Fiance for the Night

by Melissa McClone

  The expression on Troy’s smiling face told her what she needed to know. No need to worry. Things were going fine.

  “Good morning, Cassandra.” Vanessa closed the waffle iron and wiped her hands on the front of her yellow apron. “You’re up early this morning.”

  Cassandra glanced at the microwave clock. “What time is it?”

  “Seven-thirty,” Dixon said. She noticed the “isn’t it sweet” look in his twinkling blue eyes. If he only knew…“Couldn’t you sleep, Cassie?”

  She combed her fingers through her messy hair. “No sense sleeping the day away, Dad.”

  Dixon laughed. “Troy, you must be a good influence. When Cassie was a teenager, she used to wake up around noon.”

  “Now, she never gets up before nine,” Troy said with another smile that showed his perfect white teeth. He picked up his mug and drank.

  How did he know what time she got up? Cassandra found herself staring at him again. She frowned. Why was she having such a difficult time not looking at him? His hair, of course. Troy’s hair curled in damp ringlets that begged to be played with.

  “Did you sleep well, beautiful?” Troy asked.

  Cassandra hesitated. He’d called her beautiful. Not that he meant it. “Yes, so well I didn’t hear you get up.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Cassandra ignored his playful grin. “No.”

  She had been too busy dreaming about him. And what a dream! She got worked up just thinking about it. She should have asked the nerd sitting next to Troy in the microbrewery to be her fiancé instead. Troy was too gorgeous for his own good. And hers, too.

  “You said good morning to me.”

  “I did?” Her mind drew a blank. She-remembered only her dream of making love to a man with unruly brown hair, a man who looked remarkably like Troy. She hadn’t made a pass at him, had she? Of course not. She didn’t sleepwalk or anything as far as she knew.

  Troy nodded and set his coffee cup down. “Come over here, so I can say good morning properly.”

  Cassandra blushed. She glanced at her parents and caught their pleased exchange. Both wore wide smiles. They thought she and Troy were a couple. She should be happy; she was pulling it off.

  As Cassandra approached Troy, her pulse picked up speed. This is an act. This isn’t real. She repeated the mantra in her mind.

  Troy pulled her onto his lap. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. He winked, then kissed her, his mouth warm and wet. He tasted like French Roast coffee. Much too soon, he ended the kiss. For a moment, his lips hovered near hers. His breath fanned her mouth like a soft feather and Cassandra wanted more.

  “Good morning, my love.” Troy leaned back, breaking the spell.

  This means nothing. The kiss was merely for show, but her body tingled, a little unclear of the point. Craving more, every nerve ending pulsated with sensation, with electricity. Goose bumps covered her bare legs and arms.

  It’s the cold, Cassandra rationalized. But she wasn’t cold. In fact, she felt downright feverish. Must be the heat radiating from Troy’s body. Men were always warm. Of course, that was it. She scooted over to the empty chair next to Troy, who placed his arm around her shoulder. Be careful. Be very careful.

  Vanessa set a plate with a steaming Belgian waffle in front of Troy. “Would you like strawberries and whipped cream?”

  “No, thanks.” Troy removed his arm from Cassandra’s shoulder and placed his napkin in his lap. “Butter and syrup are fine.”

  “How about some coffee, Cassie?” Dixon asked.

  Maybe a cup of iced coffee would cool her down. She nixed the idea. She needed to keep everything as normal as possible. “I’d love a cup.”

  Dixon filled her mug, then added a dash of milk and a little sugar, the way she liked it.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Cassandra took a sip. The coffee tasted like Troy. And his kiss. Something she didn’t want to think about. Not now, not ever.

  You haven’t been kissed in over a year. That’s all it is. You didn’t even like it. Forget the kiss. With resolve, Cassandra set her cup on the table.

  Vanessa placed a plate in front of her. “Here’s your waffle, sweetheart.”

  Piled with strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate sauce, the waffle, her favorite breakfast food, looked delicious. So how come she would rather have another taste of Troy instead? “Thanks, Mom.”

