by Jean Oram
But this was reality. Ginger’s reality.
The people in charge were pulling entries from a bin for more door prizes, and she continued to clap and smile as more winners joined them onstage.
They’d find a way out of this. Logan was a complete stranger to her, but surely this made him just as uncomfortable as it did her.
“And…” The emcee was laughing. “This is so fitting! The winner of our elopement wedding is…”
No.
Things happened in threes.
Ginger turned to Logan, who looked as though he was about to burst into laughter.
“Ginger and Logan! Our most-in-love couple. They’ll be getting married here this week.”
“Oh, I…” Ginger held out a hand to stop the man, while Logan pumped his fist jubilantly. He was really getting into the act.
“You’re engaged, aren’t you?” the emcee whispered. “You entered and signed.”
Ginger glanced at Logan, who was showboating for the audience.
The emcee turned his back as Ginger tried to protest that she really hadn’t meant to enter that one, and that they needed a bit of time to sort things out.
Beside her, Logan was laughing, looking immensely amused.
“We aren’t claiming that one,” she whispered. She shouldn’t claim any of it. It was all based on a lie. “This is karma for lying, isn’t it?”
He laughed even harder.
“What’s so funny?”
“If you like me, just say so—you don’t have to rearrange my life.”
“Oh, I’ll rearrange something if you keep laughing.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling. He lowered his mouth to her ear, his breath hot and distracting, as he said, “We’ll figure it out, Ginger. I promise.”
Logan had had a few glasses of wine and was feeling happy. Not so much as to inhibit his ability to do his job, but enough that he could relax, act as though he was a carefree guy around the charming Ginger, convince her he was worth keeping for a while.
He was finally close to locking up Vito. So close he could practically see the red ink stamping the word completed across the front of Vito’s case folder.
Logan unlocked the honeymoon cottage for Ginger and stepped aside to let his lucky charm head in. With every mission, something presented itself as a talisman, usually meaning the case was about to be cracked in a significant way, and this mission had yet to have one. Until Ginger.
She was standing on the threshold in her green dress, her strawberry-blond curls moving like a curtain in the cool ocean breeze.
While he waited for her to step inside, Logan took in their new location. The cottage was on the grassy dunes overlooking the Atlantic, and had a great view of the surrounding area, as well as Vito’s private beach house, a half mile away. This was a perfect place to hide in plain sight while he worked on cracking the case.
“It’s even pink on the inside,” Ginger said.
Logan turned back to the cottage, which had heart wreaths hanging on the clapboard walls. His fiancée looked disappointed and he peeked over her shoulder. The place was indeed pink, although more pastel with pink highlights, unlike the bright pink exterior. He thought it was actually rather nice, and it had the things a gal might want—fresh flowers, chocolates and a bottle of bubbly chilling in a bucket. From his vantage point he could see the cottage had one bedroom, a kitchen, sitting area and a bathroom he bet included a Jacuzzi tub.
Not two bedrooms, like many of the others stretched out along the beach.
Rose petals were strewn about, candles the cottage’s current main source of light.
Oh, boy.
“You don’t like pink?” he asked.
“Contrary to the movie title, I don’t look pretty in pink, but it’s fine. You going to carry me over the threshold or what?”
“We’re not married,” he reminded her, following her when she strode on inside.
As was his habit, he checked for possible exits, as well as the best places to hide his stash of weapons, cash and passports he still had hidden under floorboards and behind pictures in his old cottage down the beach.
Ginger took off the Celtic ring, setting it on a nearby dresser.
On the way over from the party they’d decided to run with their fake engagement and enjoy the added perks of winning the bigger cottage—which wasn’t bigger, of course, just…more intimate. As an engaged couple, they would also continue to be able to get into the parties and possibly make better deals as a result.
Plus Ginger was darn cute and lightened his mood when she was around, and he was still hoping she might be the answer to his visa issue.
But suddenly it all felt a bit uncomfortable.
“I’ll take the couch,” he said, kicking back in its overstuffed cushions. He pulled a wrapped chocolate from the box placed on the coffee table. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth, then tossed one to Ginger, who was standing near the bed in the other room—a fancy affair partially hidden behind netting draped from the ceiling.
“They packed my suitcase.” She didn’t catch the treat and it hit the floor at her feet.
“Yeah, weird feeling.” He didn’t like the idea of anyone touching his things, even if he hadn’t left anything sensitive out in the open.
He tossed another chocolate her way.
“This is pretty insane,” she said, catching it absently.
“Agreed.”
“You stargaze?” She pointed to the telescope that had been brought to the cottage. He typically spent more time spying with it, but occasionally aimed it at the sky.
“Hobbiest.” He pulled the bottle of champagne from its ice bucket.
“You take your telescope on vacation? No.” She shook her head. “You work in town, but stay at the resort?”
“Monthly rental.” Close to his target, Vito. A target that might pursue Ginger to get to him if he wasn’t very careful. “Champagne?”
