stood up. She looked at him, her hands held up as though to ward him off. “I should just go.”
She turned to walk away, but he caught one of her hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing a warm kiss into her small palm. He could feel her trembling. “Are you allergic to chocolates?”
She pulled her hand from his, rubbing at her palm as though trying to scrub the feel of his kiss from her skin. “I’m on a diet.”
She tried again to leave, but he caught her other hand. The left this time, and he kissed it as well, saying, “You don’t need to be a size six to marry me.”
“I really have to go now.” She tried to pull away, but he refused to let her go.
“No flowers, no chocolates. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for long, leisurely walks along moon-lit beaches.”
“I hate the smell of the ocean anyway,” Jamie said weakly, tugging at her imprisoned hand.
“My, my,” he purred. “We are difficult to please, aren’t we? What to do, what to do.”
“Give up?” She looked so hopeful, he almost felt sorry for dashing her hopes to pieces.
“I never give up, sweetheart.” He let her go, but followed as she backed towards the office door. “How about a romantic dinner? Go home, change into something nice, and I’ll pick you up at five. I’ll wine and dine you in the appropriate manner, surrounded by candlelight and soft music. We could catch a movie around seven thirty, then stop by a judge I know. By ten, we’ll be married and happily settled into our new life before midnight.”
Jamie actually looked pained. “Has no one ever told you ‘no’ before?”
“Not with any lasting conviction.”
“This will be a new experience for you.”
Again, Jamie tried to escape, and again, he stopped her. “New experiences are overrated. Why not consider my offer?”
“This isn’t how it’s done!” Jamie protested, her laugh bordering on hysteria. “You can’t recite poetry to me! We’ve never met before today! We don’t know each other well enough for that, and it’s not sincere!”
“I should think, for two million dollars, love at first sight wouldn’t be too far out of the question,” Travis said.
There was that pained look again, followed very quickly by a flash of irritation.
“I’m leaving now,” she told him.
“You’re single, twenty-six, and lived here all your life,” Travis called after her, effectively slowing her retreat until she stopped altogether not twenty feet from the door. “You quit school at seventeen, worked as a waitress for six years at a variety of restaurants before applying here. You work thirty hours a week and make minimum wage. Your marriage of four months fell apart last year. According to the police report, he cleaned out your apartment and bank account, ran up a mammoth debt on your credit cards, and disappeared. You’ve been struggling financially ever since. Having been abandoned for a year, you just received your annulment last week.”
She turned, staring back at him with wide, blue eyes.
“You’re three months behind on your rent,” Travis said gently. “Washington Mutual Bank repossessed your car. You have no phone, your shoes are falling apart, and you probably haven’t eaten a decent meal in weeks. We also share a mutual interest in certain magazines, whose subscriptions you’ve allowed to lapse in the last six months. I was very pleased to discover that, by the way.”
“Maga—” Her voice faltered as her eyes widened and her cheeks turned an alluring shade of pink. Then she glared at him. “You didn’t get that from my personnel file.”
“It’s amazing what you can discover with a birth date and a social security number. Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve enjoyed Stand Corrected for years. In fact, I have over twenty issues in my collection. It ranks right up there with Sassy Ladies, Strictly Speaking Spanking, and my all-time favorite, Bare Bottoms. Espousal rights do include access to those, as well as to my Blue Moon, Masquerade, and Black Pearl novels. Marry me. I’ll let you read them.”
“Now look here, buster…”
“Travis,” he corrected.
“No!”
“That’s what my birth certificate claims.”
“I mean no to the rest of it!”
“I can help you, Jamie,” Travis coaxed. “We can help each other. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity; think about it before you say no.”
He offered her what he hoped was a friendly smile. Sadly, he wasn’t very practiced with those. Such skills were hardly necessary in board meetings where everything was a matter of business politics and the only smiles needed were the shark-like kind. Besides, most of the women he knew were more interested in his money than his grin, or lack thereof.
Jamie wasn’t swayed by either.
“Why me?” she asked, exasperation pitching her voice higher than normal. “Have dinner with Greta.”
“Her husband would probably object. He’s a big man, in case you haven’t met him. He could probably clean my clock in record time.” Once again hoping his smile was charming, he raised her captured hand and brushed his lips across it. “Besides, I like you, Jamie. I need you.”
