If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  “Three million dollars great,” he said, offering his arm for me to hold onto as I navigated the icy front walk in heels. “In fact, you’re going to have so much fun tonight, you’ll think three hundred dollars was a bargain.”

  I laughed as he led me to a black Ford SUV that looked at least five or six years old but had been washed for the occasion. He opened the passenger door for me and closed it again once I was in. At least he had manners. The reviewers hadn’t lied about that. And he was so tall and handsome—I couldn’t wait to walk into that reception on his arm. Everyone would whisper about me, and this time, it would be the right kind of whispering. I wouldn’t worry that they were laughing at me or pitying me—they’d envy me.

  I glanced into the back seat, and something pink caught my eye on the floor. The reach was a bit of a struggle in my tight dress, but by the time Theo got into the car, I was holding up a half-dressed Barbie.

  “Secret daughter?” I asked. “Or secret Barbie fetish?”

  Theo’s face went slightly purple. “Secret niece. Where was that?”

  “In the back seat.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  “I thought you said you had no family.”

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I generally keep my private life very private. It isn’t that I don’t trust you.”

  I stared at the Barbie, wondering if every word that came out of his mouth was something more or something less than the truth. “How old is she?”

  “The Barbie?”

  I gave him a look. “The niece.”

  “Oh. I have three of them. They’re six, five, and two.”

  “Three of them. Wow.”

  “My brother’s kids.”

  I sighed. “OK, why not?” Tossing the Barbie into the back seat again, I buckled my seatbelt. “But if it turns out you have a weird Barbie thing, I want my money back.”

  He grinned as he started the car. “Deal.”

  I grinned back. I liked Theo, despite his ability to rile me up. As long as he kept his fashion, beauty, and dating advice to himself, I was sure I could have a good time with him.

  In fact, I was beginning to feel a little sorry it was all just pretend.

  Nine

  Theo

  * * *

  “Let’s talk favorites,” I said to Claire as we drove to the reception.

  “Favorites?” She looked over at me. God, that little furrow in her brow was adorable. What color did you even call eyes like hers? Sage green? And her lips—how had I not noticed how full and luscious they were the other day? And speaking of luscious, that dress gave her body curves I hadn’t even imagined…and I’d imagined her quite a bit in the last two days.

  It was kind of stressing me out. I wasn’t used to one specific woman taking up residence in my fantasies like that—especially not a woman I knew in real life. Generally, I rotated through a reliable spank-bank roster full of anonymous lingerie models or unattainable Hollywood celebrities or porn stars with names like Cherry Poppins and Ivana Bigcock. But for two straight days now (and I can work a lot of fantasizing into two days), even Ivana was morphing into Claire by the time I was done.

  I kept telling myself it was because Claire was sort of a novelty. I didn’t meet a lot of women like her—beautiful, smart, nice girls with college educations, close families, and high expectations for the future. I wasn’t celibate or anything, but mostly I stuck to bad girls looking for a good time. The few times I’d actually tried dating had been a disaster. No one could fuck up a good thing like I could.

  And I never hooked up with clients. They were usually older women fresh off a breakup or divorce. Nice enough, and always happy with the attention I paid them, but I’d never been attracted to one before. And none of them had ever tempted me to break the Platonic Promise—Claire was a different story. Her hair, her mouth, her body in that dress, those legs…I glanced down at them and my dick started to perk up.

  Serves you right, asshole. You made her put that dress on. Why the hell didn’t you let her wear the sack?

  Damn it, I should have. But I’d wanted to help her, too. It was obvious she suffered from a lack of confidence, and she was never going to get what she wanted in life if she sat on the sidelines all the time. She needed to put herself in the game. I was just trying to coach her a little.

  But fuck, she was hot in the uniform.

  Shifting in my seat, I focused on the road ahead and cursed myself for not jerking off right before I left my apartment. “Yes, favorites. Like, what’s your favorite color?”

  “You mean your fabulous instincts didn’t tell you?” she teased.

  “Ha. If I had to guess, I’d say…pink.” Don’t think about her pink parts. Really, dickhead. Just don’t.

  “Good guess. What about yours?”

  “Green. Just like my babydoll’s eyes.” I gave her an over-the-top adoring look.

  She slapped my arm. “Is green your real favorite color or what?”

  “I don’t have one,” I said, chuckling. For someone who struggled with insecurity, she had a feisty streak a mile long. My eyes strayed to her legs again as I wondered which side of her personality came out in bed.

  For fuck’s sake. Stop it.

  I cleared my throat. “Favorite food?”

  “Hmm. Maybe Italian? I love meatballs.”

  It killed me to let that one go by, but I did. “Me too. Favorite restaurant?”

  “Andiamo,” she said without missing a beat. “I love the tiramisu there.”

  I nodded. “Good to know. Favorite movie.”

  “Uh uh. I’m making you guess this one, smartypants.” She crossed her arms. “I gave you the last few.”

  A smile pulled at my lips. “Let me think.” I rubbed a hand over the stubble on my chin, gave her a critical glance. “Well, it’s definitely something romantic with a happy ending, although you probably cry every time you watch it.”