She pursed her lips, then nodded, snagging one of the crystal flutes from the table. She looked uncertain, nervous. He didn’t blame her, really. At the party everyone had been excited for them. Add in the attention and fun of it all, and it had been easy to get caught up in it. Now she was sharing a cottage with a stranger. A deadly male stranger, in fact. Although he was honorable. That should count for something.
Still, if he’d had a sister, he wouldn’t want her in Ginger’s position.
"Truth or dare?" Logan suggested.
“Dare?” She choked on a laugh. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?"
"Are you chicken?" he asked, slowly leaning forward.
She blushed. He needed her to trust him, help him. And right now, the way she was acting, he’d be surprised to find her still at his side come morning.
"I'll go first,” he suggested.
"No, I will.” She paused to think, jumping when he popped open the champagne, sending the cork ricocheting off the ceiling.
He laughed. “Oops." He poured her a glass, handing it over before she sank into the armchair across from him.
“Truth,” she said. “Are you always this carefree? Not caring about the rules and being honest?"
She was regretting their lies.
“That's more than one question.”
“Is this who you really are?”
“Nope." He couldn't meet her eyes.
“How many women have you kissed?”
“My turn.” Wow. She was really digging into the good stuff. He needed to turn this around. Get her to trust him, play along without thinking so much or trying to reveal his tender underbelly. Assuming he still had one.
He needed something…lighthearted that would bring out the good time and allow her get carried away with him and the craziness of their situation. Anything but think about the fact that they were two dishonest people. “I dare you to go outside and yodel from the front steps."
She sighed as if it was the most immature thing she’d ever heard, but stood up, st
raightened her green dress and shimmied to the front door. She hauled it open, marched to the top of the steps and, with her hands on her hips, bellowed, “Yodel-lay-he-hoo!” She turned to give him a sassy look.
He chuckled and shook his head from where he’d leaned past the couch to watch her.
Someone replied with yodel from far off down the beach.
Laughing, Ginger came back inside, closing the door behind her. She collapsed into her armchair with an endearing case of the giggles. Her dress rode up, revealing extra flesh above her knee. She had gorgeous legs. Strong, smooth.
"I wouldn't have predicted you’d do that,” he admitted.
“That’s because you don’t know me.”
“I bet your still sleep with a teddy bear names Roses.”
She smiled over the rim of her glass and he couldn’t tell if she was amused by how off base he was or if he’d hit close to the truth.
"Your worst fear?" she asked.
"Why the heavy stuff?"
"Why are you such a baby?” she retorted.
"I'm not a baby." He didn't think anyone had ever called him that. He wanted to pull out his rap sheet and prove just how tough he truly was.
Obviously, that would blow his cover, though. And probably send her flying over the sand dunes faster than a souped up dune buggy.
“Then tell me your worst fear.”
“Fine.” He pushed back into the sofa, trying for casual. “That I'm going to hurt the people I’m trying to help.”
And…he probably shouldn’t have said that.
She gave him a soft look, and before she could go squishy on him or figure out why a wholesaler was worried about hurting people, he asked, "What's your worst fear?"
"Being lied to. And how are you going to hurt anyone in your line of work?”
Of course. There was that sharp awareness he’d seen earlier. He shouldn’t be surprised it was popping up.
“How is being lied to a worst fear?" People lied all the time. For example, how many times had they done so that night? Then again, he was a spy. That was what he did for a living—lied. But her? Nobody would get hurt if the truth came out about their charade. They might have to forfeit a few prizes, and pay for the upgrade, probably, but otherwise…not exactly worst-fear material.
“Obviously you haven't had someone close to you lie when and where it counts."
Ouch.
And an entirely wrong assumption.
“Did he cheat?” Logan asked.
“Truth. Do you snore?"
“Aren’t I supposed to choose whether it’s truth or a dare? We’re playing wrong.”
But he knew one more thing about her. Her ex had cheated. Lied.
As a result, she had baggage and was vulnerable. Somehow that just made her more intriguing to him, made him want to be more careful with her.
Still, Logan wanted to find the man and sock him one for hurting her. Not that he himself planned to do any better. He was currently waltzing into her life with lies and deception, encouraging her to take part in his dangerous charade. Then he would suddenly spin around and vanish, leaving her bubbly self a crying mess.
He was already worse than the last guy.
However, Ginger wasn’t the only smart one in the room. Logan could use his wiles to protect her from getting hurt, and he’d become nothing but a fond memory during a time when she’d let herself be free and broke a few rules. She would never know the truth or how he’d used her.
That was a promise he could keep.
But first he had to convince her to walk down the aisle with him. And that…that might be more difficult than shooting the button out of a security system from fifty yards. Except he could do that.
“I bet you snore as loud as a fighter jet,” she teased, when he didn’t reply.
"I think that’ll be something you’ll have to find out on your own.”
“Maybe I don’t plan on sleeping.”
“Maybe I don’t, either.”
