by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
“Holy crap,” she whispered, reaching out a finger before jerking it back with a shake of her head. “I’m scared to touch them. I feel like Daffy Duck in ‘Ali Baba Bunny,’ or Golem from Lord of the Rings. What if they make me crazy and I’m all ‘My preciousss’ afterwards?”
“Better get over that, quick, because you’re going to be wearing them.” He raised his brows at her squeal of terror. “You’re the wife of an affluent businessman. You’ve got to look the part.”
Of course he was right. She reached out again with a tentative finger and poked at a diamond tennis bracelet.
“Good choice. That’s the one I was thinking for everyday wear. Classic, understated elegance.”
“Everyday wear? Understated? This has got to be, what, fifteen carats of diamonds here, Owen? Tell me these aren’t your family jewels.”
He shot her lazy smile. “If you had your hands on my family jewels you’d know it, love.”
She didn’t doubt that for a second but refused to allow herself to think on it for long. “You didn’t buy all this stuff, did you?”
“It’s on loan from a jeweler friend.”
Gripping his shoulder, she gave him an urgent shake. “On loan? Good grief, what if I lose something?”
He shrugged, and she tried to ignore how the muscles bunched beneath her hand. “Then it will be a purchase. It’s truly not an issue, Lindy.”
She let out a deep sigh and released him. “Okay, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Why didn’t you insure it?”
“I find the process tedious, so I only insure items I can’t afford to replace. Wait,” he said, taking a hand off the wheel to reach into his breast pocket. “I almost forgot this.” He handed her a small, square box.
Wedding rings. Had to be.
She opened it, and her emotions ran riot. The engagement ring was a princess-cut hunk of diamond surrounded by dozens of smaller stones set in platinum, while the wedding band was a row of channel-set stones in a matching setting.
“Put them on before we park so no one sees.”
She plucked them from the tray and slid them onto her finger. Perfect fit and truly stunning, but they left her cold. They had no character. No life to them. Which was apropos, since this whole thing was a sham anyway. Tears stung the back of her eyelids. Was she seriously sad because the fake husband she met last week didn’t realize she had her heart set on a vintage ring that conjured images of snowflakes instead of icicles? What a sap.
She blinked back the irrational tears and smiled. “Wow, very nice. I can skip the gym this week, I guess, huh? I’ll get all the exercise I need lugging this bad boy around.” She shot a glance at Owen’s hand. “Where’s yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t think it important. A lot of men don’t wear wedding rings.”
“My dad did.” She knew she was being foolish, but suddenly it seemed crucial that he was as committed to their fake marriage as she was.
“So did mine, and it meant less than nothing to him.”
The clipped response oozed with bitterness. She winced. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not in the least.”
“Alrighty, then. This is your rodeo, boss. You don’t want to wear a ring, don’t. But if some floozies decide that’s an invitation, don’t blame me when I have to set them straight. Your love affairs are your business, but I won’t be humiliated in public.”
“My love affairs?” His lip curled into a half-smirk. “While the thought of you fighting over me is oddly intriguing, I’m certain I can mind my manners and curtail my ‘love affairs’ for a few weeks. If you recall, I fell victim to those tiny fists before. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
“I wasn’t that mad. You should see me when I’m mad. You wouldn’t be laughing.”
The lopsided smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile, and she found herself grinning back. Lord, he was handsome. Suddenly her throat felt dry for a whole other reason. She tore her gaze away and busied herself selecting the bracelet then stowing the box in his briefcase.
Owen pulled the sedan up to the lodge. The brochure hadn’t oversold it even a little. It was gorgeous. A sprawling affair made of thick logs in a rich brown, it somehow managed to look both sturdy and elegant.
“Ready, Mrs. O’Neil?” Owen asked, sliding neatly into the row of cars parked in front of the empty valet stand.
She finished hooking the tennis bracelet onto her wrist, and he reached for her, taking her hand in his to examine it. “Looks really nice. You have beautiful skin.” He ran his thumb over the pulse point in her wrist, and she gasped. His gaze flew to meet hers, pinning her in place. “Lindy?”
