by Jean Oram
“Where’s your fiancé?” the man at the door asked, barring her from entering.
Ginger glanced at his name tag. He was young and wore the surfer persona well. “Kelso, he’ll be here momentarily,” she said, trying to act as formal as he was. She had an invitation. Who cared if her imaginary fiancé was with her or not? She had gathered up every last bit of credit she had to make this business trip a reality. The workshops had been great, but she wanted into the resort’s parties sponsored by Hart Diamonds.
“You’re welcome to wait at the Tiki Hut until he arrives." The man gestured to a thatch-roofed bar down on the beach.
“But I said I would meet him in there.”
“How will he get in if you’re already inside with the invitation?”
Nuts.
“You’ll, um, know him by my description? He’s—he’s tall. And um…you know? Handsome.” She really sucked at lying. How had her father and all her ex-boyfriends managed to do it so often and so well? She silently begged Kelso to let her in.
She decided on a different approach. “Are you engaged, Kelso?”
He shook his head, his bleach-blond hair flopping over his eyes.
“Dating anyone?”
He shook his head again.
“Well then…you know how it feels to be left out of so many things that couples get to do, just because you haven’t found the right person yet.” Ugh. She was really reaching, as well as pretty much saying she didn’t have a man to go with her invitation.
Kelso’s hand shifted to the red rope that served as a barrier between her and her research subjects.
Please, please!
“You know the bartender down at the Tiki Hut is single?” she said quickly, when he didn’t unlatch the rope. “Vicky? She’s cute. Likes to surf and sail. She’s totally looking for someone.”
Kelso gave Ginger an intrigued look as a man nudged him out of the way, relieving him from duty.
Nuts again!
Ginger turned to the new arrival. “Hi! Kelso and I were just chatting. I have an invitation.” She waved it and smiled as she stepped toward the rope.
The new man glanced down at her left hand and she casually slipped it behind her back, hoping he hadn’t seen that she lacked a ring.
It was unfair to keep single people out. Unjust! At this rate, she was not going to recommend Hart Diamonds to the brides who came into her store.
She tried for a smile as Kelso filled his replacement in on her lack of a present-and-accounted-for fiancé. "I promise to be good."
“That's not the first time I've heard you make that promise," said a playful, deep voice with an Australian accent. A large hand landed gently on her shoulder, filling her with warmth. She turned to see the man she’d bumped into earlier smiling down at her.
She lost the ability to form words as she took him in once again. He was gorgeous, his demeanor oozing masculinity and power. His gray eyes were playful and serious at the same time, with a hint of trouble. Fun trouble.
"Were you waiting long?” he asked, playing the concerned lover.
She was still without words. He was pretending to be her fiancé. He was trying to help her get into the party.
He was her hero.
Well, that might be a bit overboard, but he was something, that was for sure.
“I’m sorry I’m late, honey,” he added.
Honey.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give to hear that every morning for the rest of her life. The man was huge. Hot. And his sexy Aussie accent, a favorite of hers, was doing squishy things to her knees. And his body…it was like he lifted Mack trucks as part of his regular workout. His shoulders were so broad she could imagine him carrying their kids on them.
She straightened. No. No more romances. No more men with accents who weren’t permanent residents. Men lied. Men left. She was done with that. She was off the market for anything more serious than flirting. Her home and business were here, on this continent.
Her bridal shop. That’s what she needed to focus on. She’d been saving up for it since she was sixteen, and it was her chance to fulfill happily ever afters for others. She’d been raised in a small town full of matchmakers, and the fact that she was still single at the ripe old age of thirty-one meant one thing: she wasn’t marriage material and it was her destiny to help others find happiness. Help brides.
The Australian was watching her with amusement, sending a fizzy feeling through her bloodstream. No, she was not going to move across the world for a man—not even him, as cute as he was, and as perfect as his timing seemed to be.
But she was willing to pretend to be his fiancée so they could enter the party.
She turned to the men at the door with a large smile. Her grandma had said to come play, have fun and live a little. It was her time. And Wanda was always right.
Well, most of the time.
Ginger slipped her arm around the waist of the man beside her. Massive. He was absolutely massive, and radiated warmth and virility in a way that made it difficult to breathe.
Wow.
"Here he is,” she said weakly. She was going to have to buy herself a fan if she spent any time around this dark-haired hunk.
She gave her head a shake. Not spending time. Just getting across the threshold.
Threshold. He could totally carry her over it without straining his back or breaking a sweat.
Party threshold. Double wow. Her mind was zipping around like a caffeinated squirrel on a hunt for hidden nuts.
Kelso smiled and opened the red rope. “To the lovely couple.”
“Thank you. And totally ask Vicky out,” Ginger said as she passed.
“Right on,” he replied.
As Ginger’s fake fiancé followed her in, she heard Kelso say, “Buy your woman a ring, dude.”
“Just got it back from sizing, which is why I’m late,” the man said mildly.
Her Aussie was quick with the right words, that was for sure. She probably would've made something up about swollen fingers, and then been found out when the bouncer looked at her slender, unpuffy hands.