“Are you married or have you been?”
“You didn't wait for your turn."
"You're sure into the rules, for someone who just broke about eighty of them an hour ago. What's your biggest secret, Logan Stone?”
"If I tell you, I'd have to kill you.”
She shivered and he worried he’d accidentally said it like he meant it. He went for a quick cover. “Truth—are you going to kiss me again tonight?”
“You kissed me, buster.”
“And you liked it.”
“So did you.”
He smiled, enjoying the way she stood up to him, dished it back and didn’t take any of his guff. She was a challenge. A good one. And because of that he had a pretty good feeling that Ginger was not only going to distract him in all the ways that were most enjoyable, but probably change his life. He just hoped she’d also help him complete this mission.
Ginger tensed. Something had woken her and she squeaked as she spied a large form move across the unfamiliar bedroom. Where was she? Why was there a mess of suffocating curtains around her bed?
“It’s just me, Logan,” said a deep voice.
Oh, it was her dream man, Logan Stone. Her roommate and fake fiancé for the next few days. How had she ended up in such a pickle?
Right. Her new fetish for lying and her insatiable greed for prizes. What had been in that wine?
Logan wasn’t a bad prize, though. In the moonlight she could see him moving around the room as he got himself a glass of water. He was in jeans and a T-shirt. Not pajamas.
"Can't sleep?” she asked, stretching out in the comfy bed. She checked the time. It was three in the morning. Hardly time to give up on sleep.
"I went for a walk. The moon’s beautiful.”
"At this time of night?” She propped herself up on an elbow. “Well, I guess you don't have to worry about being attacked when you're the size of a cottage."
He let out a soft chuckle.
"So what does being a diamond wholesaler actually mean?"
They’d played a teasing round of truth or dare, where they’d basically just parried back and forth, skirting their issues. He was a private person and she could understand him not wanting to open up to someone he’d just met. Even if he was pretending to be close enough to her that he wanted to marry her.
“Basically, I'm a glorified salesman.”
“I own a bridal shop, which sounds amazing, but at the end of the day, basically I'm a glorified salesperson, too. But didn't you say you're from a ranch in Australia? Why would you come to sell diamonds here in America?”
“Life led me here.”
Life. It had a way of doing that, didn’t it? Sending you in directions you could never have expected. When her parents had broken up, she’d been a teen and had started working in her grandmother’s store as a distraction. She’d found her solace there. The idea that some marriages would and could last, that love could light up a person’s whole world. And seeing the brides so happy and alive had given her hope that real love and fidelity existed.
Ginger had thought she’d found it with her high school boyfriend. But then Kurt hadn’t gone to college with her. She’d been accepted into a state university across the country and he’d settled for a local college, leaving her.
Just like Logan would leave. Same ending. Different story. Very different.
The two were silent for some time, Logan returning to the couch to lay on his back, arm behind his head. Ginger snuggled onto her side, watching him through a break in the bed’s curtains.
She thought of her hometown of Blueberry Springs. It was a quiet mountain community, full of miners, ranchers, businessmen and everyone in between. It was a busybody kind of place, where everyone knew everyone and was there in a heartbeat when there was a need. Towns like that got under one’s skin, became a big part of who you were. She couldn’t imagine moving away for any length of time, let alone working on a whole different continent.
“Do you miss the ranch?”
Logan paused, then gave a sigh. “Sometimes.”
“What do you miss most?”
“The space to think,” he replied immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She looked over at him. He barely fit on that piece of furniture and she felt bad for taking the bed.
“We should trade spots. You’re too long for the couch.”
“What kind of man would I be if I took the bed?”
“One who could actually get some sleep.”
They were quiet for another long moment. Silence with him didn’t feel awkward. In a crazy way, it felt like bonding.
Totally crazy.
“You know I went to college not far from here,” she offered.
“What did you take?”
“Business.”
“And now you’re in business.” He shifted on the couch. No doubt trying to get comfortable.
“Did you go to school?”
“I was in the army for a bit. They taught me a few things.”
“Like how to kiss forty women?”
“Forty?”
“Nine hundred?” She propped herself up on an elbow. “How many?” She was dying to know. A man who kissed like he did…he had to have practiced a lot, and a part of her wanted to know how many others she was being measured against. Self-defeating for certain. But fighting her curiosity had never been one of her strengths.
“Not that many.”
“Five hundred?”
“You think I’m a horny old bull from the station, don’t you?”
“Station?”
“The Aussie equivalent of a ranch.”
“Oh.”
As he shifted on the couch again, trying to get comfortable, she threw back the covers, determined to make the switch. She went and stood over him. "Come on. Take the bed.” He didn’t budge. “Mo-o-ove!”
He crossed his arms across his sculpted chest. “Did you just moo at me?”
“You randy old bull, get going. Mush.”
“Mush?” He laughed. The skin around his eyes crinkled when he did, lightening up his expression, which was usually so serious.
