Her Faux Fiancé

by Alexia Adams

  Instantly, she stiffened, suppressing a shudder. He smelled of cigarette smoke and coffee breath. Although dressed in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, he didn’t seem local. She didn’t dare turn to see his face, didn’t want to bring back any unwelcome memories. Jean-Claude hadn’t often introduced her to his contacts, and now she knew why. But the few she had met had made her feel uneasy. How could she not have listened to her instinct telling her there was something wrong? Maybe then she wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “They should practice at home and not here in public,” the man said softly, his thick Arab accent sending a shiver up her spine.

  “Yes, but they want to get it right on the night. So I guess practicing at the venue gives them a real sense of what it will be like to perform,” she replied.

  “J-C said you were too nice. I am sorry he is gone. You can trust that his death has been avenged.”

  This time, she didn’t try to hold back the shudder. “There has been too much death. I hope it’s over.”

  “You are out of it now. Stay away from the Middle East for a while. Your treatment by the French government was five stars compared with the way the other side will try to extract information from you.”

  “I have no intention of returning. And I have no information to give. I didn’t even know Jean-Claude was in that business.”

  “Yes, he did his best to keep it from you. He loved you. We told him to leave you; it wasn’t safe for him to have a woman. Yet he was always so confident, saying he could protect you.”

  Yes, that sounded like her dead fiancé. Still, his deception hurt. Had she ever really known him?

  “That was Jean-Claude.” An errant tear slipped down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away. Others had seen the danger she was in, but to him, his own pleasure was more important.

  “He left this for you.” The man slid a bag between them. As she moved to peer into it, his hand came over hers, squeezing painfully. “Not here. I have broken protocol enough by speaking with you. I was to drop the bag and go. There is more in a Cayman Islands bank account, but try not to touch that for a year or two, in case the account is being watched.”

  “If it’s blood money, I don’t want it,” she protested.

  “The only blood on this money is Jean-Claude’s. It belongs to you; you deserve it. Be happy and forget about him.” With that pronouncement, the man stood and walked away, melting into the crowd in seconds. If it weren’t for the stiff leather satchel next to her, she’d have wondered if she’d dreamed the whole exchange.

  Hoisting the bag’s strap onto her shoulder, she picked up her shopping and returned to the SUV, remembering to call Erik to tell him she was on her way home. The satchel sat on the passenger seat, mocking her cowardice. When she was miles out of town and the highway was deserted, she pulled over to see what Jean-Claude had left her.

  Inside the bag were ten bundles of used American bills. She undid one of the rolls and counted up to $50,000. There were also some gold coins and a bag of precious gems. What did Jean-Claude think she was, some kind of mastermind criminal to monetize this lot? The pawn shop had been suspicious enough when she’d gone to hawk her diamond ring. She’d made up some lame story about the stone belonging to her mother who had once been engaged to a man from Africa. Thinking back, Jean-Claude had given it to her right after he’d returned from a solitary visit to the Congo, an area known for its trade in conflict diamonds. Was everything he’d given her tainted with blood?

  Except the baby.

  For the sake of their child, she’d remember the good things about her former fiancé. Tell the baby the best about his or her father—his quirky sense of humor and his fascination with flamingoes. She had loved Jean-Claude. He’d kept her from being alone and held her when she was sad. But it wasn’t the deep, emotional pull she felt toward Erik. In a way, her former fiancé had led her back to her first love. He’d probably have laughed at the irony of that.

  She shoved the money, jewels, and coins back into the bag. A black leather booklet was in an inside zip pocket. There was a list of account numbers with figures scribbled in Jean-Claude’s backward Arabic. If what she read was true, she was now a very wealthy woman.

  She could pay back Erik, buy herself a nice house in the south of France, and raise her baby without having to worry about work or money. Question was, would she?

  Putting the SUV back in gear, she merged onto the empty highway, heading back to her grandfather’s place. She now had a way out. Could she leave Erik at the altar to face the mess her departure would leave behind? Or was it time she stopped running?

  • • •

  “Well, thanks for calling.” Erik hung up and scrubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t know which was worse—his gossiping, busybody family or the constant worry that Analise was one click of the heels away from leaving again.

  Who had Analise met with in Winnipeg? Was Jean-Claude really dead? It was clear the girl he used to know had morphed into a woman with secrets. Could he trust her? The only way to find out was to go straight to the source.

  “Everything all right, son?” His grandfather plodded into the kitchen, the rubber tip of his cane making a squeaking noise on the linoleum.

  “Yeah. Aunt Gemma just called to say she was coming to the wedding tomorrow. I need to get out of here for a while. Think you can cover for me while I escape out the back door?”

  “Absolutely. And, Erik?”

  “Yes, Gramps?”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear. Go with your gut.”

  Erik stared. How much had he heard? But his advice was sound. His gut told him Analise was a wounded bird that, once healed, would stay true to her nest. He snuck out the back door as he heard his mother call his name. His grandfather winked at him and shot a salute. Always helped to have ex-Army at your back.

