“I’m in the boarding area,” he said.
“What?” My heart started to pound. “What do you mean?” I grabbed my bag from the overhead and shoved past everyone pushing upstream like salmon. “Excuse me, sorry, I just forgot something.”
The man of my dreams.
“I’m right outside your flight.”
“How did you get there? You’ll get arrested.” Had he pulled a Love, Actually moment and jumped over a barrier? Sexy, but dangerous as hell.
I jogged up the gateway.
“I bought a ticket.”
Bursting through the doorway, I looked frantically around. Michael was standing at the back of the boarding line. When he saw me he got out of line.
I ran to him.
He scooped me up and we had an epic airport moment. He twirled me around while I hugged him as tight as I possibly good.
“I love you,” he said. “Let me prove it to you.”
I kissed him. “You already have. And I love you too.”
He kissed me back.
Then he set me down and got on one knee. My heart swelled.
“Felicia Hobbs, will you marry me? For real this time?”
I nodded frantically. “Yes. Absolutely.”
He stood up and gave me a soft kiss. “I knew I loved you by day three,” he said. “That first proposal was real.”
“My yes was real, too. But I was trying to play hard to get.”
He laughed. “Tell me about it. Do you know how much torture it has been to sleep next to you every night in those damn nightgowns and not touch you?”
“Trust me, I know.” None of my logic made any sense now, but there had been some kind of point at the time. I glanced back at the line. The last person was boarding. “Are we getting on this flight?”
“We’re either taking a flight tomorrow and going home for the night or you’re going to join the mile-high club with me. I can’t wait ten hours of traveling to have you, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting forever.”
Given the way he was nuzzling my neck, I believed him. “We can fly tomorrow. Let’s go home.”
Home. I loved the sound of that.
Of course, when we got back to the flat I glanced around at the disaster of dirty dishes and abandoned rental tables. “God, I left you a first-class mess. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s both of our mess.” Michael scooped me up into his arms. “But we can deal with it tomorrow. Today I just want to hold you and love you.”
I hugged him tight. “I would like nothing more than that.”
“But first, I have a gift for you.” He went over to the Christmas tree and pulled out a gift.
The box was enormous, too big to be jewelry. That got me curious. “Michael, what did you do?”
Without hesitation, I sat on the sofa and ripped it open. It was an empty scrapbook and what looked like every tool needed to make the world’s most blinged out memory book in the history of crafting.
“I didn’t know what to get, so I got a variety.”
One of everything. He’d gotten one of everything. It made me smile. “It’s perfect, thank you. I’m going to get my craft on.”
“Look inside that little box.”
I pulled the lid off, anticipating jewelry. I was right. But this made me tear up. “It’s a charm bracelet.” With an engagement ring charm. “I had one as a girl and I loved it. It got lost when we had to move.”
“I know. I called your mother and asked her what jewelry would be the right choice for you.”
My heart was in my throat. I held the bracelet to my chest, vision blurred from my tears. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He kissed me softly. “I would do anything for you.”
I was the luckiest woman in the history of ever. “Oh, I got something for you!” I turned and dug through my purse. I handed him a red envelope.
“Is this a gift card to a sex shop?” he asked, sounding absurdly hopeful. “I would love to see you in a leather corset.”
That made me laugh. “No, you idiot. It’s cooking lessons. For both of us, as a couple. We can’t live on takeaway forever. We’re having a child.”
“That’s a great idea.” He did look genuinely pleased. “Time to grow up, huh?”
I nodded. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t get a leather corset for a sexy New Year’s Eve.”
Michael’s eyes darkened. “Let’s practice now.”
“I’d love nothing more.”
Epilogue
I pulled the chair out for Felicia, who sat down with a sigh, her seven-months-pregnant belly a tight little ball stretching her summer black cotton dress. I was in awe every time I looked at her. My wife. Our baby girl, who we were planning to name Amelia.
I shook the Immigration interviewer’s hand.
“We just need to ask a few questions.”
“Sure, of course,” I said. We were applying for the actual spousal license.
Felicia looked nervous, but I squeezed her knee to reassure her.
“Here’s our scrapbook,” she said, setting it down on the desk and pushing it toward him. “You can see our relationship has been documented from the beginning.”