  Troy raised an eyebrow. “You like chocolate sauce on your waffles?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Among other things.”

  “I like peanut butter and syrup on French toast.”

  “So does Cassie.” Dixon smiled as if he’d made another million. “Vanessa, did you hear that? They both like peanut butter on their French toast.”

  Her father might be pleased, but liking peanut butter and syrup wouldn’t be much of a foundation for a marriage. He would realize it soon enough. She and Troy were unsuited for each other. He wore Italian silk suits and leather shoes; she wore one hundred percent cotton and sandals. He worked to make money; she worked to enjoy her passion—books. They had nothing in common. Nothing. As soon as they stopped pretending, it would be crystal clear to both of her parents. Peanut butter be damned.

  As Cassandra took a bite of her waffle, she noticed her father wore his golf attire—a purple shirt, an argyle sweater and green pants. “What’s your teetime, Dad?”

  “Nine o’clock.” Dixon leaned against the back of his chair. “Troy and I are having lunch at the lodge after we finish.”

  Daddy and Troy.

  Alone.

  No way.

  She couldn’t let them go without her. What if Troy said something and Dixon discovered the truth? Troy’s career would be ruined, and she would have to put up with her parents’ endless advice and matchmaking. Or worse, what if her father believed they were as perfect a couple as they pretended to be? Dixon needed to see them together; he needed to understand why they shouldn’t get married. This was too complicated.

  “Mind if I join you?” She flashed Dixon her cutest smile. It had been fail-safe when she was growing up.

  “Don’t you remember what happened the last time I took you?” Dixon laughed. “Troy, whatever you do, don’t let Cassie play golf. She loses too many balls.”

  So much for being cute. “The balls are small and I don’t understand why there are so many ponds and sand traps between the holes,” Cassandra said. Why anyone would want to pay all that money and suffer all that frustration was beyond her. Time for a new tactic. “I won’t play, but let me drive the cart, Daddy.”

  “No.”

  She slapped her palm against the table. “I’m a good driver.”

  “You don’t own a car, Cassie.”

  She glanced at Troy, willing him to help her. He shrugged. What kind of a fiancé was he? He was making her angry. She would have to talk to him about what was expected.

  “I’ll caddy.” Unwilling to give up without a fight, she rubbed her fingers on her fork and hoped for inspiration. “I’m good with numbers, I can keep score.”

  Dixon narrowed his eyes. She ran the risk of ruining her own plans with all her good intentions. Her father would see right through her. She hated golf, and he knew it.

  “Honey, I know you want to be with Troy, but your mother has a special day planned for you.” Dixon’s tone softened. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”

  She saw the expectant look in Vanessa’s eyes. A rush of panic, then guilt, hit Cassandra like a stack of Stephen King novels falling on her head. She didn’t want to hurt her mother, but how much was it going to cost to make her happy? Cassandra had already created a mythical fiancé to stop the matchmaking. She had brought home a pseudofiancé. What next, a pretend wedding? Or worse yet, the real thing? “No, I’m sure Mom and I will have a great time.”

  “Oh, we will,” Vanessa said, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Remember the last time.”

  Yes, Cassandra remembered spen
ding a day at a trendy spa—the beauty salon from hell. She’d spent hours convincing a hairdresser named Jean-Paul she not only liked the length of her hair, but the color, too. She clenched her fork. “What are we going to do?”

  Vanessa’s eyes widened. “It’s a surprise, but it’s going to be so much fun. You’ll love it.”

  Cassandra suppressed a groan. More likely, she would hate it. Her mother and Emily had a different definition of fun than she had. Being primped and pampered didn’t appeal to Cassandra.

  Not that she had a choice today.

  Might as well make the best of it. Cassandra bit into a forkful of her waffle. She was tough. She was resilient. As long as Jean-Paul and her hair weren’t involved, she could handle anything.