  “Guilty,” she said with a sigh. “My friends are always teasing me about how emotional I get at movies. But who doesn’t like a happy ending? There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  He laughed. “Believe me, I love happy endings. And I never said it was wrong. It’s sweet, actually.”

  “Only you could make ‘sweet’ sound like an insult.”

  “It wasn’t an insult, I promise. OK, let me think about this. Which chick movie is your favorite…I’d say Titanic, but I bet you hate that he dies.”

  “He might not die!” she exclaimed. “We didn’t see him die, not exactly, so he might have lived!”

  “Um, I think death was strongly implied.”

  She jerked her chin at me. “Guess again.”

  I thought for a minute. “Casablanca?”

  “Nope. Too dreary at the end. But I do love that movie.”

  “Is it some sort of Disney princess movie?” I asked, thinking that her taste might run close to my nieces’. Their favorite color was pink, too.

  “It does have a princess in it, but it’s not a Disney movie.” She clapped her hands gleefully when I remained silent. “Haha, I stumped you!”

  “I’m not stumped. Just give me a minute.” I pulled into the parking lot of the banquet hall and circled around to valet so Claire would only have to walk about ten feet, under a canopy, to the door. “OK, it’s not a Disney movie, but it has a princess and a happy ever after. Aha!” Putting the car into park, I grinned at her. “The Princess Bride!”

  Her face fell. “Dammit! I thought I had you.”

  God, she was so fucking cute. “You do have me. For a whole three hours.”

  Her smile returned, a little smug this time. “During which you will not make fun of my taste in movies, clothes, colors, or anything else. You will say only nice things, so everyone will think you’re crazy about me.”

  I couldn’t resist. “As you wish.”

  * * *

  Inside the hall, we checked Claire’s coat and found our place card, which indicated we were at table 12. I let Claire lead t
he way, admiring her ass in front of me. Suddenly she stopped and turned around, and I thought for sure she’d caught me looking at her butt, but instead of scolding me she put a hand on my chest and whispered in my ear, “Twenty bucks says that’s the singles table.” She nodded toward a table of awkward, miserable-looking people.

  No one was talking, and everyone was staring at their phones, save the one guy who was making some sort of swan out of his napkin. “Wow,” I said. “I should have charged you more.”

  She gave me her favorite dirty look and poked me in the chest. “Behave. Hey, what’s your last name, anyway? I never asked, and I’ll have to introduce you.”

  “Woodcock.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “What? It’s a real last name.”

  “But is it yours?”

  It wasn’t, and I’d promised not to lie to her, but this was a hard line for me. I never used my last name.

  Plus…Woodcock. Come on, that’s fucking awesome.

  “It is tonight,” I told her.

  She sighed. “OK, whatever. I just hope they don’t ask to see your license.”

  “If they did, I’d show it to them.”

  “You have a fake license?” She held up one hand and shook her head. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “Good. You ready for the show?”

  Her face paled a bit. “I have stage fright.”

  I took her hand and kissed the back of it just for fun, pleased with the way her cheeks went pink. “Break a leg, darling.”

  We found our table and Claire made the introductions. Although there may have been a raised eyebrow or two at my last name, Claire’s co-workers were too polite to laugh or request proof. After shaking hands and saying hello, I asked her if I could get her something to drink. She was perched ramrod on the edge of her chair, twisting her fingers in her lap. “Yes, wine,” she said. “A big one.”

  “One big wine coming up. Red?” I guessed.

  She nodded gratefully.

  I turned to the rest of the table. “Anyone else need a drink?”

  One other woman said she’d take a glass of wine too, so I stood in line at the bar and brought two glasses of cabernet back to the table.

  “Don’t you want anything?” Claire asked when I sat down.

  “I’m driving.” I couldn’t tell her I didn’t drink, since that was probably something she’d know if we’d been dating for a few months.

  She nodded and took a few healthy swallows of wine. “Thanks for this.”

  “My pleasure.” I lowered my voice and leaned over to whisper in her ear, one arm draped across the back of her chair. Her hair smelled amazing. I wanted to swim in it. “You doing OK?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back, tugging on one earlobe.

  “Are they all looking at us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Sweet nothing, sweet nothing, sweet nothing.”

  She giggled. “Thanks.”

  Reluctantly, I sat up straight again…but I left my arm across her chair.

  “So, Theo,” said Fran, one of the women at our table. “Did Claire tell you about the art projects she had the Girl Scouts do for Operation Gratitude?”

  I looked at Claire for my cue, and her cheeks went pink. “The greeting cards and bracelets in the care packages,” she said, a little too loudly. “For soldiers overseas?”

  “Oh, right! She did.” I shook my head like I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. “She’s so giving, sometimes I lose track of all her good deeds.”

  “She is giving! She organized the Halloween candy collection for the packages too,” added Fran.

  “Fran, enough. You’ll embarrass me,” said Claire.

  “I’m just making sure he knows what he has, dear. You’re much too modest.”

  “I agree,” I said, tapping Claire on the shoulder. “I’m always telling her she needs to stop giving away her artwork and start selling it.” I wasn’t positive she gave things away, but it seemed like a good bet.