“You don’t need me,” she argued. “I’m nobody. You can have anyone you want.”
“
Then say yes, because I want you.”
“No!”
“‘Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine; or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine.’”
“Would you stop with the poetry!”
He stepped closer. “If pretty phrases don’t attract you, then perhaps you are a woman who values actions above words.”
Jamie’s eyes widened as a single long-legged stride closed the gap between them. She swallowed hard as his arm twined around her waist, drawing her up against him.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered.
“I’m wooing you,” he said softly. She fit in his arms perfectly, and Travis found himself stroking the smooth slope of her back, enjoying the feel of her there. “Since my money doesn’t appeal to you, I must find another lure. You are proving to be more of a challenge than I first thought. But never fear, I love a good challenge.”
“Please let me go,” Jamie whispered. But she was looking at his mouth as she said it. And she was trembling. Did she feel it too, he wondered. That electrifying spark that jumped through him the instant their bodies had touched.
“Be my wife,” he countered. “You’re perfect.”
“You’re insane,” she said, shakily.
“Completely,” he agreed, and cupped her chin in his palm. Her eyes grew large, but she didn’t pull away. An encouraging sign.
He knew he shouldn’t do this; she was already hard enough to resist, but it was too late to let her go now. She felt too good, tucked so neatly in his embrace, the curves of her body molding to the planes of his, as though she’d been made just for him. And while he knew the allure of her wasn’t real, that it was most likely due to the fact that he hadn’t held a woman since Marsha—and that had been over a year ago—he simply could not make his arms let go.
He tried to focus on her hair, to sternly remind himself that he really wasn’t fond of red heads. Unfortunately, he was having the very devil of a time just looking away from her eyes. Those baby blue bedevilers.
Fringed by orange lashes, he reminded himself.
His hand glided up her back to cup the soft nape of her neck—orange, smorange—and lowered his mouth close to hers. She didn’t even try to pull away.
“Have dinner with me,” he murmured against her lips. She opened her mouth and he kissed her before she could tell him ‘no’ again.
He meant to be casual. Charming. Suave. But if merely touching her made his body spark with awareness, kissing her was like trying to extinguish a match with gasoline. He was completely consumed. One kiss became two, and then an addiction as he coaxed her unmoving lips to open to him. Her hands came up to his chest, but instead of pushing him away Jamie seemed to melt against him, yielding to his invasion with no more protest than a mere breathy sigh of surrender.
He could handle the feel of her breasts cushioned against his chest, and the way her hands clutched his lapel, as if she couldn’t pull him close enough. Even her perfume—the maddening scent of baby lotion and apples, of all things—that assaulted his senses with every breath were bearable. But the sigh undid him. One minute they were both standing on their own, and in the next, he had Jamie’s lush, spankable, jean-clad bottom in both hands, lifting her hips into the cradle of his, leaving her feet to dangle a good six inches off the ground.
He had to stop. Now. Before she wound up flat on her back on the carpet, breathing those breathy little sighs into his mouth while he pressed himself right into the molten heart of her.
But in the end, it wasn’t so much that he stopped as Travis simply lifted his head. He didn’t let her go. As limp as she was, if he loosened his hold she’d have collapsed straight to the floor.
That was as good an excuse as any to keep holding her, his lovely, intoxicating Jamie. All his. He could get very accustomed to thinking like that.
Travis gazed down at her, her pink lips moist and slightly apart, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes half-closed. Red hair or not, if she didn’t stop looking at him like that, so dazed and thoroughly seduce-able, he was going to exercise his husbandly rights before she even accepted his proposal.
“You’ll have dinner with me tonight,” he told her, struggling to put a firm rein on his rampaging desires. “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock sharp.”
Jamie only gazed at him through half-closed eyes, a sultry hum her only comment, and he nearly lost control again. He was the one trembling now. And he bent his head to recapture her seductive mouth, barely catching himself in time. Only through an extreme force of will did he keep from losing himself in her touch all over again.
Lowering her back to her own feet was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. And letting go wasn’t his first inclination either, but he made his hands release her bottom without laying so much as one palm-itchingly tempting slap upon it. “Go home, Jamie. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Dazed, she only hummed again.
The Mountain checked his watch. Only four hours after formulating his plan and he’d already found his bride. Thirteen days ahead of schedule. Wonderful.