She’d worked hard on that and ironically, though it had started all for show, we both enjoyed looking at it now.
The dude barely glanced at it. I could instantly see Felicia get annoyed with him. I could read her facial expressions much better after living together on and off over the last six months. We’d done a lot of back-and-forth travel between the US and the UK but once her fiancée visa had been approved in April, we’d been living together full-time.
“My first set of questions are for Ms. Hobbs only. Are you a communist? Are you coming to the US to engage in espionage or act as a spy?”
She’d be a hot spy, I wasn’t going to lie. I pictured her in black leather pants. Definitely a hot spy.
“No. And no.”
“Are you intending to be a polygamist?”
“Hell no. I don’t share well with others.”
“Are you sexually intimate with Dr. Kincaid?” the man asked.
“Uh…” I glanced at Felicia, amused. “She’s seven months pregnant. That’s pretty obvious.”
“I just need a yes or no answer from Ms. Hobbs.”
“Yes.” She gave me a wink as he wrote her response down. “Loads of sex.”
Lots and lots of sex. The best sex I’d ever had.
“Just yes or no will suffice.
“What does Felicia do on Tuesdays?” he asked me, switching up the format.
“What?” The question was so random I drew a blank as to how to even answer that. “She works. At home. We have a new house and the ground level is her office space.”
Then he went right back to Felicia. “Where did Dr. Kincaid attend college?”
“Stanford.” Her voice was triumphant that she’d gotten it right.
“What was his first pet’s name?”
“Bugsy. He had a pet rabbit at five years old.”
Wow. I didn’t even know she knew that. She’d clearly been talking to my mother again, which was fucking scary.
“Do you consider him to be a good driver?”
“A vehicle or a golf club?”
I laughed.
“Driving a car.”
“No. He terrifies me every time we go to the Hamptons.”
She was definitely a backseat driver.
“Who picks up the check when you go to dinner?”
“Michael does.”
“Would you ever own a donkey?”
“What? No, of course not.”
The guy glanced up and grinned. “That isn’t a real question. I just like to lighten the mood. This doesn’t have to be a scary process.”
You clearly had to be an insider to get immigration humor.
We were in there for another twenty minutes answering a barrage of random but mostly predictable questions and then we were finally sprung when our
interviewer got a phone call.
Downstairs we stepped outside to a sunny and hot day in June. I put my hand on the small of Felicia’s back.
I knew exactly what she would say first. I could guarantee it.
“He didn’t even look at my scrapbook,” she complained.
Yep. That’s what I thought she would say.
I put on sunglasses and peeled off my suit jacket. I had to go back to work. I still had a full afternoon of patient appointments. “I can’t stop picturing you as a spy. Can we role-play tonight?”
She laughed. “Sure. The world’s most elusive and pregnant spy for the Crown. Don’t be an idiot.”
I leaned in close and gave her a kiss. “I’ll be your American contact and your code name for me can be Daddy.”
Her mouth rounded into an O. “I see. I think arrangements can be made, then.”
Then her phone rang in her hand. Distracted, she glanced at it. “It’s the interviewer.”
She answered and there was a lot of “uh-huhs” and then she grinned and ended the call. “I’m in,” she said. “Visa approved.”
“Are you serious? Just like that?”
“It had to be the scrapbook. Our engagement photos were to die for.”
“Of course that was it. I never doubted it.” I gave her another kiss. “I never doubted us.”
Thank you for reading Forty Day Fiancé!
Want to know what happened in the elevator with Sean and Isla?
Find out in
* * *
Who’s the Boss?
* * *
When your enemy becomes your boss, tensions are bound to boil over…
* * *
Arrogant, charming and sexy as hell, Master chef Sean Kincaid is legendary both in the kitchen and in the bedroom. So of course it only took five minutes for him to get me overheated. My temper that is.
* * *
Because Sean Kincaid is my new boss. Who has strolled into my kitchen demanding I follow his rules. I don’t like taking orders from anyone but certainly not from a grumpy man who knows how to push all of my buttons.
* * *
And when a Best Chef competition pits the two of us against each other, it’s either going to be a sizzler--or a recipe for disaster.
* * *
Sneak Peek from Who’s the Boss?