  “Exactly!” Fran nodded excitedly. “I tell her that all the time. She gave me this beautiful little painting of a magnolia tree after I had to cut mine down, and I cherish it. You have to work on her, Theo. Get her to see how talented she is.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, smiling over at Claire, who looked like she wanted to disappear, but not before gouging my leg with her butter knife.

  But once it was apparent no one suspected anything strange about our relationship, Claire relaxed a bit, sitting back in her chair, smiling more readily, laughing more naturally.

  I loved her laugh. It was bubbly and girlish, and it made me want to pick her up, put her in my pocket, and carry her around with me just so I could hear it all the time.

  She didn’t have an unkind or gossipy thing to say about anyone, and it was clear she was as good a teacher as she was an artist. Her friends at the table praised her creativity, her caring nature with students, her dedication to her job. She blushed prettily and brushed off the compliments, saying she just loved what she did, that’s all.

  So fucking sweet.

  Yeah, she is. Which is why she’d never be interested in someone like you—a drifter with a criminal record, a questionable moral compass, and a history of bolting. So don’t even think about it.

  The voice in my head was right—beyond sex, I had nothing to offer a girl like Claire, and I didn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend.

  But why the hell hadn’t some nice guy with a good job, a good heart, and good genetics swept Claire off her feet already? Built her up? Made her fall in love? She was beautiful and talented and kind. It baffled me that she was still single and didn’t want to be. Something wasn’t right.

  I thought about it all through dinner and dessert. I had plenty of time, since when I was with a client, I liked to let her take the lead. If someone asked me a question directly, I responded, but all inquiries pertaining to the relationship, I artfully deflected to Claire, who seemed to be enjoying the act, now that she’d relaxed. She even impressed me with her performance, answering questions without hesitation, providing cute little anecdotes about us, saying nice things about me at every opportunity.

  Well, the fake me, anyway.

  “We met at the art gallery where I work, but we really bonded over Italian food. Theo is a fantastic cook.”

  A fantastic cook? I could boil water. Push buttons on the microwave. Order pizza. That was about it.

  “He had blond hair when we met, isn’t that crazy? He’s like me, likes to change things up every now and then. And he looks great no matter what.”

  I actually look fucking terrible with blond hair, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  “When I found out he played the ukulele, I thought it was so cute! And he has a great voice.”

  What the fuck? The ukulele?

  “Oh, I love the ukulele,” gushed Fran. “And he sings to you too, Claire?”

  “All the time.” Claire’s eyes sparkled as she patted me on the leg. “He’s amazing. I’m so lucky.”

  She looked so happy I felt horrible that the me she described didn’t exist.

  Without thinking, I leaned over and did something I’d never done to a client—I kissed her cheek. It was warm and soft beneath my lips, and I hated that it was the only time my lips would touch her skin. What I wouldn’t give for just a taste of her.

  Claire was delighted. “Shall we dance, sweetheart?”

  “As you wish,” I said, making her smile even wider.

  Rising to my feet, I offered her my hand. She took it, and I led her to the dance floor, where the band was playing an old Sinatra ballad. Claire went into my arms so easily, and fit there so naturally, it made me feel off balance. Off rhythm. I made sure to keep her at a slight distance, holding her a little closer than I’d hold another client, perhaps, but not allowing the lengths of our bodies to touch. She was off limits for way too many reasons, and I didn’t want to give my dick any reason to think otherwise.

>   But God have mercy, she smelled good.

  “Theo, this is so fun!” she said in a loud whisper, tipping her head back to look up at me. “I can’t believe I was so nervous about it. We totally have them thinking it’s real.”

  There is something real here—the way I want you. I forced myself to smile. “You’re a much better actress than you led me to believe. You don’t give yourself enough credit for anything.”

  “Hey.” Her brow furrowed. “No scolding me. I still have at least twenty minutes of Nice Theo left.”

  “I’m not scolding. I’m encouraging. Because I don’t understand why someone as talented as you doesn’t sell her artwork somewhere. Or at least display it.”

  She sighed and looked away from me. “I’m waiting until I create just the right piece to submit somewhere.”

  “Are you working on it now?”

  “No. I don’t have the right inspiration yet.”

  “That’s an easy way out, isn’t it? Blaming a lack of inspiration.”

  Her eyes snapped back to mine. “What do you mean?”

  “You have plenty of beautifully-inspired pieces already. Why not submit one of those?”

  “Because it has to be perfect,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

  “Actually, I understand perfectly. You don’t think you’re good enough.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, struggling with a defense.

  “But you are, Claire.”

  “What if they don’t think that?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I think or what you think. They might tell me I’m no good. And it will crush me.”

  “So what? You can’t let that scare you into never taking a chance. I get that it’s not easy for you to put yourself out there that way. You’re not guaranteed the happy ending. But Claire.” I stopped moving and forced her to look at me. “I know how it ends.”

  “You do?” Her eyes were wide and trusting, like she really believed I might be able to tell the future.

  “Yes. Everyone dies.”