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One Fiancee To Go, Please
Jackie Braun


AppetizerJack Maris was in a pickle. He needed a make-believe fiancée to introduce to his new boss. Luckily, he knew a lovely waitress who owed him a favor….EntreeTess Donovan relished a distraction from her demanding life, the chance to wear a little black dress and be romanced. But most of all, she longed to spend time with Jack and savor the forbidden feelings his touch evoked.DessertFaster than news of their "engagement" spread through town, Jack and Tess developed a craving…for each other. But as the end of their delicious charade drew near, could Jack give up tasting Tess forever?







“Tess, have you changed your mind about…us?”

“Maybe…I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this, and when I’m with you, I can’t seem to think straight.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jack said, his gaze straying to the swell of creamy flesh visible above the robe she clutched to her bosom.

Her eyes narrowed. She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking.

“Jack.” Her tone was a warning. “There are people in the next room. People who would have to be stupid not to know what we were doing before they arrived.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, then turned to go. Before pulling the door shut behind him, he whispered, “Next time, I vote we don’t answer the door when someone rings the bell.”


Dear Reader,

As Silhouette’s yearlong anniversary celebration continues, Romance again delivers six unique stories about the poignant journey from courtship to commitment.

Teresa Southwick invites you back to STORKVILLE, USA, where a wealthy playboy has the gossips stumped with his latest transaction: The Acquired Bride…and her triplet kids! New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels contributes the second title in THE CHANDLERS REQUEST…miniseries, Jessie’s Expecting. Judy Christenberry spins off her popular THE CIRCLE K SISTERS with a story involving a blizzard, a roadside motel with one bed left, a gorgeous, honor-bound rancher…and his Snowbound Sweetheart.

New from Donna Clayton is SINGLE DOCTOR DADS! In the premiere story of this wonderful series, a first-time father strikes The Nanny Proposal with a woman whose timely hiring quickly proves less serendipitous and more carefully, lovingly, staged…. Lilian Darcy pens yet another edgy, uplifting story with Raising Baby Jane. And debut author Jackie Braun delivers pure romantic fantasy as a down-on-her-luck waitress receives an intriguing order from the man of her dreams: One Fiancée To Go, Please.

Happy Reading!






Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor




One FiancГ©e To Go, Please

Jackie Braun







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my sister, Donna Warrick,

who believed in me even when I had doubts.


JACKIE BRAUN

wrote her first book, a murder mystery, in elementary school. To get some of the heart-pounding scenes just right, she first acted them out in her family’s suburban Detroit backyard. The neighbors are probably still talking about the skinny blond kid who had all the imaginary friends. The handwritten pages of that masterpiece are in her basement somewhere. They may be misplaced, but she never put aside her desire to write. She earned her bachelor’s degree from Central Michigan University and has spent the past thirteen years working as a journalist, mostly penning editorials at a mid-Michigan newspaper. Weaving tales of fiction, however, has remained her first love. She lives with her husband in Flushing, Michigan.


Dear Reader,

Christmas arrived a little early for me last year. Four days before Santa shimmied down the chimney with his sack of presents, Silhouette Books called bearing the ultimate gift for a writer: a book contract.

For me, this isn’t just any book. It’s the first one I’ve sold after many years of hard work and high hopes, so I am especially excited to share it with you.

Someone recently asked me where I got the idea for this story. Writers find stories everywhere, even in everyday situations. As it happens, this one nearly landed on me while I waited for a cab to the airport. I was sipping orange juice in a hotel lobby when I bobbled the cup and narrowly avoided spilling it down my shirt. Inspiration struck, however, and I wrote the opening scene in a spiral notebook on my flight home. Let’s just say that seat in coach felt especially cramped with Jack, Tess and me all sitting in it.

For several weeks after that, I booted up my computer almost daily to “visit” with Jack and Tess. As they struggled with their growing attraction, sometimes they surprised even me with the way their story unfolded.

Writers say finishing a book is a great thrill, and it is.

It offers a sense of accomplishment that’s difficult to describe. But I was almost sad to finish the final scene. I didn’t want it to end, because I enjoyed spending time with Jack and Tess.

I hope you will, too.

Sincerely,









Contents


Chapter One (#u5da3e7b8-20cb-5aca-8452-6626a9f9b514)

Chapter Two (#u0e7be70b-70ed-54a3-889a-0fbd682317c7)

Chapter Three (#u4bdc025b-73d0-5f7a-a8ad-86d5436c6b4c)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


“Order up!” Earl Lester barked.