  Relief swept through him when he saw Analise’s silver SUV parked in front of the stables. Was he going to feel this way every time he came home? Yay, she hasn’t left me today. That wasn’t going to work for either of them. They had to talk.

  There was no answer at the house, so he wandered around to the barns out back. As he approached the old wooden structure, Analise’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “I’ve got the money now, Afi. You can get whatever you want, or go wherever you want. Are you sure you want to start up here again? We could get a small place in England, Ireland, or even Iceland. It would be just the three of us.”

  His stomach fell. She was leaving. But not before he got an explanation.

  “What about Erik?” Gunnar asked.

  “Yes, what about Erik?” He stepped into the barn.

  Analise jumped a good foot in the air before whirling around. “Oh, Erik. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I figured that. Planning on skipping out on the wedding? Leaving me at the altar in front of my entire family?” He couldn’t help the bitterness of his tone. She’d just taken a hatchet to his heart.

  “I think you two lovebirds need to talk. I’m going to have a quick wash and head to Rosie’s for dinner,” Gunnar said in the deafening silence.

  “Are you going to answer my questions?” Erik demanded after the older man left the barn.

  Analise took a deep breath, and for a moment he didn’t think she was going to say anything. Then she crossed her arms, her feet planted hip-width apart. “Erik, this is all so sudden for me. I picked up my wedding dress today. My wedding dress! Two weeks ago I drove into town to see my grandfather, get him to come on holiday to Iceland, and then return to my career. I had no plans to get engaged, much less married. I’m freaking out.”

  “This wasn’t on my vacation agenda either. I know, though, that we can make this work. But first, you have to trust me.”

  He stood his ground. She needed to come to him for once. Needed to choose him over running away. He opened his arms. She hesitated only a minute before she stepped forward and nestled against his chest. Home. The word flitted through his mind.
Didn’t matter if it was Akureyri, London, or Paris. As long as she was in his arms, he was home.

  Analise’s sigh went straight through his shirt and warmed his chest. Was it an expression of surrender or realization that this was where she should be? After a moment, she raised her face. Her fingers threaded into his hair and brought his lips down to hers. Their previous kisses had started gentle, building in heat. This one was molten from the start, searing his mind of all rational thought.

  He stumbled back until he hit a pile of straw. It’d been many years since he’d literally had a roll in the hay. It was a lot itchier than he remembered. When Analise’s small hand found the hem of his shirt and ventured underneath to caress his back, he forgot the discomfort and concentrated on her taste, the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her skin. He wasn’t quite sure when his shirt disappeared, but he was very aware when his pants became too tight. His hand had found its way under her top, and with one flick, her bra was undone. He wedged one hand between their bodies so he could feel the bounty now bared to him. Analise’s moan of pleasure fueled his desire. That was one engine that wasn’t going to run dry.

  He shifted to access more of her body, and a sharp shaft of straw speared into his back. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from Analise’s and forced his hands to return to her hips. His chest heaved as he tried to regain his normal breathing, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. “I’m not a teenager anymore. We need someplace more comfortable.” His voice was husky with desire.

  She scrambled to her feet. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and a flush was on every part of skin he could see. Her bra was askew, and her nipples were clearly outlined against her top, taunting him. Why had he stopped? Idiot.

  He followed her up, and when she didn’t move, he stared into her eyes. “Is it okay, with the baby, I mean?” In the passion of the moment he’d forgotten entirely that she was pregnant. Forgotten everything, in fact, except how much he wanted her. She was potent. He’d even forgotten about the man she’d met in Winnipeg.

  “The baby’s okay. But … ”

  He could see a battle going on inside her, and his own guts clenched. Was she conflicted about making love with him or was something else upsetting her? The one thing he did know was that now was the time to find out. There would be another opportunity, he hoped, to take her to bed. Unless he mucked this up now.

  “Let’s talk. I think we have some issues to resolve before tomorrow.” He found his t-shirt and tugged it on while she straightened her clothes. She took his hand, and they went back to the house without saying anything.

  “Sit here; I’ll get us something to drink,” he said as they stepped onto the porch.

  He returned a few minutes later with two glasses of cold lemonade. There were several pieces of straw in her hair and a couple on her shirt. He plucked them off after handing her the glass. Taking a long drink, hoping to cool the lingering heat in his groin, he leaned against the railing in front of her.

  “Okay, you start,” he said. Because he sure as hell had no idea where to begin.

  She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “We can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?” His brain was still back in the barn.

  “Kissing when we need to talk. Jean-Claude always used sex to get what he wanted. Whenever I disagreed with him, he’d start kissing me until I agreed to do as he asked. Then afterward I’d hate myself for my weakness. If we’re going to have any kind of future together, even if it’s a short one, you can’t take advantage of my … passion.” She stared at the floor during her whole speech.

  He waited for her to look at him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I can honestly say that I had absolutely no ulterior motive. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you and I was pretty sure you wanted to be kissed. You might have noticed we have pretty explosive chemistry. If I’m making love to you, my singular motive is to bring you pleasure and bring us closer.”