“Y-yes?”
“Come closer,” he murmured and leaned toward her, his gray eyes heating to molten silver.
As if in a trance, she obeyed his command, drawn inexorably nearer. When they were only inches apart, close enough for his warm breath to feather her cheek, he dipped his head low. With the very tip of his tongue, he traced her bottom lip, skimming over the surface before delving further to taste the tender flesh inside. She moaned low in her throat, her nipples tightening beneath her shirt. Owen lifted a hand to cradle her neck and deepen the kiss, fitting his firm lips to hers. God, his mouth was pure magic—
The slam of a nearby door startled her and she jerked back.
“Sorry about that, but try to act natural,” Owen said through his teeth. “Nico pulled up and is watching us.”
The pulse in her neck pounded like a jackhammer, but she willed herself to stay still. She dragged in a couple deep breaths through her nose, working up a smile for her “husband.”
It was fake. The whole thing had been fake. Here she was, a seething mass of need over a staged kiss, and he was as chill as the diamond on her finger. She tamped down her disappointment and struggled for clarity. This was a job, and he was her employer. He had no interest in her beyond the goal he’d set for their trip. If she hoped to get through the next three weeks without throwing herself at him, she was going to have to remember that, because, phony or not, that kiss was potent. Even now, she found herself longing for a repeat performance.
“Ready?” he asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, took a steadying breath and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”
…
What the hell had he been thinking? Nothing at all. That was the problem. One touch of her silky skin, one dead-sexy gasp from that full mouth, and all thought had fled. If Stephanopoulos hadn’t pulled up and brought him back down to earth, he would have happily consummated his “marriage” on the front seat of the rental car in full view of passersby—if Lindy would have let him. He’d lost his focus in a big way. Not good. Focus was his edge, the quality that separated him from the pack. It allowed him to build a billion dollar empire back in Belfast that he was ready to expand globally. But before he could do that, he had one more thing to take care of.
Stephanopoulos.
He stalled for a few more moments, pretending to look for something in his jacket pocket to give his raging erection time to abate, then reached for the door handle. By the time he exited the car and sucked in a breath of icy mountain air, his head felt much clearer. He flicked a glance to the Porsche 911 that Nico had stepped out of, but he must have already entered the building. Good. Better that their first meeting was delayed until he was fully in control of himself. Between the shock of need from his kiss with Lindy and the fury that had coursed through him when Nico had pulled up in the pricey ride his sister’s money had undoubtedly financed, he was liable to kill him.
From the entrance of the lodge, a porter bustled toward them with a welcoming smile. “Hello, Mr. O’Neil!” he called, popping off a snappy salute before going around to Lindy’s door and swinging it open.
“Mrs. O’Neil.” He tipped his cap. “Welcome to The Healing Place. We’re so pleased
to have you. Can I take that for you?”
He held out a hand for the briefcase, but Owen shook his head, grabbing it himself. “No thanks, but you can get the rest from the trunk.” He opened the trunk before slipping the guy a twenty and the keys.
“Thank you, sir. These will be in your room shortly. You can check in, straight through the front door, desk on the right.”
Lindy folded herself back into her long, wool coat and made her way around to meet him. She slipped her arm through his with the casual grace of a longtime lover. “Shall we, darling?” Any sign of sleepiness or her mini-hangover had fallen by the wayside. She looked polished, posh and lovely.
He swallowed a sigh of relief. She might be quirky and a bit neurotic, but when push came to shove, she had the will and ability to commit herself to the role and make this thing a success. For the first time since they’d made their unconventional bargain, he felt like they might actually pull it off. He was so close, he could almost taste the rich, heady flavor of vengeance. Even more of a reason not to complicate things with sex. Nothing would bring it all crashing down faster than a woman with delusions of love and happy-ever-after on her mind.
With renewed resolve, he cupped the slender hand around his biceps and propelled them forward. “Certainly, dear.”