Tess Donovan stood at the counter just outside the diner’s small kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee. She jumped at the gruffly issued command, sending grounds flying. Exhaling slowly, she smoothed a stray wisp of hair back from her cheek and turned to the order window. Earl stood on the opposite side, a toothy grin spreading over his leathery face.

“A little edgy today, Red?” he inquired, all innocence.

“You know the saying—too much caffeine and not enough sleep make Tess an edgy girl. Midterms,” she reminded him needlessly. For six years she had worked full-time for Earl while freelancing for the local newspaper on weekends in the fall and working her way toward a journalism degree in the evenings. She figured he knew her schedule about as well as she did.

“So does exhaustion,” he reminded her with a pointed look. He motioned with his chin to the steaming crock. “It’s getting cold, Red.”

“This stuff has too much chili powder in it ever to be anything but blazing hot,” she replied, sending him a saucy wink as she loaded the bowl onto her tray. Then she hurried away, the tray held high over her head, her pockets heavy with tip money.

Wednesdays at Earl’s Place generally left Tess with enough time between taking food orders and clearing tables to study for her classes. But Earl had advertised a dinner special in the newspaper this week, and it seemed half the population of Pleasant River, Michigan, had turned out to take advantage of the deal. It was just Tess’s luck that one waitress had called in sick and another had had car trouble and would be late. Tess had agreed to fill in after her shift ended, at least until her political science class at seven. She had planned to use the in-between time to catch up on the seemingly endless barrage of reading assignments, but, with the holidays just around the corner, the extra tip money was too tempting to pass up.

“Hon, I need more coffee,” the burly trucker at table ten called as she passed. She managed to sidestep him in time to avoid the fanny pat he had bestowed on her twice already.

Three tables ahead sat the man who had ordered the chili. He was impeccably dressed in a navy wool suit, crisp white shirt and muted print tie, all of which screamed expensive. He looked as if he could be a banker or a lawyer or some other white-collar professional, not the usual sort to come into Earl’s greasy little joint. He sat alone with a Wall Street Journal spread out on the table in front of him, open to the stock page. But he wasn’t reading it. He was watching her. And the level, measuring look he gave Tess made her pulse pick up speed.

Handsome didn’t begin to do him justice. He had a strong jaw, wide-spaced eyes the color of jade, and a nose that listed slightly to the left and gave the impression he had once played contact sports. He wore his tawny hair short, but Tess had a hunch that if it were allowed to grow long it would have a tendency to curl, much like her own.

The crowded diner seemed to fade into the background as their gazes held. The pounding of her heart drowned out the din of patrons as she was drawn forward on legs that felt too rubbery to hold her weight. Ridiculous, she told herself, bemused by this uncharacteristic reaction to a man, but she couldn’t manage to break eye contact or to reel in her giddy pulse.

At least not until the tyke at table four scooted off his mother’s lap and toddled directly into Tess’s path. It seemed a minor miracle that she managed to sidestep the boy at all; too many hours on her feet had dulled her reflexes, and the man claimed nearly all of her attention. But she didn’t have time to ponder the near collision or to congratulate herself for avoiding it. In the instant it took to dodge the little boy, the steaming crock of chili lost its purchase on her tilted tray. Helpless, she watched it slide off, striking the gorgeous businessman just above the breastbone with a dull thud that sent its contents spewing. Kidney beans, onions and bits of ground beef oozed down the man’s broad chest like a mini-mudslide.

“What the…!” he broke off an oath, instinctively pushing away Tess, who very nearly found herself in his lap along with the remains of his dinner. She grabbed the edge of the table to upright herself, then stood back in mortification and surveyed the damage.

“Oh, no!” The hand she clamped over her mouth barely muffled her cry. Unless the dry cleaners could perform miracles, the man’s very nice and very expensive-looking suit was also very ruined. What, she wondered, would a suit like that cost? She had the awful feeling she was about to find out. The tip money weighing down her pockets suddenly felt inconsequential.