Then again, maybe the Aussie sucked at lying, too, because he’d just implied he had a ring for her.
“That’s what they all say,” Kelso muttered.
“What did you expect me to say? It’s gone walkabout?”
“Kinda.”
The rope clicked into place behind them and a waiter in a tuxedo came by with a tray of wine. Ginger took a glass and grinned.
She was inside!
Everywhere, partygoers mingled, chatting and laughing. The outer walls of the ballroom were lined with bright booths where wedding vendors were offering giveaways, balloons, flowers, and promoting everything a couple might need for their wedding day. Formal wear to catering to honeymoons. Everyone was so happy, so alive. There were so many people she could chat with. Where was her list? She opened her clutch, trying to pull out her notepad, while keeping her glass upright. She’d been attending wedding workshops for two days now, brainstorming ideas, and was eager to ask real-life brides-to-be what they wanted most in stores like hers. Did they want to be able to get tuxes as well as their dress? What type of accessories? Did they want a newsletter with sales notices? Inspirational ideas posted on social media? Recommendations and discounts for things like invitations and cakes? So many questions, so many possibilities. Ginger didn't even know where to start. She began to approach a large group, but then someone grabbed her elbow.
She turned, worried she’d been busted.
Oh, right. Her fake fiancé, Hottie McHot Stuff.
"I'm Logan Stone.”
"Ginger McGinty. Thanks for helping me get in."
“It’s best to come right after shift change and say your other half just headed inside, while you went to retrieve something. Then point and wave at a random stranger near the door. When they wave back out of politeness, you’re in like a wallaby.”
“Clever.” Ginger reassessed McHottie. “You crash events ofte
n?”
He gave a shrug, his expression aloof. “I think it's rather sexist that you have to have a man to get in, don’t you?”
“Oh, I see what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?” He looked amused, and Ginger felt that special, intoxicating blend of I-found-someone-new-and-interesting-and-there-could-be-potential-here flow through her. She loved that about foreigners with accents. They always gave her that rush.
“Trying to distract me from your misdeeds.”
He gave her a half smile. He was watching the room now, not her. Losing interest, in other words. Story. Of. Her. Life.
“But I understand why they didn’t let me in,” she whispered.
“Why’s that?”
“I look as though I'm about to cause trouble."
His focus returned to her. “You're a sheila looking to cause disturbances by pretending you’re betrothed? Bloody sinister. They should lock you away immediately.” He pretended to wave to one of the security guards, but she batted his hand down.
“Shh!”
He grinned and took a sip of his wine, watching her. She toyed with her own glass, studying him. He was dreamy and had an edge to him that suggested danger. And that accent?
Yeah, he was completely off-limits.
But she could flirt with him, have a little fun without getting involved—because he was surely a man with one foot already out the door.
“You have a very sexy accent."
“That's all that you've noticed?" He lifted one brow in question.
Oh, he was such flirt.
“Some women go for good shoulders.” She studied his over the rim of her glass. “I go for an accent."
He drifted closer, that heat she’d felt earlier radiating toward her again.
"Would you like me to read poetry to you?" he asked, lowering his voice.
Killer accent—and he was using it to make her knees turn to jelly as he played along.
"I prefer rap lyrics.”
Logan laughed, his head falling back, his whole body shaking. She had the feeling she’d taken him by surprise, and it was empowering. She often felt like a small-town nobody who’d gone nowhere and done nothing. Men like Logan were intriguing, and just thinking that she had what it took to make him laugh and snag his attention made her glow inside.
“Logan, how long are you in town?”
“I’m around until Wednesday morning—my visa expires and I’ll be heading back Down Under.”
Logan kept one eye on the redhead at his side and the other on the lookout for Vito.
“That’s too bad.” Ginger’s sunny smile flipped into a frown. “Friday’s couples event is supposed to be superb.”
“You want to keep me as your fiancé until then, do you?”
She gave him a playful look, the sunniness returning almost full-force. “I might have to marry you. Are you handy around the house?”
He blinked, surprised by her joke. Could it be that easy? And yet he didn’t think he caught a whiff of truth in her words. She was too bubbly, flirtatious. Smart. She was only kidding, testing him to see what he might be up for this week.
He placed a hand on the wall behind her, leaning closer. “My skills are unprecedented. In every room of the house.”
She blushed, her smile growing, open and real. But she didn’t take him too seriously, didn’t believe there was any validity to his hidden offer.
“You enjoy adventure?” he asked.
“With the right man, maybe,” she answered coyly.
“Shall I buy you a ring?” he asked, probing to find out where she might draw the line. Despite her flirtiness and being okay with a little truth-bending to sneak into a party, he didn’t believe she would go along with anything that would land him a visa by Wednesday. She lacked that undercurrent of desperation he needed, and had a perceptiveness that could definitely blow his cover.
He scanned the room again, looking for other possibilities, women who reeked of need, or a wish for the kind of excitement that came with a whirlwind romance and subsequent marriage. Maybe the blonde across the room in the barely-there dress, handing out wedding cake coupons? She had that wistful look, as if she’d been unlucky in love often enough that she might be susceptible to his charms, especially if he flashed some cash.
