The Boss's Fake Fiancee Read online

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  Garth watched Howard and Yolanda disappear down the street. Old, repressed emotions washed over him, stunning in both age and power.

  Calm down. Slow breath. Assume the mask. Don’t let them see you get angry.

  “They seemed like a nice couple.”

  Melissa’s voice jerked him from his mantra. She spoke with a sarcastic lilt that took him a moment to appreciate, but had the oddest effect of washing away the dark memories that had bubbled so quickly to the surface.

  “That guy,” he said calmly, “is an asshole. He started bullying me when I was eight. When I was nine, Nan signed me up for sailing lessons. I capsized my first time out. Howard left me to flail around in the water until I was half-drowned and terrified. He said he wanted to show everyone how well our lifejackets worked.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Melissa shook her head at the pink-shirted figure disappearing around a corner. “It must infuriate him to know how successful you are.”

  Garth paused. “I’d never really thought about it that way.” Howard had inherited a pile of money when his father died, but he’d never really made any himself. He was a middling lawyer, and there were rumors he’d lost much of his fortune during the most recent stock market crash. Even his yacht team hadn’t managed to win a major event since their victory in 2000.

  Garth realized with a start that he was still holding Melissa around the waist. The moment before they’d been interrupted by the Fendles came crashing back.

  Heat. Need. Passion spilling over, becoming something deeper.

  Her nipples pressed against his palm. The image of her naked, in his bed.

  “Um, Melissa…” He had no idea what to say. Absolutely none. Because part of him wanted more than anything to continue where they’d left off, while the other part of him knew that doing so would be an unmitigated disaster.

  He’d already acted like an idiot with her. Riding a seesaw. Making jokes. Confiding things about his family he’d never said out loud. She’d seen his home and his dogs, spent time with Jess and Nan, the only two people in the world he cared about. Being with her felt like tumbling down a steep hill, and every day this week he’d been gaining momentum. With a smile and a laugh she’d eroded walls that had taken him years to build.

  He hadn’t wanted to come to Seesaw. He’d been dreading it, actually, wondering what it would be like to be here without Nan. Imagining the times to come when she wouldn’t be here. If it hadn’t been for Melissa, he might have simply turned back around and gone back home. But she’d smiled and laughed, teased him into playing like a child. And then she’d fallen into his arms and he’d looked down at her and felt her hands pressed against his chest and a voice in his head had begun screaming at him to kiss her.

  He didn’t want this. He couldn’t do this.

  She turned to face him. “Don’t say, it, okay?” She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Let’s just unpack.”

  She danced off to the car. Garth followed, forcing his eyes not to linger on the curve of her bottom.

  They’d talk about it later.

  Much later.

  Chapter Twelve

  Melissa set down her empty wine glass with a satisfied sigh. Garth moved to refill it, but she waved him off. “I think I’ve had enough,” she said, fanning her cheeks, which were rosy from the combination of the wine, the wood fire, and Garth’s proximity. “Anyway, tell me one more time—why exactly did you learn to speak Klingon?”

  They’d spent the afternoon in the house, sitting beside the fire and reading. Garth opened a bottle of wine before he started cooking dinner, and by the time they sat down to a meal of steak and salad, the bottle was empty and they’d opened a second. Melissa had the feeling that Garth didn’t want to talk about anything personal, so she steered the conversation toward movies, music, and books they loved, finding more common ground than she would have expected. But it was the revelation that he was a Trekkie that really got to her.

  He eyed her solemnly. “When you go to the conventions, sometimes English just isn’t enough.”

  She choked on a peal of laughter. “Please tell me you’ve never dressed up like Spock.”

  “That’s Mr. Spock to you, and if I told you, I’d have to kill you. So you’ll never hear it from my lips. At least, not in this universe.”

  His eyes twinkled, and Melissa giggled again. How could she have ever thought him humorless? He didn’t share his humor widely, she realized, but it was there, droll and restrained, just below the surface.

