My Fake Fiancée. Nancy Warren
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the time dinner was served, she’d charmed most of the board members and their spouses. She had the rare ability to converse on a wide range of subjects and seem as interested in talking about cooking and fashion as about politics and current events. The only time she seemed lost was when talk turned to sports.
He was beginning to think that maybe this night wasn’t going to be the disaster he’d imagined when they sat down to dinner. Given the number of people, they were arranged at a long table. He and Chelsea were seated side by side, and Piers and a couple of the senior board members were closest to them.
She ordered the day’s fresh fish and he ordered the same. It wasn’t planned, but it definitely made them look more of a couple, he decided.
When the first courses arrived, Amelia leaned forward and said, “I asked Lars where you and David met.” She shook her head. “Men are so hopeless. They work together every day, and do you know, he couldn’t tell me?”
David swallowed. He and Chelsea exchanged a glance. “You didn’t tell him anything?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s a guy thing. You tell them, honey.”
She really had the most amazing eyes. Sparkly, brown like rich chocolate cake, and the most incredible combination of innocence and mischief. “Well, the truth is, David and I have known each other since I was fourteen.”
“Really, were you high school sweethearts?”
She laughed, easily. “No. He was several years older than I was. The brother of my best friend. He didn’t even know I existed.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “And I had a hopeless crush on him.”
Everyone laughed. She continued. “We moved away after I finished high school and I didn’t see David again for many years.”
He picked up the story. “Then we bumped into each other one day on the street, and I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was.”
Even though they were only acting a part, they’d both managed to tell the truth. He caught her quick glance and saw that she was flattered by his words.
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Helen said. “When is the wedding?”
He and Chelsea exchanged a glance, but she didn’t speak, letting him field this one.
“We haven’t set a date,” David said quickly. Then, realizing how that sounded, he said, “Probably next spring.”
“You should get on it ASAP if you are planning a spring wedding,” Amelia warned him. “The good places all get booked. When my daughter got married, we had a full year to plan, and still, she only got her second choice of venue.”
“That’s something to think about, honey,” he said. Then he dug around desperately for a topic that would move the conversation into a new direction. But before he’d been able to think of anything, Amelia was at it again.
“I see you don’t wear a ring, dear.”
He stared at Chelsea’s left hand, with its short, buffed nails and no jewelry whatsoever. Damn it, he’d totally forgotten. Of course he should have given her a ring. A fake diamond for his fake fiancée.
He opened his mouth with no idea what he was going to say, when Chelsea put her hand over his. “He wanted to, but I work with food all day. Honestly, a ring would only get in the way. I’d be terrified I’d take it off to wash my hands and wash the ring down the drain or something. Once we’re married, I’ll wear a wedding band, though, of course.”
A few of the board members at the other end of the table got a little rowdy as the night went on. And suddenly, to his horror, he heard a spoon begin to bang against a glass.
“We want the engaged couple to kiss,” somebody shouted.
Piers started to protest, but his wife said, “Oh, don’t spoil the fun. It’s nice to see young people in love.”
By now, other spoons had joined in the din. What could he do?
He leaned forward and caught the laughter in Chelsea’s eyes as he closed his lips on hers.
For a second he forgot that he was in a corporate setting with a group of people who held his future in their hands. All he knew was that she tasted like chocolate and sex and a hint of licorice from her earlier Pernod.
He pulled away slowly, seeing the shock in her eyes. He imagined her look must have mirrored his own. Slowly, her tongue slipped out and she licked her lips as though trying to catch the elusive flavor of that kiss.
He wanted to say something that would lighten the sudden tension, but he couldn’t think. Rockets were exploding in his brain. Or maybe they were Mayday flares warning him that he was in deep, deep trouble.
5
OH, NO. THE WORDS bounced around Chelsea’s brain like a pinging dot in one of those annoying computer games. Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, oh, no!
If she’d had one rule for herself—if she’d thought any of this through enough to have created some rules for herself, which would have been a pretty damn good idea—rule number one would have been no kissing. Well, no physical contact of any kind, obviously. But it was too late for that, so maybe if she pulled herself together long enough to list a few rules for personal conduct, she had a tiny possibility of getting through this charade without making a fool of herself.
Maybe.
She got through the rest of the night somehow, but she was always conscious of David’s presence beside her, of the feel of his arm when it brushed hers. Even through the summer-weight jacket he wore she felt his body heat the same way she felt the insistent attraction that thrummed between them.
She wasn’t sure whether she was glad or sorry when they finally left. Sure, it had been stressful to play a part, but at least the mental effort had kept her from thinking about the fact that soon she’d be going to David’s home.
With David.
Alone.
“What are you thinking about?” David asked her. They were seated in a cab speeding to his place. She was sure he lived close enough to walk, but in deference to her heels, he’d insisted on a cab. And the two of them were headed for his place for all the wrong reasons.
No! She corrected herself hurriedly. For all the right reasons. Sex was a bad reason and they weren’t going to do that. Clearly no sex was the new rule number one.
Good reasons for heading to David’s place included a nice place to stay rent-free for a few months and use of a kitchen that Sarah insisted was top-of-the-line.
She had to keep reminding herself of that, especially since breaking rule number one of the former rules list, the one where no kissing held top spot. Because any fool could see that once a woman started kissing a man like David, she was never going to stop.
How many times had she dreamed about that first kiss? A thousand? A million? Ten billion? She’d been a quintessential shy-girl nerd. Not even a geek, which was starting to be cool when she hit high school. No. She didn’t mess with computers, she read classics and she cooked. She supposed, looking back, that she was trying to recreate the home she’d lost by becoming a great cook. With the three adults all working, she was usually the one to cook dinner, and she found that she loved to experiment with new recipes, to refine old family favorites.
Other kids played video games and watched Friends when they got home from school. She watched Jacques Pepin and Martha Stewart. She wore the wrong clothes. She was plain and shy and studious. And the perfect fodder for a hopeless crush on the guy most likely to do whatever the hell he pleased.
But even in the fantasy realm where David suddenly noticed her and drew her slowly to him and kissed her, she’d never imagined that it would be quite so earth-shattering—and like most shy, bookish girls, she had quite an imagination.
Who’d have believed