A doorman stepped out to greet them and ushered them toward the front desk where a stunning blonde waited. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil, good morning! I’m Miranda. I’ll be your concierge for the next few weeks.” She held out a business card and Owen took it. “Anything you need, dial that number. I’ll make sure you get it.”
Her penetrating green eyes stayed locked on his an instant longer than necessary, and he pulled back in surprise. Not because of her feminine appreciation. Even unattractive men in his position had their fair share of that. No, what was taking him aback was his total lack of response. He let his gaze travel from her eyes to the crimson, bee-stung lips that she’d probably paid a pretty penny for and found himself thinking that Lindy’s lips were far sexier and hadn’t cost her a dime. His jaw tensed at the memory of how soft they’d felt against his. Jesus, what was wrong with him?
Miranda the Concierge’s red mouth curved into a knowing smile and he once again met her gaze. “I know you had a long flight, so we don’t need to deal with all the paperwork now. Why don’t you head up to your room so you can get settled? At eleven, we’re having a welcome brunch in the great room. You’ll meet and greet the other couples and some of our relationship experts, then go over the itinerary.”
“Sounds lovely. We’re excited, aren’t we sweetie?” Lindy snuggled into him, her breasts pressing against his arm.
“Can’t wait,” he said with a nod, tucking the card into his pocket.
Miranda handed him an old-fashioned key, brushing her manicured fingertips against his palm before releasing it. “Straight up the stairs, second door on your right.”
“No keycards?” he asked, careful to keep his tone light.
“No. We try to keep things as organic and tech-free as possible here. Reliance on technology is one of the biggest issues between couples today. Too much time on the computer, cell phone, or playing video games means less time really being present for your partner.” She leaned forward, displaying a spectacular amount of cleavage. “Our hope is to get our couples to refocus their energies on the relationship.”
Real keys, no keycards. Her reasoning sounded plausible, but until he got a bead on exactly what the con was here, everything felt suspect. For now, he’d take note.
By the time they got to the room, there was no need for the key at all. The porter was on his way out and held the door. “All set for you, sir. Your luggage is in the bedroom. My name is Andre, should you need anything else.”
The moment the door closed behind him, Lindy shucked off her coat and flopped onto the couch. “Phew.” She blew the lock of hair from her eye. “I’m emotionally wrung out from being tensed up for the past twenty minutes. Sort of like when I leave the dentist, only this time instead of waiting for him to hit a nerve, I was waiting for someone to point and scream, ‘Imposter!’ or something. How did I do? I was so nervous.”
“You were amazing. A natural. That Vagina Monologues producer would be a fool to let you slip through his fingers.”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Yeah, well, he may be calling you for a reference.”
“Which I will be happy to give. You want that bottle of water now?” he asked, stepping up to the stocked mini-bar.
“Please.” She hopped to her feet again, seemingly aware of her surroundings for the first time. She prowled the room, taking it all in. “Wow. It’s gorgeous, huh? The wood is so rich. How much money did he steal that he could afford a place this fancy?”
“Seven-hundred thousand from Cara, but who knows what else he raked in from other marks. The friend I was telling you about with the security company? He did some checking, and Nico doesn’t own this place. It’s a one-year lease that ran him about a half a mil. Yet another reason I’m convinced this is no legitimate business venture. Why dump all this money into something so short term if the owners could call the whole thing off in twelve months? Because you have no intention of sticking around longer than that, that’s why.”
“He picked a great location. It’s fantastic. Luxurious, but still warm and inviting. It’s a hard balance to keep. And did you notice the staff? They’re ridiculously attractive, every one of them. It’s like the Stepford Lodge or something. Not that I’m complaining about the guy candy, but the women are giving me a complex. I peeked into one of the rooms and there was a women setting up yoga mats. She was really absolutely beautiful. And that one at the front desk…Miranda? Did you see her boobs? They’re a work of art.” She spared a forlorn glance at her own more modest assets, and he grinned.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and opened it for her, setting it on the bar. “If you’re so impressed with them, you can get a set for yourself for the bargain price of about twenty grand, which, incidentally, you shall soon have.”