  After dinner, Garth left to run a mysterious errand, leaving Melissa to sit in front of a crackling fire by herself, watching the red and orange flames dance across the dry wood. She tucked her feet under her and wrapped her palms around a mug of hot tea.

  Don’t get too comfortable, missy. On a scale of “highly unlikely” to “not in a million years,” coming back here rates a solid “when pigs fly.”

  But she was comfortable. By some unspoken agreement, they’d carried on all evening as if the moment in the backyard had never happened. Melissa had the uneasy feeling Garth regretted the whole thing, and she didn’t want to delve too deeply into her own intense reaction to his touch. Thinking about the night ahead and sleeping just a few feet away from him gave her goose bumps, so she decided to ignore that as well.

  Perhaps not the most mature approach, but sometimes maturity was overrated.

  The inside of Seesaw was a far cry from the mansion in Scarsdale. Garth said that Nan refused to let him update the house, so the furniture was circa 1950, the stairs creaked loud enough to be heard across town, and the kitchen linoleum was an interesting shade of puce. But all that only made Melissa like it more. For her, the value of a home couldn’t be found in the price of the furnishings or the art; it lay in the memories stored there.

  She could see herself as part of a family tucked beneath the eaves of this old house, with a handful of children running up and down the squeaky steps. She could picture her brothers and Tori in the kitchen, and Nan sitting in her old easy chair, smiling her infectious smile.

  She could even picture Nan’s little white dogs, barking and nipping at the heels of the kids, and Garth playing on the seesaw out back with the kids.

  When she pictured him smiling and laughing, she knew she had drifted into a complete fantasy world.

  Enough already. Don’t just sit here daydreaming about nonsense. Read a book—write an email—do anything that will get your mind off kids.

  And husbands.

  And families.

  “Gah!” Melissa set her cup down on the side table beside her chair. “Enough already!” she said. “If and when you get in another relationship, it’s going to be with an easy-going, open, loving guy who will worship the ground you walk on.”

  Which is to say, absolutely not Garth Solen.

  She stood and stretched, then got her coat from the closet and put it on. Sitting around never did anyone good. A walk would surely help her state of mind.

  Crisp, cold air and a sky full of stars greeted her when she stepped into the dark backyard. The smell of wood smoke and autumn leaves mixed with the snap of impending winter, and her breath formed a cloud around her. The serene quiet eased her mind.

  For the first time it occurred to her that perhaps after this engagement charade had come to an end, she should move again. Leave New York completely. Start fresh somewhere, maybe in a small town miles away from her parents and brothers. She’d never lived outside of a big city before, but Essex had her entranced with its open spaces and quiet nights.

  She turned around as the crunch of gravel indicated Garth’s arrival.

  You’ll be calm and collected with him. Give no sign that you were fantasizing about taking over his family home.

  He got out of the car carrying a small white box and a paper bag. He started toward the house without looking in her direction, and she realized must be hidden in the dark.

  “You didn’t bring me dessert, d
id you?” she called, determined to sound as relaxed and composed as humanly possible. “Because that would be an exceptionally good move on your part.”

  “Melissa?” He spun around. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just enjoying the air,” she replied. “What’s in the box?”

  He moved the package behind his back. “It’s a surprise. Can you give me five minutes before you come in so I can get it all set up?”

  She nodded, intrigued. “Okay, but my toes are getting cold. Five minutes is all you get.”

  …

  Garth closed the door behind him and headed for the dining room. He kept reminding himself that this was all for Nan’s benefit, but it didn’t seem to matter. He still wondered if Melissa would like the tiny truffle cake he’d picked out from the one of the restaurants in town, and he worried that he should have gotten champagne instead of red wine, even though the chef assured him that the Cabernet Sauvignon he’d picked was a far better choice to accompany the dark chocolate.

  Quickly, he pulled the candles from the bag and opened the wine bottle. He set the cake on a china plate, poured two glasses of wine, and arranged a handful of candles in the center of the table. Then he lit the candles and turned off all the lights in the house.

