A Christmas Proposition

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Because I came across the only name in my address book that belonged to someone who cares enough about my brother to agree to my plan.”

  Something tender invaded her expression. He’d never until this moment been regarded by Stefanie Ferguson with “tenderness.”

  Hell if he knew what to do with that.

  “You.” She said the word with finality.

  “Me what?” he asked, the question loud in the cab of the SUV.

  “You are the only man who would be discreet, go along with my plan and, provided you don’t already have a girlfriend, fiancée or wife—”

  “You think I have a wife?” There was a crazy idea. Even crazier was the idea that Stefanie would be that wife. He reached for his cup of gas station coffee, wincing when the mouthful was cold instead of hot.

  “There’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period, so we have to apply for the license today. Then we can be married on Christmas Eve after my...um... After I visit my friends.”

  “Forget it.” He put the SUV in Reverse to wiggle from the parking space when her hand—and cold, delicate fingers—brushed his.

  Her touch was foreign, as most touches were to him, yet familiar in a way he couldn’t understand. Maybe because he’d known her for so long. Other than her mother, Eleanor Ferguson, Stefanie had been the only constant woman in his life since he was a very small boy.

  “I’ve worked out everything. All you have to do is agree and smile for the camera so I can leak a few photos to social media. That’s it. Two little things.”

  “Little?” His incredulous laugh cracked the air. “You’re suggesting we get married, Stef. There’s nothing little about that ask.”

  “The end game is to screw over Blake and save Chase’s campaign. It’s noble. You’d be doing your civic duty.”

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  It was nuts. He couldn’t consider this.

  So why was he?

  “Well. I guess I could pay someone to marry me.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Anger filled him to the brim at the idea she’d sell herself to the highest bidder. And what goon from her dating past would be the lucky lotto winner? The idea of Stefanie being taken advantage of again made his blood pressure climb to dangerous levels.

  “Listen. It’s a surefire plan. This is the ultimate undo button for me. Haven’t you ever wanted to go back in time and stop a tragedy from happening?”

  Her pulled-up blond hair revealed a sweet face silhouetted by the cheesy town holiday decorations and winking lights in every window of city hall. Hell yes, he’d wanted to go back in time. He’d fantasized about going back for a huge “undo” for most of his childhood life.

  “Yes,” he answered honestly. She beamed, but that grin was erased when he spoke again. “Then I grew up and learned that what’s done is done. There is no going back. There is no undo button on tragedy.”

  She squeezed his fingers as if apologizing for the tragic evening that changed his and his father’s lives forever. She had no idea what had happened to him and his family—no one did. Save Chase, but Emmett had sworn his best friend to secrecy.

  “Help me, Emmett. I’m begging.” Against his will, the plea in her eyes took root in his chest. “You know it’s serious if I have to beg. If there were anyone else, I’d ask them. But there’s only you.”

  The sentiment was strange to hear in any context, especially in one where he was being proposed to, but it didn’t stop him from reconsidering.

  “I’m not going in there,” he said. Stefanie’s shoulders slumped in defeat before he added, “Until you explain every last detail of how this will work.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Stefanie walked out of city hall with her fiancé.

  Her big, brawny, silent, scowling fiancé.

  “There.” She pointed across the street at a jeweler and marched over as soon as there was a break in traffic. She was a woman on a mission.

  A cheery bell jingled as she pushed open the door of the jewelry store. Emmett did a neat jog to catch up and join her, but his expression remained as unreadable as it had when they’d applied for their marriage license.

  It was so simple it was sort of unbelievable. It was like they’d let anyone get married these days.

  “Hello.” A saleslady scanned her new customers, ring-laden fingers clasped at her front. “What can I help you find today?”

  “Wedding bands. And an engagement ring.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Stef peeked over her shoulder at Emmett, who was standing by the door looking unhappy.

  She jerked her head, widening her eyes to communicate her meaning: get your ass in here.

  He strode in, a reluctant lurch to his walk, as the saleslady led them to a glass case filled with sparkling diamond bands. She pulled out a tray of platinum settings at Stefanie’s request. Stef leaned over them, fingering each one.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  She reached for a princess cut but before she had it lifted from its velvet bed, Emmett pushed the ring back down and plucked a band featuring a trio of marquise-cut diamonds instead. Rows of smaller diamonds winked from their homes on each side of the band.

  “Great choice,” the saleslady praised. “That’s an old set. It was traded in yesterday by a woman whose husband passed away ten years ago. They were married forty-eight years and she had no children to leave it to. She said their marriage was a happy one, but she was remarrying and felt wrong keeping it. She thought bringing it here would allow another couple to give it new life for another four decades or more.” She eyed Emmett and then Stefanie. “You two look young enough to make it to your forty-eighth wedding anniversary.”

  It was both a sad and sweet sentiment since Stef knew that her marriage to Emmett wouldn’t last until summer.

  “Go ahead and slip it onto her finger,” the saleslady told Emmett with a wink. “Practice for the big day.”

  He lifted Stef’s left hand, the ring gripped between his blunt fingers.