Tess peered anxiously over her shoulder, hoping Earl had not witnessed her latest debacle. In the past week alone she had given the wrong change to three customers, botched a number of meal orders, and sent an entire tray of brown coffee mugs crashing to the tiled floor. She didn’t think she could bear another lecture on how she should get more sleep or cut back on her class load. Her luck seemed to be holding. While she had captured the attention of nearly every diner in the place, the swinging doors to the kitchen remained blessedly still. She turned back to the man and gaped in horrified silence as he eased himself out of the booth with as much dignity as the situation would allow. Globs of chili dropped to the floor in a sickening chorus of plops as he straightened.

He grimaced, attempting to hold the soiled shirt front away from his skin by pinching it between his thumb and index finger. A gold cufflink winked at his wrist, catching Tess’s attention. French cuffs, she thought with an inward sigh, and another imaginary dollar sign appeared before her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said in a shaky whisper. Snatching some napkins from the table dispenser, she began blotting his soggy tie and wiping the stubborn bits of ground beef from his shirt. She hesitated when she reached the shiny buckle of his leather belt. His lap was covered with chili as well, but she dared go no farther south with the mass of matted napkins. He grasped her wrist lightly, as if he thought she might have the audacity to continue downward, and she felt a blush creep from her chin to her cheeks. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You’ve done enough, thanks,” he bit out between gritted teeth, releasing her hand and grabbing the napkins from her. He swiped at the stain that had bloomed a rusty red on his shirt and turned his navy suit a dingy shade of brown. The mirthless little laugh he issued made Tess feel even worse.

“I’ll get you some more chili if you’d like. Or anything else from the menu,” she offered, eager to make amends.

“I’ll take my check.”

“I am truly sorry,” she repeated. Any minute now, she thought, he would be mentioning the cost of his suit and demanding compensation. “I’m not usually so clumsy. I just didn’t see the little boy until it was too late.”

He nodded grimly. “My check.”

“Oh, no charge,” Tess assured him, offering a tentative smile in the hope of coaxing one out in return. “Really, I insist. Dinner’s on me.”

Her words drew out more than a smile. Humor, unexpected but definitely welcome, danced in the man’s green eyes a moment before she heard the first deep rumble of his laughter.

“Dinner’s on somebody, lady, but I don’t think it’s you.” To Tess’s immense relief, his irritation seemed to evaporate. He flashed a grin that showed off straight white teeth, and a dimple tugged in his left cheek. Charmed, Tess smiled fully in return. When he spoke again, the clipped, crisp tone of his voice had turned almost conversational. “I’ll take a rain check on the meal, but I don’t think I’ll be in the mood for chili for a while.”

As the man sauntered out of the diner, leaving behind a small trail of diced onions and peppers, Tess let out a sigh of relief. Not only was the man easy on the eye, but if his casual attitude about his ruined suit was any indication, he would be easy on her bank account as well.

Humming lightheartedly, she went in search of a mop.

A couple of hours later, Jack Maris had showered and given the offending clothes to the concierge at the Saint Sebastian in the hope that something might be salvaged.

Now that he had washed away the pungent scent of onions and chili pepper, Jack reclined on the room’s queen-sized bed, stacked his hands behind his head on the pillow, and tried to ignore the angry growl of his empty stomach. He didn’t want to bother with room service. His thoughts strayed to the waitress who had taken his order at the little hole-in-the-wall diner. He’d always been a sucker for long red hair, and the young woman with the gray eyes and full rosy lips had it in abundance. He recalled the way a few wisps of it had escaped the confines of the severe ponytail she wore, and he thought about the rather vivid fantasy he had been enjoying as he watched her walk to his table, her smoky gaze a mixture of awareness and uncertainty.

What would she do if I tugged that mass of fiery hair free and ran my fingers through it until it snaked down her back? Jack had been wondering. A dousing of chili, hot though it was, had cooled his ardor considerably. Then he had felt so foolish, standing in front of her covered in soup and still slightly aroused, that he had practically bitten off her head with his remarks. In truth, his foul mood had had little to do with the pretty waitress or the unfortunate mishap. Indeed, the accident had been the perfect cap to a lousy day, he decided, his thoughts turning to the job interview that had brought him to town.

Ira Faust of Faust Enterprises was looking for a vice president. More than just a vice president really, he was courting an investor. Someone who was willing to buy into his distributorship. Someone who would become the new head of Faust Enterprises when Ira finally retired. The man was pushing eighty, so Jack figured it wouldn’t be long. In the meantime, he would learn the business and bide his time.

