Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands. Кейт Хьюит
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locating the street she’d been searching for for the better part of an hour. After a series of twists and turns on curving and hilly side streets and a couple of cul-de-sacs, she found the house.
Malibu lights illuminated a concrete path from the driveway to the front door of a modest, single-story tract house with a neatly trimmed lawn and a few newly planted evergreens that would eventually grow into decent sized shrubbery. An older model Ford Explorer parked in the driveway in front of a two-car garage and a light shining in the living room window convinced her that her miracle was home. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t driven for two and a half hours through a sea of red taillights for nothing, and cut the engine of her Dodge Intrepid. Pulling her briefcase from the passenger seat, she gathered her courage and marched to the door before she could change her mind.
Jill rang the bell and waited. She had no guarantee that he’d even agree to her terms, and hoped that hint of desperation she’d detected in his eyes had been for real. Mostly, she hoped that Nick was right—that Morgan Price was indeed a guy who couldn’t say no to someone in need.
The door swung open and her heart stuttered behind her ribs, followed by an odd unfurling of heat in her middle. The man was simply too handsome for words.
She stared at him like a starstruck fool, paying silent homage to his astonishing good looks. Light spilled onto the porch, and he looked like an avenging angel. His raven-black hair was mussed, giving him a lived-in look she found far too sexy for her peace of mind. Her gaze slipped over him, down the wide chest that tapered to a slim waist she was convinced was as hard as granite, past lean hips and long legs she imagined were powerful and muscular, to bare feet.
Good grief, even his feet were sexy!
“Can I help you?” he asked after her moment of silence.
Her gaze drifted lazily back to his, and she prayed he hadn’t seen her reverent inspection of his masculine perfection. Since he hadn’t flipped on the porch light, she was hopeful.
“Mr. Price, I’m Jill Cassidy. I’m an attorney from Lowell and Montgomery.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her, towering well over her five-foot-six height. “Nick have a change of heart?”
He had a pleasant voice, deep and soothing. The kind that would no doubt whisper seductively in a woman’s ear and send her pulse careening out of control.
“Not exactly,” she said, concentrating on her purpose for coming to see him. “May I come in?”
Relief swept through her when he stepped back to let her into the house. He showed her into a small living room, tastefully but inexpensively furnished.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, ushering her toward a blue plaid sofa.
“A glass of water would be nice,” she said, smiling up at him.
He nodded absently, then strolled out of the living room, giving her an opportunity to take in her surroundings. A plant in desperate need of attention sat atop an oval end table beside a tall brass lamp. More plants, also lacking tender loving care, were placed on the mantel above a small brick fireplace. Newspapers cluttered the edge of the coffee table, and a collection of magazines were strewn haphazardly beside a worn leather recliner with a remote control resting on the arm.
She eased out a puff of breath. The gods were smiling on her, because her miracle was single. The plants said there might have been a woman in his life at some point. She wasn’t planning to have an affair with him; she just needed him to pretend to be her fiancé for a brief period of time.
He returned with her water, then moved to sit across from her on the matching love seat. “So what’s this all about? If Nick didn’t change his mind, what are you doing here?”
“I can help you, Mr. Price—”
“Morgan,” he interrupted, his storm-cloud eyes dipping to her mouth, making her heart beat just a tad faster. “Isn’t this a little unusual? I didn’t know the partners at Lowell and Montgomery allowed their associates to moonlight.”
She smoothed her moist palms down her navy linen skirt. “They don’t,” she said, offering him a brief smile. “Not as a rule, anyway. I’m not here on behalf of the firm.”
He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, giving her a level stare. “Then what are you doing here?”
She set the glass on the coffee table. “Mr. Pr—Morgan. I was hoping we could help each other.”
He regarded her skeptically, but the hopeful light in his eyes boosted her waning confidence slightly. “I’m listening,” he prompted, his brows pulling into a frown.
“In exchange for my providing legal services for your employee, I’d like something in return.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her with those piercing gray eyes.
“I need…”
Oh, why was this suddenly so difficult? She’d planned her speech down to the last detail during her two-hour drive in evening traffic.
“I need a few days of your time,” she hedged.
His brows pulled deeper together. “When?”
“The end of the month. My sister is getting married and I need…a…date.”
“For a few days?”
She let out a breath that did little to calm her case of nerves. “The wedding is in Illinois. In the town where I grew up.”
Regret filled his eyes and her heart sank. “I have to be honest with you, Ms. Cassidy, I’m not sure I can afford—”
“Jill,” she said. “And don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay for everything.”
“I’m not sure I can afford to be out of town,” he said, leaning back on the love seat and crossing his arms over that gloriously wide chest. He propped his foot on his knee. “I have a business to run.”
“Five days,” she said, feeling her only hope slipping away. If Morgan Price didn’t agree, she didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d been evading the issue with her family for months, coming up with one excuse after another as to why her fiancé hadn’t been able to come with her on her last two trips back to Homer, Illinois. She hadn’t meant to lie to them, but everything had spun out of control and now she was backed into a corner and desperate enough to use whatever means at her disposal to convince Mr. Sinfully Sexy to compound her fabrication.
“A few in exchange for decent legal representation for your employee?” she asked, hating the hesitancy in her voice, but under his piercing stare she was lucky her voice worked properly.
He regarded her with a great deal of caution, and she really couldn’t blame him. Her plan was more than ludicrous, it was insane.
“This is blackmail, you know,” he said after a moment, his gaze softened by a slight quirk of his mouth.
Relief, combined with a stirring of something much more elemental, rippled through her. “I was thinking more in terms of the medieval economic system. You need a lawyer and I need something in return.”
“How do I know you’re any good?”
Why did that perfectly innocent question cause gooseflesh to break out all over her skin? “I’m very good. You won’t be disappointed.”
The grin that transformed his granite features was filled with sin. “You don’t leave me much choice.”
She smiled and used every ounce of self-control she possessed not to jump up and squeal with delight. “I was hoping you’d say that. So we have a deal?”
“Tell me something. Why resort to blackmailing for a date to a wedding?”
She reached for the water, taking a drink in hopes of putting out the slow burn