  “Maybe this ring is the wrong choice for us.” She started to tug her hand away, but her betrothed didn’t heed her warning, instead slipping the ring past her third finger’s knuckles, where it sat as snugly as if it’d been sized for her hand.

  “It’s perfect.” His gruff voice held a note of surprise.

  “It’s beautiful.” The saleslady took Stefanie’s hand and turned the diamond this way and that. “I tightened those prongs myself.”

  It was beautiful. And Emmett was right. It was also perfect. The woman handed over the matching band, and he pulled it onto his finger—again, a perfect fit.

  “It was meant to be.” The saleslady let out a gasp of delight. “We have financing and we also accept credit cards.”

  “Cash.” Emmett wiggled the ring from his finger and placed it onto the counter as Stef was reaching into her purse for her wallet.

  “Splendid. Let me grab a few boxes.” The saleslady dashed off to the back, rings in hand and a spring in her step thanks to the hefty price tag.

  “I’ll pay for it,” Stef said.

  “No. You won’t.”

  “Em—”

  “Let me.” He grasped her hand where the engagement ring sat, his palm big and warm. An answering warmth curled around her heart and sent a flush up her neck.

  Speechless, she let Emmett take care of the purchase.

  Six

  Emmett drew the line at shopping for clothes.

  Applying for a marriage license and purchasing the rings they’d exchange during their vows had been surreal enough. If she added a wedding dress to the mix, he’d have to call a shrink.

  Agreeing to her harebrained plan would work twofold. It would defuse the threat to Chase’s campaign and keep Stefanie out of one of her boneheaded
exes’ beds.

  Emmett couldn’t stomach the idea of her stooping to offer herself to another man who likely had his sights set on the Ferguson fortune. Not when Emmett himself was perfectly able to fill the role of temporary husband—and would sooner die than be compensated for the task.

  He’d slid that band onto Stefanie’s finger in the jewelry store, the tale of the ring’s past eating into his soul. What he hadn’t been able to deny was his desire to protect her at all costs. The rest of the Fergusons weren’t going to approve, but Emmett didn’t care. Stefanie needed him, and in the same way he’d been protecting the Ferguson family since Chase hired Emmett onto the security team, he’d protect Stef now. She didn’t need him to leap in front of a bullet. She needed him to commit to a vow that was temporary for both of them.

  He could hardly believe he’d let her talk him into it.

  “There it is.” She pointed out the window at a tall Victorian home. The painted wood siding was slate with brick red shutters. The matching sign was dusted with a thin layer of snow and the wood-carved lettering read Lawson Bed and Breakfast. “It’s as pretty as the online photos.”

  It was a regal house in an older neighborhood of Harlington, probably from before the oil wells dried up, back when the residents believed it to be a forever home. It was impressive that it’d been kept up. He pulled down the driveway and into a parking area with four spots. Three of which were taken.

  “Margaret Lawson runs the B and B,” Stef said as they walked to the front door. She rang the buzzer. “Her son will be officiating our wedding. We’ll have to share a room, I’m afraid. Otherwise, it’d look weird.”

  “Gee, I’d hate to look weird.” He caught sight of the engagement ring when she tugged off one glove, then the next. It was odd seeing it there—the ring he’d put there. It filled him with a propriety he had no right to feel. As if she were his to care for and watch over.

  A cheery redhead answered the door. “You must be Stefanie. And this is your...”

  “Emmett Keaton.” He thrust a hand forward in introduction.

  “Nice to meet you. Your room is ready whenever you are.”

  “Is there a couch or extra bed in our room?” he blurted. When Margaret’s smile vanished, he covered with “I toss and turn. Wouldn’t want my future missus to lose any beauty sleep.”

  The older woman glanced from Emmett to Stefanie, who was regarding him like she wanted to strangle him.

  “There’s a love seat,” Margaret answered. “A rather small one.”

  “We’ll make do. Thank you, Margaret,” Stef said. “Honey, won’t you grab the luggage?”

  He could take a hint. He excused himself to unload the SUV as Stefanie followed their hostess into the house.

  * * *

  Granted, this was her idea, but could Emmett at least appear to like her? First, he argued that she was insane for suggesting a marriage of convenience, then he asked the owner of the B and B for separate sleeping accommodations. At least he’d been game for the ring buying or else she would have developed a complex.

  He stomped into the room in heavy boots and unloaded their luggage—several bags for her and one duffel bag for him.

  “Do you have a suit and tie in there?” she asked.

  “I have what you see me wearing in there.” He unshouldered his coat to reveal his white-shirt-black-pants combo. His broad frame filled the room—which was small by anyone’s definition of the word. Having him in it shrank it to cracker-box size.

  She tapped a key on her laptop, having extracted the computer from her bag first. “I’ll look into tux rental.”

  “What’s it matter?”

  From her cross-legged seat on the center of the bed, she slapped the laptop closed. In a voice low but firm, she told him exactly why it mattered.

