"Yes."
She had a brief moment of clarity. "You don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about, do you?"
"Nope. But I like the sound of your voice, so just keep talking."
She realized he was still stroking her fingers with his thumb. Regretfully, she pulled free of the seductive contact. If only it was true. If only Nick Archer really did think she was a hot babe.
Hannah giggled. She was athletic, strong, and she wore a pistol when she went to work. Somehow she didn't think she fitted the definition of the word babe.
He toyed with her because it amused him and probably because she hadn't fallen at his feet the first time she'd seen him. She would have fallen, but she'd already been sitting down, so it had been easy to pretend to be calm.
"You could hire a husband," he said. "If it's only temporary."
"Oh, it is. Just for a few days. Believe me, I've thought about it and I could phone…" She glared at him. "You're laughing at me."
"Only a little. So what kind of guy would you ask for, Hannah? Who's your ideal man?"
The numbness spread up her face, although strangely enough, she could actually feel her eyelashes.
Him. He was perfect, at least physically. But she wasn't about to say that. She would have to be a whole lot drunker than this to confess that little secret to Nick.
"Someone who follows the rules," she said.
He winced as if she'd slapped him. "That one hurt. Are you implying I'm not a rule follower?"
"You're a common criminal."
"I might be a criminal, but I've never been common." He leaned back in the booth. "How long do you need the guy for?"
"Thee or four days. Just to drive north, meet my family, then come back."
"Sounds simple enough. What does it pay?"
"Why do you ask?"
He held out both hands, palms up. "You could never phone an escort service to hire someone and we both know it. Call the interest a friendly gesture on my part."
"But we're not friends," she muttered, then cleared her throat. Nick? A temporary husband? She shuddered. It would never work.
"How much?" he asked. When she stared at him blankly, he asked, "How much are you willing to pay?"
"I'm not sure. I haven't thought about money." What was the going hourly rate for fake husbands these days? "It doesn't matter. You're not right for this. I'm sorry I mentioned it."
She started to slide out of the booth, but it was harder to move than she thought it would be. Then he placed his hand over hers and that darn heat started up again, and she didn't want to move.
"I'm happy to help," he said. "I need to get out of town for a few days anyway."
"Oh, I'll just bet you do. What is it this time? A real-estate deal gone wrong? Or maybe the husband of one of your women decided to take matters into his own hands."
Nick stared at her for a long time. Something flickered in his gaze, something dark and secretive. Then he blinked and it was gone. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said lightly. "Face it, Hannah. Where else are you going to find a man willing to pretend to be your husband on such short notice?"
He was right. She certainly didn't have the skills to seduce a man into doing it, nor was there a man around. Except for Nick. Not that she was interested in seducing Nick.
She hunched over, half expecting lightning to strike. When it didn't, she straightened. She could do worse. At least he was gorgeous. And he thought on his feet. If anyone started asking questions, Nick would be able to ward them off. It was only for a couple of days and it wasn't as if she was overflowing with other options.
"I'll pay two hundred dollars and the travel expenses," she said, then nearly bit her tongue in her haste to call the words back. But it was too late.
He raised his eyebrows. "I was thinking more of a trade. One weekend of husbanding for one night of—"
She raised her hand. "Don't say it."
"Passionate lovemaking," he finished.
She winced. "Four hundred, in cash. No touching."
"Let's spend the weekend negotiating. When do you want to leave?"
Was there really a choice? Despite all her talk, she would never have been able to call an escort service. Wasn't bringing Nick along better than breaking an old woman's heart? "In the morning. I want to be there on Saturday."
"Where is there?"
"Northern California."
He held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
She wished she had another shot to give her courage. She wished she'd never mentioned it in the first place. She wished she'd never gotten in his car.
But wishing didn't change anything and he was her best bet. That's probably why she was here, having a drink with him. The power of the subconscious mind at work.
She slipped her hand in his and they shook. The contact was electric. She expected to see smoke and fire, but there was only Nick smiling at her. Enjoying her predicament and having power over her at last.
And he did have power. Comparing his power to the power of the subconscious mind was like comparing an eighteen-wheeler to a toy truck. She had a bad feeling she had just stepped in front of headlights and was about to be mowed down.
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Hannah stared at the front door. She didn't want to open it. Not only because her head hurt and the thought of sunlight was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but also because she didn't want to face the man on the other side.
Insanity. There was no other explanation. Maybe it ran in her family. She'd been adopted, so there was no way to tell. Or maybe her blood sugar had dipped below the normal range and she'd had a brief blackout episode. Whatever the explanation, she didn't have the guts to face him and accept what they'd agreed to do.
He knocked again. "Hannah? Are you awake?"
"Yes," she whispered even though she knew he couldn't hear her. She cleared her throat and spoke more loudly. "I'm right here. Hold on."