He pulled his gaze from hers, taking in the elegant line of her throat and the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the V-neck sweater. He had to curb the sudden, compelling urge to cup them in his hands and test their softness. “Although, I think you’re doing fine in that department. Wouldn’t change a thing, not that I get a vote.” Lust had made his voice go raspy, so he turned to pour himself a drink. “Anyway, I didn’t notice the trend.”
“Y-yeah. The porter, the doorman. Heck, everyone we’ve met so far.” She crossed the room and snatched the water bottle with a shaky hand, taking a deep drink.
Glad for the distraction, he thought back to the guy who’d grabbed their bags. Young, late twenties, in pretty good shape. Darker skin, Spanish maybe. Good face. The doorman was fairer, but equally good-looking and definitely fit.
“Now that you mention it, I guess that’s true. Although, as bad as it sounds, it’s quite like that across the board. Go to most five star venues and you aren’t going to find a lot of unattractive people working there. Not out mingling with the guests, in any case. All part of the illusion that everything is grand.”
Lindy’s grunt was clearer than any words she could’ve spoken and he nodded.
“I know. It’s shite, but that’s the way it is.”
“Yeah, well it stood out to me like buck teeth on the Mona Lisa. Most of the desk clerks at the places I’ve stayed wouldn’t win any pageants, and it certainly never stopped me from checking in. If the place has free Wi-Fi, complimentary day-old muffins in the morning, and doesn’t rent rooms by the hour, it’s good enough for me.” She shrugged.
He threw his head back and barked out a laugh. “It makes me want to extend our contract just so I can take you to some parties with me and see people’s reactions when you say things like that. I’ve been rubbing elbows with people who have no idea what it is to live a regular life, where money isn’t a given. It’s a relief to be around so
meone normal again for a change.”
She grinned. “You want to prance me around at events like some sort of accordion-playing monkey for the amusement of your kajillionaire friends?” she teased.
“More for my own amusement, actually.”
“In that case, I’m in. I’m feeling magnanimous now that you’ve finally admitted I’m the normal one.”
“Maybe that was a little hasty. I meant more down to earth.”
“I’ll take it. By the end of these three weeks, I’m hoping to drag you down here with me.”
Images of Lindy dragging him down to cover her body with his assailed him. Thankfully, she’d turned away to finish exploring the suite and didn’t witness his struggle for composure. The attraction was getting way out of hand, and he cursed himself for not breaking his sexual hiatus before they’d left New York.
Over the past two months, he’d been so busy with planning he hadn’t been dating. Without the temptation there and with something else to aim his energies at, the dry spell hadn’t bothered him much. Now that he was in forced closed quarters with an attractive woman, it was only natural that his libido would bounce back. If he didn’t get a handle on it quickly, he was going to either embarrass himself and Lindy, or he was going to start something he couldn’t finish. At least, not in the way a woman like Lindy would want him to. It was a no-brainer.
Hands off.
Now he just had to break it to the cheeky bugger in his pants.
Chapter Five
Lindy pressed the imaginary wrinkles from her sleeve and tried to focus on the speaker. Nico Stephanopoulos stood right in front of the cheerily crackling fire giving his welcome speech. It wasn’t that he was boring. He was sinfully handsome. An olive-skinned Adonis. Dark curls framed an angelic face, and his soulful eyes were black as night. Every husky word that fell from his lips seemed to be sincere and for her ears alone. Almost like the fireside chat of a charismatic politician. There was no question that he had it, whatever “it” was.
And still, “it” wasn’t enough to hold her attention. All she could think about was the moment she’d opened the door to her and Owen’s bedroom and caught sight of their sumptuous king-sized bed. It took up almost one whole wall, and was framed by a gorgeous organza canopy. Her dream bed. Owen wasn’t helping matters, either. With his smoldering good looks and raw sensuality, even the most innocuous comment or innocent glance felt overtly sexual.