  Jess had told him to do that. God knows he didn’t have a clue how to set up a “romantic” scene. When he dated, he relied on five-star hotels and expensive restaurants to set the mood. He’d never known what women wanted.

  “Can I come in?” Melissa called at the door.

  “Just a second,” he yelled back. Quickly, he felt his back pocket to make sure he still had the tiny ring box, and then turned his phone to the camera setting and set it down on the kitchen counter. Later, he’d have to take some pictures. But he had the feeling peering at her through a camera as she walked into the room had the potential to ruin the moment.

  Why he cared about the moment was entirely another matter. One he refused to examine. He was doing this for Nan. She would expect a good story with lots of details, and despite the inauspicious start to their engagement, he believed Melissa when she said lying wasn’t one of her strengths.

  That’s why he was doing this. After she’d eaten her cake, drunk her wine, and accepted his ring—again—they’d be off to bed. In separate rooms.

  Really.

  “Okay, you can come in,” he called.

  “It’s awfully dark,” she said. “Can I turn on a light?”

  “Nope.” He ran his hands over his hair. “It’s brighter around the corner. You’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t sign a waiver before I came out here,” she warned him, humor softening her threat. “If I trip, I’m suing you for all you’re worth.”

  Her shadow appeared at the back of the room. She emerged into the candlelight slowly, waving her hands in front of her like she was blind. A smile creased her lips. Her hair was loose around her shoulders.

  Garth felt a tug in his groin. He was in a house, alone, with a woman who set his every nerve on fire. His fingertips recalled the smooth heat of her slim waist, now hidden by her bulky sweater. His lips remembered the moist caress of her mouth and darting touch of her tongue. Worst of all, his hands ached for the small breasts that he knew were perfectly rounded, with sharp, responsive peaks.

  But whatever his body wanted, his mind knew better. So she already seemed to understand him better than any woman he’d met. That didn’t matter. An affair with her would still be astonishingly ill-advised. She was already wearing his ring. Sleeping with her could only send the wrong signal. Because he didn’t do relationships, and—God forbid—he definitely didn’t do marriage.

  If relationships brought a sprinkling of expectations, marriage would bring a veritable avalanche of desires. Women demanded conversation, sweet words, and understanding of their moods. They expected their husbands to go to family gatherings and tolerate annoying mothers-in-law. They became hurt and angry when they didn’t get an anniversary card.

  He shuddered. Not even for Nan.

  When Melissa saw the table, her mouth fell open. “Oh,” she breathed, “how lovely!”

  At the sight of her cheeks, rosy from the cold, and the sparkle of delight in her eyes, the knot of tension in his shoulders unraveled, and his dark thoughts fell away. “Have a seat,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”

  …

  “That cake was incredible.” Melissa sighed and set down her glass, then trailed her finger across the white plate, getting the last bit of frosting on her finger and licking it clean.

  “I agree.” Garth cleared his throat. “Lausanne Dreams lives up to its reputation.”

  She took another sip of wine, though her mind was already spinning from the dark, rich Cabernet. Garth fidgeted in his chair. Melissa couldn’t help but think that he looked nervous, though that made no sense at all. Garth Solen didn’t do nervous. Everyone knew that.

  “So…” She glanced around, unsure what to do next. Her body knew what it wanted to do—that didn’t take much guesswork. But did he feel the same? She’d learned there was much more to Garth than met the eye, but one thing hadn’t changed: he didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve.

  And yet…sometimes she caught him staring at her lips…or lower. They kept bumping hands at the table, and getting caught in those awkward, quiet moments where it felt like a deep, soul-wrenching kiss was just inches away.

  “I guess it’s getting late. Should we put another log on the fire, or were you going to turn in?” She realized with annoyance that the wine—which she had hoped would bring a dulling of her senses, and perhaps even some relief from the relentless throbbing between he legs—wasn’t working. If anything, it only heightened the delicious fog of a night filled with the perfect dessert and a ridiculously romantic scene.