She turned the key in the dead-bolt lock and pulled open the door. Nick stood on the front step of her town house. The sunlight made her blink, as did Nick. It wasn't fair. Even in her weakened condition – with her head pounding and her stomach roiling – he looked good. Better than good. He looked tempting.
She was used to being impressed by his sheer male beauty. He was a California cliché with his blond hair, blue eyes and loose, easy stride. The well-made suits he wore only enhanced his assets. If he had any physical flaws, she'd never noticed. She'd gotten used to ignoring his good looks, his tailored clothing, his bright smile. They were meaningless trappings that merely concealed the flaws in his character. She was immune.
Well, unless she had a hangover. She stood in the doorway and reminded herself to breathe. In and out, in and out until the involuntary function kicked back in on its own. He wasn't wearing a suit, or handmade shoes, or even a tie. Instead, he'd dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His boots looked worn. But the smile was just as devastating as it always had been. Thank the Lord she could blame her weak knees on her hangover.
"You look awful," he said cheerfully and pushed past her into the town house. "Hangover?"
"No," she murmured between clenched teeth. The volume of his voice made her head ache. "I feel fine."
"Uh-huh." He moved in front of her, shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I can tell. Are you packed?"
"Yes."
It wasn't only the effects of the alcohol that were slowing her down. It was also lack of sleep. At four in the morning, her eyes had popped open. Despite how awful she felt, or perhaps because of it, she hadn't been able to get back to sleep. She'd stared at the ceiling alternately praying that her memories about their evening together had been a dream, then hoping they were real.
"Did you take anything?" he asked. "Aspirin?"
She nodded, then wished she hadn't actually moved her head.
His smile was sympathetic. "Yo
u're such a straitlaced person, I doubt I could talk you into trying the hair of the dog, right?"
She stared at his face, at the wide, blue eyes, the straight nose that should have been broken countless times but obviously hadn't been. At the strong mouth, stubborn chin, the freshly shaved, tanned skin. He was gorgeous. It wasn't fair.
His being nice to her only made it worse, she thought miserably as her stomach churned again. She hated when people tried to take care of her. She knew what was going on. They wanted to lull her into trusting them, then they would leave. She wasn't about to play that game again.
"I'm fine," she snapped and took a step back. "And I'm ready to go."
"Great."
She sucked in a deep breath, grabbing hold of the front door when dizziness threatened. "Where's my car?"
"In the carport."
That's what she'd been afraid of. Her recollections of the end of the evening were fuzzy at best. She did remember Nick telling her she was way too drunk to drive and her agreeing with him about that. So instead of taking her back to the police station to collect her car, he'd brought her home. She vaguely recalled he'd promised to have her car delivered to her town house carport. Simple enough … except for one small problem.
She reached up toward the keys hanging from the lock in the front door. She found her car key and tugged on it gently. "You didn't have a car key," she said.
His sympathetic smile broadened and she nearly lost her balance. "I know. I asked one of my associates to take care of it. You probably don't want to ask too many questions."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Nick was right. Questions – or rather, answers – would only make her uncomfortable. She didn't want to think about the ramifications of someone breaking into and then hot-wiring her car, all while it sat in a police department parking lot.
"Do I have to worry about this person joyriding in my car?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking at him. "It wasn't used in a drive-by shooting or anything, was it?"
He touched his hand to his chest. "I'm wounded. You talk as if I'm a thug. Hannah, I'm in real estate. I'm willing to admit a few of my employees are a little…" He paused.
"Creative in their dealings with the law?" she offered.
"Exactly. But my record is clean. You've seen that for yourself."
"Right."
She'd also seen him in the station bailing his associates out of jail. Only a madwoman would take Nick Archer to meet her mother. A really desperate madwoman.
"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" he asked.
"Oh, no." That was true. She was up to fifth or sixth thoughts. She opened her mouth to tell him that and to let him know that this was never going to work, but instead, he motioned to her luggage. "I'm packed."
In her weakened condition, she was willing to admit she wanted to spend a few hours in his company and discover the man behind the smooth facade. Crazy, certainly. He was a criminal and she was cop. She should loathe and despise him. And she did. Sort of. She also had to admit – if only to herself – that Nick's charm was hard as hell to resist. The way he made her laugh felt nice.
He moved toward her luggage. I'm doing this for you, Mom, she thought and hoped it was the right thing to do. A dying old woman expected Hannah to have a husband. Was it so very wrong to allow her to think one really existed?
Nick grabbed two of the suitcases. "This is a lot for a weekend."
"I'm not going for a weekend."
"You said a couple of days."
"That's right. You're staying with me for a couple of days, but I'll be staying for two weeks."
He raised his eyebrows and managed a hurt expression. "You're going on vacation and didn't tell me? Hannah, that's so insensitive."
She wanted to laugh, but he looked amazingly sincere. Yet he couldn't be. This was a game of some kind. She was too befuddled to figure it out right now, but when her hangover wore off, she was sure everything would make sense.