  “I thought you said this marriage was going to be in name only,” she reminded him.

  Busted.

  “I’ll leave that up to you. If there’s any point in this marriage when you want to change that clause then I’m open to renegotiation. However, there is one thing that is nonnegotiable. If this relationship is going to work, even on the most basic level, we have to be honest with each other.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did you meet today?”

  She dropped her glass and watched as it rolled to a stop against the post for the handrail, spreading a trail of liquid as it went.

  She leapt to her feet, her head swiveling from right to left as though mentally mapping all the possible escape routes. “How do you know about that? Did you follow me?”

  “No, I didn’t. Unfortunately, I have relatives everywhere. One of my aunts saw you at The Forks.”

  Wringing her hands, she paced the porch. As she passed him, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Was it Jean-Claude?” He ground the name out through the bile that rose up in his mouth.

  “No, absolutely not. Jean-Claude is dead. I guess, in the spirit of honesty, I should tell you a little more about him.”

  Erik wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more about a sexy Frenchman who could turn a determined Analise from her way with his kisses. “Go on.”

  “Jean-Claude was a spy.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t know about it until he died. Remember I said I was injured and woke up in hospital? What I didn’t tell you was that hospital was in Algeria. I was kept in detention for weeks while they grilled me about what I knew of his activities, who he’d been meeting with, where, demanding any photos I’d taken of him with his contacts … ”

  “And you never knew?” Great, she was in love with James Bond. How was a guy supposed to compete with a dead spy?

  “In hindsight, it’s all so clear—the clandestine meetings, the coded messages. As an exceptional freelance journalist, this was normal. To get the real story you had to dig deep, meet with people who knew what was happening. And they usually weren’t governmental authorities. But while we were together, I had no idea.”

  “Why did the French government question you? Shouldn’t they have known who he was meeting already?”

  Analise took a deep breath, as though what she was going to say was a betrayal. “It seems there was some question over whom exactly he worked for. Not all of his reports went to the French secret service.”

  “So, who did you meet this afternoon?” Could Analise have taken the vacant position left by her fiancé?

  “I found a message from Jean-Claude. It directed me to contact a certain number. They set up a meeting, which happened today.”

  Erik fought down his anger. How was he supposed to keep her safe if she went off and met strange spies without him? He stared at the woman opposite him who had dropped once more into her grandmother’s rocking chair. She looked so similar to ten years ago, minus the long hair, that he was having a difficult time remembering that she was now a grown woman who’d led an adventurous life without him. He needed to get to know this enigma who had fascinated him from the moment she’d rolled down her window on the highway.

  However, her association with the world of espionage held other complications. As a mergers and acquisitions lawyer, he needed to keep his reputation squeaky clean. Affiliation with the underside of the world, especially any possible terrorist connections, would be the death knell to his career. He might have been giving up the London partnership, but he wasn’t finished with being a lawyer. Analise was playing with fire, and if he stayed with her he could get burned—badly.

  Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face.

  “Now that you know my sordid past, I understand completely if you want to call off the wedding tomorrow. Granddad and I can manage. I’ve weathered gossip before. I can do it again.”

  Her simple statement, spoken with a flat, lifeless voice, cut through all the questions floating around in his head.
He wanted this woman. He needed this woman. “What ifs” weren’t going to get in the way of what could be the most important decision in his life.

  “I told you once before. You will never be alone again. I asked you to marry me. I’m not taking that back because your ex played loosey-goosey with world politics.”

  Her radiant smile was stunning. Before he got distracted again, there was still the issue of her desire to run away with her grandfather.

  “Where did you suddenly get the money to leave?”

  “The French government has frozen all my assets, but Jean-Claude left money, some jewels and gold coins, and details about a supposed secret bank account with the man I met. That’s why I could offer my grandfather a way out. And now I have the money to pay you back.”

  “I don’t want your money,” he reminded her. Or, more precisely, he didn’t want Jean-Claude’s money. “However, I do want your word.”

  “My word?”

  “That you’ll show up tomorrow and make an honest man out of me. My grandparents would never recover if their grandson was left at the altar.”

  She stood and put her hands on his shoulders, standing on tiptoe to give him an all-too-brief kiss on the lips. “I like your grandparents.”

  “What about me?”

  “I like you too,” she whispered. Then she pulled back and strode toward the door. “As tomorrow is my wedding day, I guess I’d better get some rest. Can’t be looking tired and worn out with all your relatives staring at me.”

  And with that, she was gone. Was it his imagination or did the screen door slamming sound like prison bars sliding closed? Despite the intense summer heat, he shivered.

  Chapter 13

  She shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with her bouquet.

  “Stand still, Analise. I can’t get this headdress right if you keep fidgeting. It’s hard enough getting it to stay in your short hair.” Tracy jammed a couple more pins into her head before giving the whole thing a liberal spraying with what surely must have been hair cement.

  “Sorry. I didn’t expect to get married so soon or I wouldn’t have cut my hair short.”