  She wanted to touch him. Damn it, she needed to touch him. To run her fingers down his back and slip her hands under the waistband of his pants. To feel hard, masculine muscles and run her fingers through the hair on his chest. To bring back the heady, overwhelming passion she’d tasted when they’d first arrived.

  “Wait.” He stood abruptly, his chair scraping the wooden floor. “There’s one more thing I need to do.”

  She looked up at him. “Okaaay,” she said slowly.

  Garth lowered himself onto one knee. He pulled out a small box from his back pocket and opened it. He popped it open and held it out toward her. “I know this is sort of ridiculous, but Nan thought it was important, and this is for her benefit, so I’m doing exactly what she wants.”

  Melissa stared at the tiny ring in the box, and then glanced at Garth’s strangely serious expression. A diamond the size of a pinhead glittered on a thin gold band. She grinned. “Two rings? Oh boy, Nan is one amazing woman. If I ever really do get married, I’m having her plan the entire thing.”

  The joke cut through the air of tension that had filled the room. Garth pulled the ring from the box. “Just give me your hand, woman,” he said, humor mixed with exasperation. “You’re ruining the moment.”

  She held out her right hand and waved it in front of him. “You’ll have to do with this one. The other is already taken.” Her heart raced as Garth—for the second time in a week—slid a ring on her third finger.

  He studied her hand and made a sound of satisfaction. “Perfect.”

  Melissa stood, and then reached down to pull him to his feet. “No more marriage proposals, all right? A girl can only stand so much.”

  Garth cleared his throat. He stood only a few feet from her. Melissa swayed toward him, unable to resist her body’s command.

  He wants you. You want him. Don’t let this slip away.

  “You know, uh, that this isn’t, ah…” He stumbled over his words.

  “Real?” she said with a laugh, firmly squelching the nerves that threatened to send her running up the stairs. Her inhibitions fell away the closer she got to Garth’s tall frame. “Don’t worry. Despite the fact that you’ve now proposed to m
e twice, I am fully aware that you have no intention of marrying me.”

  He cocked his head, looking at her intently. “You’re not angry, I hope.”

  She stopped when their bodies met. She drank in the smell of rich red wine, chocolate, and spicy aftershave. Shivering at her own daring, she placed one hand on his shoulder. “If I’m angry with you, you’ll know it.”

  The candlelight flickered across his face. He yielded no emotions—no softness in his eyes or smile on his lips. Yet she could feel his body yearning toward her, and saw a muscle jump in his cheek.

  “What are you doing?” he asked gruffly.

  “I’m seducing you,” she said, the words tripping from her lips of their own accord. She had lost control somewhere between the rigid muscle under her hand, and the desire that slid, honey-like, through her body. “Just like you were seducing me.”

  His gaze darkened. “You misunderstood me. I was doing this for Nan.”

  “Were you?” She trailed her hand down the front of his shirt, stopped at one hip, tugged him an inch closer.

  He drew in a breath. “I was. And tomorrow, when we go back to the city, you’ll describe everything that just happened, and she’ll love it.”

  “Will I describe this for her, too?” Dizzy with need, Melissa wound her arms around his neck. She leaned into him, ignoring the way his body went rigid when she touched him. She leaned forward and kissed him on the neck. “What about that? Will I tell her about that?”

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” Garth said, his voice deep and rough. “This is an arrangement of necessity. Nothing will come of it.”

  “We’re not really getting married, it’s all a charade, blah blah blah,” Melissa repeated. She kissed him again, this time sending her hands to slide from his waist to his back, lingering at the hard curve of his hip. “Do I need to sign something swearing to that?”

  “I don’t play games,” he warned. “I don’t whisper sweet nothings. This isn’t what you want.”

  She looked into his eyes. There was something important in what he was saying, but right now, she couldn’t focus long enough to puzzle out the mystery behind his words. “Don’t tell me what I want,” she said. “I want to sleep with you. Is that so hard to believe?”