  Troy took one step into the bedroom, then stopped. He thought Cassie would have been showered and dressed by the time he finished eating another waffle.

  He’d been wrong. Dead wrong. Damn.

  Cassie stood in the middle of the room, fumbling with the zipper on the back of her black flower-print dress. The strap of her black bra contrasted with her velvety white skin. He stiffened. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “You don’t have to go,” she said, turning. “I want to talk to you.”

  Talk? How about another kiss? She had looked cuddly sexy coming to breakfast all sleep-rumpled in his clothes. She looked plain sexy now. “Do you need help?”

  “Help? Now you offer help.” Cassandra sighed. “I needed your help downstairs.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I wanted you to convince my father I should go with you today.” She struggled with the zipper. “But you said nothing, nada, zilch.”

  “What did you want me to say? Let Cassie drive the cart?” He put his hand on her slim waist. “You’re going to ruin your dress. Let me help.”

  Cassie held her single braid. It reminded him of a thick, gold rope. Rapunzel would have hair like this. As he reached for her zipper, his hand brushed against her back and she tensed. Whatever chemistry existed between them, Cassie must feel it, too.

  Troy ignored the graceful curve of her neck and the softness of her skin. He concentrated on the zipper that wouldn’t budge and tugged harder until he freed it from the edge of the fabric. He zipped her up, then let go so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to pull it back down. “All done. I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Thanks, but we still need to talk.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Couldn’t you tell I wanted to go golfing?”

  “Yes, but…” He hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t like the truth.

  “But—”

  “I didn’t want you to go.”

  “What?”

  “Not so loud,” he said, worried what Dixon might hear through the walls.

  “Why didn’t you want me to go?”

  “Cassie, things are going well.”

  “Things are not going well. Did you see the look in my parents’ eyes?”

  Troy nodded. “They were smiling so much I thought I was in the middle of a toothpaste commercial. They think we’re the perfect couple.”

  “Exactly. See the problem?”

  “I don’t,” Troy said. “We decided to act like an engaged couple. You’d get your parents off your back, I get my partnership.”

  “Engaged couple, yes.” Cassie plopped on her bed. “But not soul mates destined to be together forever.”

  “You’re overreacting. We’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. There’s no way Dixon and Vanessa could believe we’re destined to be together, forever.”

  “I think they do.” She tapped her foot against the floor. “We’ve got to stop our happy couple routine or I’ll have to live the rest of my life hearing about Troy McKnight—the other one who got away.”

  The other one? Not that he would ask. Not with the pained expression on Cassie’s face. “It won’t be that bad.”

  “You don’t know my parents.”

  “I still don’t understand what this has to do with golfing.”

  “Men,” she muttered, glancing at the ceiling. “Don’t you see? The more time we spend together, the easier it will be to show my parents we shouldn’t be engaged.”

  He had too much riding on this to blow it. “We decided to get through the weekend by acting like an engaged couple. We were going to worry about breaking up later. We can’t change our plans now.”

  “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”

  “I heard you, but I disagree.”

  “So you’re not going to convince my father to let me come with you?”

  “No, you’re going with your mother.” Troy wished Cassie would smile. “I want to spend time with your father. Alone, if possible. He’s a great contact to have and I might learn some tricks of the trade. Maybe he can teach me some things that will ensure my partnership.”

  “I should have known.” She rubbed her forehead. “All you care about is how this affects you and your career.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is.” Cassie narrowed her eyes. “You can’t do anything to risk your precious partnership.”

  “I’ve never hidden my reasons from you.”

  Silence.

  “Listen, Cassie, your parents don’t need us to show them we aren’t the prefect couple. It’s obvious we don’t belong together.”

  “I’ll say it’s obvious. Two people couldn’t be more different,” she said. “You’re much too yuppie for me.”

  “You’re too spontaneous for me.”

  “At least I wouldn’t use anybody and anything to get ahead.”

  “Please don’t overreact.”

  “I’m being ‘spontaneous.’” She frowned. “Unlike you, Mr. Rigid. I bet you have a plan to get you where you want to be.”