  “This isn’t going to work unless you pretend to at least like me. I’ve been doing a good job of cordiality but you are failing with a capital F. Margaret patted me on the arm after leading me up here and assured me men always behaved strangely before a wedding and not to take what you said to heart!”

  “I don’t see how that is any of her business.”

  “I don’t see how you’re missing the point I’m so clearly conveying,” she snapped. Closing her eyes, she pulled in a deep breath. Serenity now! “We need everyone to buy into the farce or else it’ll leak that this is fake, which will give Blake even more ammunition and ruin my reputation.”

  “What do you suggest I do, Stef? Follow you around like a puppy? Hold your hand? Nuzzle your neck?” he bit out.

  The idea of Emmett holding her close and nuzzling her anything had her growing warm—and not in a good way. She’d obligated him enough. She couldn’t ask that he force a reaction he wasn’t comfortable with. That would be sexual harassment.

  “Of course not.” She craned her chin as he stepped closer to the bed.

  He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her, his weighty presence stifling and strangely sensual. Flummoxed by her reaction to him, she changed the subject.

  “I have errands to run over the next couple of days. Wedding dress and shoe shopping.”

  She also needed to go to the site of the charity dinner and make sure everything was coming along as planned. Caterers would be delivering tables and chairs, and decorating no fewer than three Christmas trees. Not to mention that the volunteers from the community church would be wrapping presents for the invited families.

  “I’ll need you to drive me.” She half expected resistance but Emmett nodded easily. “I won’t make you wear a tux.”

  “Fine.”

  “Great.”

  “Great.”

  He eyed the bed where she was sitting, legs folded pretzel-style in front of her. Then he sent a glance at the diminutive love seat on the other side of the room.

  “You can have the bed,” she told him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Nice try.” He grinned, an almost jovial light in his eyes. It faded as fast as it appeared, but damn, what she wouldn’t give to see it again. That smile had transformed his entire face. “I’ll take the floor.”

  “It’s cold down there.”

  “I’ll live.” He walked to the door and when she asked where he was going, he turned to answer her, his body taking up most of the doorway. “I have a sleeping bag in the SUV, Stef. Stop worrying about me, yeah?”

  Then he patted the doorway and was off.

  She wasn’t worrying about him, but she was trying to accommodate him. Clearly, he was uncomfortable, and now that they were to be wedded she was feeling equally awkward about their suddenly intimate situation. How was she going to manage an “I do” kiss and sharing a room with him if she could barely talk to him when they were alone?

  And it wouldn’t end in Harlington.

  No, this decision would follow her home. Follow her around until she and Emmett were unmarried. And what would they do until then?

  She didn’t want to think about it. She opened her laptop and started typing a list of to-dos for her wedding. After a few minutes of crafting a list, she realized that even the basics were going to take plenty of time and energy and effort.

  In order to pull off a wedding as well as a successful charity dinner, she would have to either make a clone of herself or do some delegating. And there was only one other person to delegate to.

  That person strode back into the room with a rolled sleeping bag tucked under his arm. He hadn’t bothered with his coat for the quick jaunt outside, so his face and nose were red even from the brief exposure. Before he dropped the bag, she made her request.

  “I need your help with a few things while I’m here.” Realizing that sounded demanding, she added, “If you can take the time away from your job.”

  “You are my job while I’m here.” He crossed the room and dumped the sleeping bag onto the l
ove seat.

  It was easier for her to admit this next part while looking at his back...

  “One more thing...” He turned before she could finish and she gulped, a dry sound that caused her throat to click. “I need to tell you the truth about why we’re here.”

  Seven

  “You mean there’s more to it than cornering me into matrimony and eating a fancy dinner with your fancy friends?”

  But that last bit didn’t make much sense, did it? Not now that they were in Harlington, where the “fanciest” restaurant in town was a Chili’s.

  “You’re joking with me. That’s new. Usually you’re frowning at me.” Her smile was tentative. She leaned back on the bed, the pair of leggings making her slim legs look a mile long and the oversize pink sweater hiding her petite curves. She looked comfortable and relaxed, which was as crazy as the fact that he felt the same way.

  Stefanie didn’t like him—he’d have lost a bet that she’d smile at him let alone propose to him even if it were up to them to repopulate the planet. There were a million strings attached to the proposal, and it was an arrangement for the greater good, but...shouldn’t they both be more on edge?

  She picked at a thread on the quilt rather than look up at him. “Does this mean we’re becoming friendly instead of mortal enemies? That someday I could be more than a job to you?”

  Ah, hell. Surely she didn’t think that. He didn’t consider her an enemy—he liked her.

  He cared about her safety.

  And about her as a person.

  “I only ask because we need to make this marriage look real if we go forward. How good of an actor are you?”

  His face scrunched at the question.

  “Can you hold my hand in public? Open a door for me? Be a gentleman? I don’t think the public would believe I’d fall for someone who didn’t do those things.”

  “Who cares what the public thinks?” he barked, stung at her accusing him of not knowing how to treat a woman. He was accustomed to protecting—to watching other people’s backs. That was why he brought up the rear whenever they walked anywhere together.