He’d try her, but it was always best to have a backup plan, as well. He kept searching the businesswomen working the party, hoping another one would stand out as a possible plan B.
“It sounds like you already have,” Ginger said.
“Sorry?” Logan tried to focus on the pretty woman in front of him. Her gaze was as captivating as her mouth. Her lips soft and perfect for kissing.
“It sounds like you’ve already got a ring?” She was referring to the comment he’d made to the doorman on the way in.
“Oh, right.”
“Something simple, I hope. I’m not a fancy gal.” She was teasing, had noticed his distraction.
To his left he saw Vito watching him with Ginger.
“You don’t have a real fiancé or boyfriend hiding somewhere with a shotgun, do you?” Logan asked.
“Sure.” She flicked one of his shirt buttons with a finger. “Twelve gauge. We don’t mess around in the mountain town where I’m from.”
He found himself chuckling, enjoying her repartee. Continuing to play-act her fiancé would be fun for however long it lasted. Five minutes, five days. But he needed more than flirting and a little ruse. He needed marriage.
“Is this your lovely fiancée, Logan?” Vito Hart asked in a smooth voice, joining them. “The beautiful woman I’ve heard about?”
Shoot. He opened his mouth to deflect the man away, but Ginger stuck out her hand with a smile. “Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ginger McGinty.”
Well, it looked like Logan was locked in. Ginger was officially part of his cover and he’d have to find a way to make it work and keep her safe without it all blowing up on him.
He wondered which agent he’d get the tag-in teasing from once he failed his mission, handing it off to someone else.
“Vito Hart, and the pleasure is all mine.” Vito kissed Ginger’s hand and she bit back a pleased smile. She was a romantic, all right—which could work in Logan’s favor. He wondered what she did for a living and how she’d managed to stay single all these years.
“The Vito Hart?” she asked.
“The one and only.”
“Brides have been talking about your diamonds in my bridal shop.”
“Smart women.”
Ginger might not realize it, but she was buttering up Vito, making Logan’s case so much easier. He began to think that maybe she could work out, after all.
“This wonderful woman has not nearly enough diamonds, Logan.” Vito lightly touched one of Ginger’s bare earlobes and Logan felt a protective surge zip through him. “You being a wholesaler, I would think your chosen wife-to-be should be dripping in them.”
Ginger turned to Logan with a wide smile. “I happen to agree with Mr. Hart.”
“Call me Vito.”
Logan put an arm around Ginger, half to demonstrate that she was his and half to try and hide her bare left ring finger. Vito was correct; Ginger bare of jewelry did not look the part of his fiancée.
Vito gave them a small smile. “Do come for a day trip on my yacht on Thursday. I’m having some guests aboard as we sail around Kiawah Island. It would be a pleasure to have you both join us and indulge in some R & R out in the sun.”
“Oh!” Ginger pressed into Logan’s side, soft and distracting. “Can we?”
His instinct was to say yes, boost her smile into one of those big ones he’d already come to adore. He would bet anything that Vito’s trip would include clandestine meetings away from on-land prying eyes and ears. He’d likely try to woo a few unsuspecting businesspeople who wanted to make a little extra profit and would accept bulk diamonds, not questioning their origins.
Logan needed to be on that boat. But he also
really needed to keep Ginger away from any immediate danger.
“Please?” Ginger asked softly.
He nodded, figuring he’d find a way to leave her safely ashore if he was still in the U.S. come Thursday. Ginger beamed at Vito, giving Logan a boost of pleasure for giving her what she wanted.
“We’ll be there.”
“Fantastic. And congratulations on your engagement,” Vito said, stepping back into the crowd to schmooze with other possible clients.
“That’s so nice of him,” Ginger said.
Only last year Vito had instigated a bloody raid that had left African villages decimated as he stirred up civil war so he could slip in undetected and steal diamonds from restricted areas, smuggling them off the continent. And now he was planning to sell them, which was where Logan came in. Vito was savvy, but Logan was patient. He’d been renting an Indigo Bay cottage for months, keeping one eye on Vito’s beach house and one on the marina where the smuggler docked his yacht. Logan had been listening to feeds from the devices he’d planted, waiting for Vito to reappear, while making himself known as a man in need of diamonds. Lots of diamonds.
The trap was laid.
“I’ve never been on a yacht before,” Ginger said. “Oh no!”
“Thursday,” Logan said. “I know.”
That was going to be a problem.
“You’ll be gone.” Her hand was resting against his chest, her expression crestfallen.
“Maybe we can figure something out.”
“I hope so.”
“Would you like to enter our giveaway?” a woman asked from a nearby booth.
Ginger began chatting with her, then filled out an entry form, before moving on through the crowds, adding her name to every door prize draw she came across.
“I love giveaways,” she said, when Logan caught up with her again. “I never treat myself, and the chance of getting a little gift just for writing my name down tickles me to no end.”