Sean frowned at me. “What did I do to deserve that? I know being trapped is stressful but you don’t have to start calling me names.”
“You told me to stop talking!”
“Calm down.” He held his hand up like I was being irrational.
There it was again. He was patronizing me.
I pressed my lips tightly together and looked up at the ceiling, praying for composure. Zen. I needed it. Breathe deeply. It was a technique I had perfected working as a chef in the restaurant business. My job was nonstop stress. I knew how to handle a high pressure situation and I didn’t need this total stranger telling me to calm down.
“I don’t think I’m the one who needs to calm down,” I said, my voice sugary sweet, a hard edge underlying it.
Any man with any sense would recognize the tone of a woman who is seriously, extensively pissed off.
But he clearly was an oblivious idiot.
“We’re both panicking, it’s okay,” he said. “This elevator is hot and no one is responding to us. We’ll get through this.”
Yep. Still clueless.
“Thanks, I feel so much better,” I said in a breathy voice. “You’re such a big, helpful man.” At eighteen I had been intending to be an actress. I could bullshit with the best of them.
He eyed me like he couldn’t decide if I was insane or serious. He didn’t seem to catch on to the fact that I was mocking him.
“Come here,” he said, shocking the hell out of me by taking my hand into his.
Uh-oh. He was tugging me closer to him. “What are you doing?” I asked, barely holding onto the helpless female voice.
I did not want to be in his personal space.
“I think we could both use a hug.”
A hug? Oh, hell, no.
I jerked away from him. “What? No, I’m good, thanks.”
He laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t go through with it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I called your bluff. Big, helpful man? You took it too far with that.”
Rolling my eyes, I stepped away. He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit that. “Don’t try me, you never know what I’ll do.”
“Is that so? Will you distract me from the fact that we’re going to suffocate and die in this elevator?”
“It depends how. I can tap dance for you if you’d like.” I wasn’t serious. I couldn’t tap dance, and if I could, I wasn’t doing it for him.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “You could kiss me.”
I gripped the strap of my purse, assessing him.
If I was offered a million dollars, I might kiss him. Might. I’d have to think about it for a minute or twelve.
But for free? For his amusement?
Hell no.
“Sure,” I said lightly, because he expected me to say no.
For half a heartbeat he looked alarmed, which made me want to laugh. He didn’t want to kiss me any more than I wanted to kiss him.
“That’s very generous of you,” he murmured, shifting closer to me. “I appreciate you wanting to help me out.”
“I’m a very sweet woman,” I said, standing my ground. I was not going to be the first to break away.
“I can tell that about you,” he said, genuine amusement in his eyes. “I said to myself when I got on this elevator, ‘Sean, that is a sweet, gentle woman.’”
Sean.
He looked like a Sean. Strong, like an old-school boxer.
“That’s why my mother named me Isla.” That made exactly zero sense. My name was derived from a Scottish island, but it seemed like a good comeback to a conversation that all the way around was rooted in the ridiculous.
“Isla? That's a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He brushed my hair off of my shoulder and cupped my cheek.
Damn it. One of us needed to stop this.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be the one to lose the game and pull away.
He leaned, crowding into my space. I felt the hard length of his thigh shift against mine.
I was grateful I was still wearing my coat so there was a barrier between my body and his. He smelled like the woods. And… was that cilantro? What the hell. It was wafting off his fingertips brushing over my cheek.
Neither of us broke eye contact. I could see the challenge in his eyes.
I was sure he saw the same determination in mine.
“Thank you,” I said, to stall.
His mouth was mere inches from mine and we stood there, the tension hanging between us.
I shifted, going up on tiptoes so I was even closer to him, wanting to show him I wasn’t going to back down.
His eyes actually darkened and I saw a spark of lust.
I felt an answering response deep in my body.
We were really going to kiss. We were going to kiss and it was going to be hot as hell.
About the Author
USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author Erin McCarthy sold her first book in 2002 and has since written almost eighty novels and novellas in the romance and mystery genres. Erin has a special weakness for tattoos, high-heeled boots, and martinis. She lives with her renovation-addicted husband and their blended family of kids and rescue dogs.
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Also by Erin McCarthy
Weekend Wife
Five First Dates
Who’s the Boss?
Halftime Husband
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Forty Day Fiancé Page 20