***
Jamie didn’t realize Travis had walked her out his office door until she suddenly found herself staring across the spacious reception area at her cleaning cart. Though still a little befuddled, her mind was clearing fast enough for her to realize she’d just agreed to have dinner with him.
“Wait,” she started to say, but then he touched her again, his warm hand cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb gliding across her bottom lip, and suddenly she couldn’t remember what she was objecting to.
“Six o’clock,” he said huskily. His large hand smoothed from her shoulder to the small of her back. The heat of his breath against her ear sent shivers all through her as he whispered, “Wear something fit to be married in.”
Hot on the heels of that shiver came the cold splash of reality as his words sank in.
“Wait!” she said, but the door closed. Jamie stared at the twin panels of polished wood, blinked twice, and glanced down at the doorknob. She was half-tempted to march back in there and tell Travis where he could stick his dinner invitation, but the man was too damn bewitching! And dangerous. And oh, so very tempting. There was no telling what she’d wind up agreeing to if she went back in there and he laid his hands on her again.
And he knew what kind of magazines she liked. She covered her eyes with one hand, horribly embarrassed. Having a boss that spanked used to be a favorite fantasy of hers. For all she knew, that was probably in her file, too. Although, in the space of the last few minutes, the fantasy had lost something of its seductive appeal.
And oh heavens, but he wanted to marry her!
Well, there was just no way she could do that. She didn’t even know him! In all the years she’d been working here, she’d had a conversation with the man one time. This one time. And it had lasted—she checked her Mickey Mouse watch—less than twenty minutes. What kind of marriage could she expect based on twenty minutes of conversation, a kiss that scattered her wits to the four winds, and two million dollars?
What was she thinking? Two million dollars was two million dollars. Jamie stared at the doorknob again, her shoulders drooping. She’d been in debt for so long now she couldn’t remember what it was like to sit at home, hear the phone ring, and not have to worry about which bill collector might be on the line. Of course, since the phone had been disconnected last month, she didn’t have that particular worry anymore anyway.
Behind her, Greta stood poised at the filing cabinet with a small handful of papers. She watched Jamie expectantly. “Well? What did he say, Jamie? Come on, spill it! Inquiring minds want to know!”
Jamie turned around slowly, unsure how much she could say and still maintain some measure of discretion. Finally, she ventured, “He wants to have dinner with me.”
Greta’s smile slowly faded. “He asked you out? You’re kidding.”
Jamie shook her head.
“Well… so, what di
d you say?”
“I’m not sure. I think I said yes.”
***
At two minutes to six, a long gray stretch limousine pulled up to the chipped cement steps of Jamie’s run-down apartment building. Three young teenaged boys lounged on the stoop, listening to rap music on a portable stereo and watching in utter silence as the chauffeur got out. He jogged smartly around the car to open the door for Travis, who did his best to avoid the worst of the curb-side garbage as he got out. He stepped up on the sidewalk and looked up at the five-story, red-brick slum in disapproving silence.
“Are you sure you want to go in there?” his chauffeur asked softly. “I took boxing for two years at the academy. Would you like me to come with you?”
“I don’t think boxing is going to help much, Ben,” Travis said. “I’d rather you stay with the car and keep the motor running in case we need to beat a hasty retreat.” He bent to take the gift-wrapped dress he’d bought for Jamie from the back seat. If her sneakers were any indication, she might not have had anything nicer to wear to a formal dinner, and he’d made reservations at the Canlis. Though not likely to be crowded at this time on a Tuesday night, the more he and Jamie were seen together, the more realistic it would make his story later on. “I’ll be back in a minute. I hope.”
As he approached the stoop, the boys eyed his immaculate three-piece suit and the neatly wrapped gift box with its shiny, silver bow. While they didn’t move aside as he stepped sideways up the stairs between them, they didn’t exactly block his path, either.
“Got a dollar?” one kid finally asked just as Travis reached for the door.
His hand on the latch, Travis paused. He glanced back down the street. His limousine had attracted unwanted attention from another group of teens coming out of a building a half a block down. They were looking at him and pointing, talking and nodding amongst themselves as they headed for the car.
Travis’s first instinct was to rush in, grab Jamie, and hope the limo was still intact by the time he hustled her back out to it. Since that wasn’t too likely, he bid his custom-made hubcaps a fond farewell and thanked God and State Farm that he was insured.