  Troy did—his master plan. And it was working. Or had been. Until he met Cassie.

  “A partnership at thirty,” she said. “Your first million by thirty-two. Retirement at thirty-five.”

  “Forty.” She had guessed all the milestones, but missed the ages by a couple of years.

  “Where does happiness play into your plan, Troy?”

  “When I succeed, I’ll be happy.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “You’re just like…”

  Her father, Troy hoped. “I’m like who?”

  “Eric.”

  The day couldn’t get much worse.

  Her argument with Troy had set the tone. Nothing resolved, nothing gained except irritation. Cassandra should have taken that as an omen and crawled back into bed.

  She had come down on him hard, maybe too hard. But he didn’t realize how easily this situation could start spinning out of control. She didn’t want them to crash and burn.

  Then came lunch with her mother who couldn’t stop talking about Troy and acted like his personal publicist. So much so that Cassandra had lost her appetite. She didn’t need to be reminded about Troy’s striking eyes and charming smile over her Caesar salad with marinated grilled chicken breast.

  And now this.

  Cassandra stood in a strapless bra contraption and hoop slip. Staring at a three-paneled, gilded mirror, she tried to decide if she looked as silly as she felt. Although she could barely breathe, her bustline looked great. At least that’s what Ginger Soren, the owner of Bridal Couture, told her. And she should know.

  In her knockout hot pink suit and matching pumps, Ginger looked like a runway model with her blush hollowed cheekbones. Thick, black eyeliner emphasized her sea green eyes. Her coiffured hair had been shellacked into place with hair spray. Yes, Ginger was the definition of fashionable. At least as far as wedding gown salons went.

  Ginger carried a monstrous pile of white silk and ruffles. “Try this one.”

  Cassandra eyed the gown cautiously. “I don’t know.”

  “This one will look better than the mermaid gowns you tried on earlier, I promise,” Ginger said.

  “Cassandra,” Vanessa said in a patient tone. “Why don’t y
ou try it?”

  “Okay.”

  Ginger helped Cassandra into the gown. An avalanche of tulle cascaded over her head. Finally it was on. Ginger buttoned the back.

  “Oh, my.” She clapped her hands. “You look as though you stepped from a page in a bride magazine.”

  Horrified, Cassandra stared at her reflection. She looked like Scarlett O’Hara wearing the gaudy curtain dress. Cassandra had nothing against Southern belles or the plantation-style gowns, but this was ridiculous. The puffy sleeves made her look like a linebacker for the 49ers. The thousands of tiny sequins and beads sewn on the bodice sparkled like a neon sign on the Las Vegas strip. She wanted to strip it off and run like hell, but she was trapped.

  The dress shimmered under the light of the chandelier hanging overhead. The blue carpet accented the whiteness of the fabric. As a combination, it was almost blinding. A disco ball was more subdued than this gown.

  Ginger handed her a pair of white gloves. “Try these on.”

  This was too much. Cassandra wanted to go home. She wanted to run away and forget about her family and about Troy. She glanced at Vanessa, who motioned for her to try on the gloves.

  “What do you think?” Ginger asked, visibly pleased with the overall effect.

  “It’s a little too, uh…” Cassandra couldn’t find words, polite ones, to describe it.

  Vanessa’s assessing gaze took in every detail of the elaborate gown. “It’s beautiful, but I think a simpler bodice would suit you better. The sleeves almost overwhelm you.”

  “We can fix the sleeves,” Ginger said.

  No one could fix these sleeves.

  “There’s something else about the dress,” Vanessa said. “I know, it reminds me of the gown Emily wore.”

  No wonder Cassandra hated it.

  “This gown is by the same designer.” Ginger pursed her lips.

  “It’s lovely,” Vanessa reassured. “But my daughters have different tastes. Like Waterford and Orrefors.”

  “I understand.” Ginger smiled. “Let me get you out of this dress, then I’ll bring more for you to try on.”