"Nice place," he said, nodding toward the living room on his left.
She glanced at the floral-print sofa, the white brick fireplace and the pale pine coffee table. What did her place look like to him? Everything was tidy. The colors were bright, definitely feminine. He probably sensed a man had never spent the night under her roof. The thought embarrassed her, although she wasn't sure why. It was none of his business. So what if she chose not to sleep around? In this day and age, anything but caution was foolish.
He headed out the front door. She picked up the remaining suitcase and followed him. After carefully turning off the lights and securing the lock, she moved down the two steps to his Mercedes parked at the curb.
Thankfully, the convertible top was up. She wouldn't have been able to face all that fresh air. Just the thought made her head ache more. Intellectually, she knew the car had been paid for with illegally obtained funds. It might even have been stolen, although Nick was probably smarter than that. It was more than she could ever afford and it was stunning. Even knowing where it had come from, she couldn't help admiring the beautiful lines.
She remembered the interior smelled of fine leather and the seats were a luxurious combination of softness and support. The car was going to make the nine-hour drive seem like four.
She set her suitcase on the sidewalk beside the open trunk. Nick moved his garment bag to make room for the last piece of luggage. She watched to make sure everything was stowed in the car, then moved to the passenger door. It was locked and she had to wait for him to open it.
He did so, then paused. "You look pale."
"Gee, thanks." Her headache had increased until the throbbing sounded like drums beating in time with her heart.
"It was that second shot. You would have been fine if you hadn't had it."
She wanted to yell at him that it was all his fault. If he hadn't made her order the drink… But she couldn't. He hadn't made her do anything. She'd been nervous and had acted stupidly all on her own. Still, it would have been satisfying to get all huffy at Nick.
When she slid into the seat, he crouched beside her and made sure she was comfortable, with the seat belt adjusted correctly. She bore his attention for about twenty seconds, then slapped his hands away. "I'm not an invalid. I can do this on my own."
He was close enough that she could inhale the masculine scent of his aftershave and see the clean, smooth line of his jaw. Damn him for looking so good and damn herself for being so nasty for no good reason.
"I know you're not an invalid," he said quietly. "You don't feel well. I'm trying to make you comfortable. It's going to be a long drive."
Hannah prided herself on her control. She was a cop and she knew how to act in a crisis. Unfortunately, her hard-won skills seemed to have deserted her for the moment. She opened her mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, then clamped her lips together as a blush crawled up her cheeks.
She ducked her head and stared at her lap. "Sorry. I'm not myself this morning."
"Then who are you?"
His teasing made her smile. She glanced at him. He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. She rubbed her cheek, trying to brush off a smudge, then checked for loose strands floating free of her braid. Everything was in place.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing. I was just thinking."
But he never said what he was thinking. Right there, with her sitting in the passenger seat of his car and him crouched next to her, in front of whichever of her neighbors might be home and watching, in front of God and the whole world, he kissed her.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. Shock kept her in place for the first three seconds. She couldn't think, she couldn't move. She could only let her eyes flutter closed as she absorbed the heat and scent of him.
His lips were warm and firm, yielding, yet strong. He didn't try to move much, or deepen the kiss. They touched nowhere else, at least not at first.
Then she felt his fingers on the back of her hand. A sweet, gentle s
troking that sent fire racing up her arm. The pounding of her headache receded, as did the rest of the world.
He released her, raising his head slightly. She nearly moaned in disappointment. She told herself to get all upset and complain, to unfasten the seat belt, slide out of the car and slap him until his head bobbed like one of those toy dogs in the back of cars. She told herself a lot of things, all the while waiting for him to kiss her again, or worse, to mock her.
What he did was even more devastating. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and murmured, "Sweet Hannah." As if she really meant something to him. As if this wasn't a joke.
He leaned forward. She held her breath in anticipation. He covered her mouth with his and this time he moved. Back and forth, slow and sweet. As if they had all the time in the world. As if his legs weren't cramping, which she knew they had to be. As if she was a delicate and precious person in his life.
Maybe it was the unexpected tenderness, or the hangover, or some weird placement of the moon and the planet Pluto. She didn't have an explanation for her reaction, or for the fact that she leaned into the kiss and parted her mouth slightly in response.
Instead of deepening the kiss, he placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. For the first time in her life, she felt small and fragile. Delicate. Feminine.
Then the heat overwhelmed her, and all she could think about was how she wanted to keep kissing him forever. She could die happy right this moment.
At last he straightened. Hannah stared at him dumbfounded. Questions formed, everything from why had he kissed her to had he liked it as much as she had. But she didn't ask any of them. Instead, she swallowed hard and tried to summon up some fury. Barring that, she wouldn't mind going with a little righteous indignation. If Nick started teasing her, she would need something for protection. Right now, she felt very exposed.
He started to close the passenger door, then paused and leaned toward her again.
HUSBAND BY THE HOUR Page 2
