Rent A Millionaire Groom. Judy Christenberry
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And she wasn’t. So she had to risk her heart to stay sane—only, risking her heart would drive her crazy.
What was a girl to do?
FOR THE NEXT two days, James chuckled often as he remembered the conversation he’d shared with Elise—and anticipated their Friday evening together.
“What’s put you in such a happy mood?” MaryBelle asked as she served him breakfast Friday morning.
James immediately wiped away the smile. “Me? It’s a beautiful day.”
“We live in Phoenix, James. Most every day is beautiful, but that’s never stopped you from acting like a grouchy bear.”
“I’m not that bad, MaryBelle,” he protested. But he was beginning to wonder. He’d gone back to the office yesterday and several people had commented on his change of attitude.
“It’s a woman, isn’t it?” MaryBelle suddenly guessed.
James immediately felt sympathy for Elise’s blushes as his cheeks heated up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Aha! I was right. It’s about time, too. It’s unnatural for a handsome man like you to have nothing to do with women.”
“Don’t be silly, MaryBelle. I work with women all the time. Some of my best creative people are women.”
“This is different,” MaryBelle announced, a satisfied look on her round face. She picked up the coffeepot and poured him more. “Eat up, or I’ll think you’ve lost your appetite because of this woman.”
He glared at her.
“Ah, maybe she isn’t as beautiful as she should be, if you’re going to start growling again.”
The temptation to assure his housekeeper that Elise was quite beautiful almost escaped his lips, until he caught the expectant look on her face. She was fishing for information. He pressed his lips together, then took a deep breath. “The coffee is especially good this morning, MaryBelle. New brand?”
“Nope. It just tastes better when you’re in a good mood.” After a moment, she asked, “Am I going to need to look for another job?”
Stunned, he put down his coffee cup. “What are you talking about? Have I upset you? You know I can’t manage without you.”
“I thought maybe with a new woman in the picture, she might not want me doin’ the cooking.”
Whether or not he gave her information about Elise, he couldn’t let MaryBelle, sixty years young, worry about her future. She’d been a part of his life for almost ten years, and he couldn’t ask for better. Rising, he hugged her rounded form. “I can’t do without you, MaryBelle, new woman or not. Besides, she’s a career woman. She’ll love having you here.”
“Aha! I knew there was someone!” MaryBelle crowed.
“You rat! You tricked me. You knew I’d worry about your hurt feelings. Shame on you!”
“It’s your fault,” MaryBelle proclaimed, her nose in the air. “You’re too closemouthed for your own good.”
He didn’t agree with that, but he didn’t mind letting MaryBelle know about Elise. He wanted to tell everyone about her, but that wasn’t a good idea. Their being together was only temporary, he reminded himself. He headed for the door. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Oh, and I’ll need to borrow your car again.”
“Okay. Thanks for the tune-up and wash, by the way. It drives a lot better now.”
“I’ll leave the keys to my car.”
“No need. I’m not going anywhere.”
With a wave, he was out the door, briefcase in hand, as usual. But he knew the smile on his lips was a new addition, as of two days ago.
SHE DIDN’T WEAR JEANS.
That smile insisted on spreading across James’s mouth. He’d made her self-conscious. Tonight, she was dressed in a long-sleeved blouse and a skirt that fell to mid-calf. It wasn’t tight enough to allow her shape to be seen, or full enough to swirl around her legs. And her blouse was done up all the way, except for the tiptop button.
She hadn’t hidden her small waist, however. A belt with a silver buckle spanned her middle, like the bow on a present—and he was ready to start unwrapping. He found her demure outfit to be more enticing than any bikini.
“Shall we go?” she asked, staring at him.
“Not inviting me in tonight?” he asked, just to be ornery.
She’d met him at the door and had immediately stepped forward and locked up behind her. He suspected she didn’t trust him.
“I figured you were hungry.”
“Starved,” he assured her, letting his eyes tell her what kind of hunger he was talking about. She got the message. Her cheeks flamed again. He was almost ready to change his favorite color to rose, a beautiful dusty rose under peach-colored skin.
Instead of preceding him down the stairs, she suggested, “You go first.”
He was about to grow concerned that he’d teased her too much.
Then she added, “It’s my turn to enjoy the view.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart,” he assured her, grinning, and headed down. At the bottom, he turned to wait for her. “Okay?”
“Fine.” She avoided looking at him.
They got in the car, but he didn’t start the engine. “Just for the record, you’re not a virgin, are you?”
“Why?”
“You seemed a little uncomfortable with our conversation Wednesday night. It occurred to me that you were less experienced than I expected.”
She looked out the window rather than at him. “Just because I don’t normally discuss sex with men doesn’t mean I’ve never— No, I’m not a virgin.”
“Good.” He started the engine and backed out. “I’ve chosen another restaurant this evening. I hope you like Italian?”
“Yes, I love it.”
Okay, so he’d made the right choice. She’d be more relaxed, and he’d learn even more delightful facts about Dr. Elise Foster. It was so hard to picture her as a college professor.
“Do you like teaching at ASU?”
She looked surprised. “I love it. I love the French language. It’s beautiful, lyrical, and I love sharing it with others.”
“I bet your students love the language, too, when you’re finished with them.”
“You make it sound like I force-feed them.”
“No, I suspect you seduce them,” he said softly, imagining listening to her for an hour, a smile on his lips.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Sorry, just a phrase. Listening to your voice is such a pleasure, I think you could convince me of anything.”
“I didn’t mean to overreact, but in this day and age, we have to be very careful.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“Maybe I should’ve found a French restaurant and let you order for us,” he suggested.
She rolled her eyes. “Why? You speak Arizonan as well as I do. You don’t really think the waiter would be French, do you?”
“Surely there are some Frenchmen in Phoenix.”
“There are, but they’re usually the chef, not the waiters. I’ve had several come speak to my classes.”
“Do you cook French dishes?”
He