Opportunities like this didn’t present themselves every day, especially for someone as young as Jack Maris. At thirty-two, Jack didn’t doubt he could handle the responsibility of running a company. He had graduated top of his class at Northwestern University, where he had earned his BA and MBA, and he excelled at solving problems and turning deficits into profits. The past several years in the employ of others had reinforced his desire to be his own boss. He wanted—needed—to be the master of his destiny, the one calling the shots for a change.

A therapist might say his need for control came from his chaotic childhood, and Jack admitted privately, it could be true. His parents were divorced and rather nomadic, moving often and remarrying with nearly the same frequency. But whatever motive lay behind his goal, Faust Enterprises was exactly the type of company he wanted to own—solid, established, respected. It was relatively small, with just less than four hundred employees, but Jack saw plenty of room for growth with someone more aggressive at the helm. He felt he was just the man Faust needed, and, thanks to the tidy sum Grandmother Maris had left him, Jack had the money to invest. For some reason, however, he got the impression Ira Faust was not quite convinced.

Jack stared at the stuccoed ceiling and reviewed the meeting. It had started off well enough: firm handshake, plenty of eye contact. Ira had given Jack the speech about how Faust Enterprises remained a family operation despite the fact that he was the only Faust still employed there. Ira and his brother Evan had begun the business in the family garage nearly sixty years before. Evan had died a confirmed bachelor seven years ago. Ira and his wife, Cora, had been blessed with only one daughter, and she had died tragically in a car accident when she was twenty-six. Family. The older man must have used the word more than a dozen times during the interview, Jack mused.

If he had to put his finger on when the interview began to stall out, it would be right after Ira Faust asked Jack to tell him a bit about himself.

“You’ve got a very impressive background, Mr. Maris. Graduated with honors from Northwestern. And your references are outstanding. But tell me something about yourself that’s not on your resumé,” Ira coaxed, leaning forward over the wide mahogany desk. He folded a pair of large, blue-veined hands on the blotter and waited for Jack’s reply.

Jack had told him the standard things: where he was born, what he saw as his strengths, different experiences that made him uniquely qualified for the job.

As an afterthought he threw in: “I’m single, in excellent health, and I love to golf. Since Michigan has more courses per capita than any other state, I figure I’m going to enjoy working on taking a couple of strokes off my handicap. Too bad the season is so short here.”

Ira offered a polite smile in return, but if Jack had to pinpoint it, he would say that was when the older man’s demeanor changed. Subtly, sure, but Ira seemed to be mentally crossing Jack off the list of contenders.

The phone on the nightstand began to ring, and he snatched it up. “Maris here.”

“Hey, Jack, how did the interview go?” Davis Marx asked. He worked as Faust’s personnel director and had got Jack the interview. The two men had first met in an economics class as freshmen at Northwestern. They had remained close friends over the years, despite living in different states. Jack had even been best man at Davis’s wedding a few years earlier.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied. “I mean, it started out great, then it just fizzled. Funny thing is, I think I had him hooked until he asked me about my personal life.”

“What the heck did you say?”

“Nothing outrageous. Basically I told him I’m not married, and I like to spend my spare time on a golf course. It’s not as if I said, �By the way, I deal drugs, don’t believe in paying taxes, and belong to a militia group.”’

Davis groaned dramatically. “Don’t you ever listen to me? I told you the man all but lives and dies by family. When he asked what you do in your spare time couldn’t you have at least thrown in visits with your sister or parents?”

“But I haven’t seen any of them in more than a year.”

Davis groaned again. “I know, but couldn’t you have stretched the truth? Or, better yet, hinted at a serious relationship with a woman? I told you Ira all but did backflips when I tied the knot. Yet you go in there and announce that you’re single and probably gave him the impression you’re not looking for a wife.”

“I’m not,” Jack said flatly.

“Yeah, and that’s got Ira thinking, �How committed will this guy be to the company I built from nothing when he can’t even make a commitment to a woman?’ Especially when your resumé seems to confirm his suspicions that you move around a lot. Three companies in five years. It doesn’t exactly say steady as a rock, Jack.”

“What do you suggest I do? Get married and have kids just to prove to the man that I’m stable and planning to put down roots here? I’m willing to invest a sizable sum of money in his company. Shouldn’t that be enough of a commitment?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, and this conversation is strictly off the record, but I told you Faust is looking for a successor, a surrogate son of sorts who he can feel good about leaving in charge. Maybe it’s not too late to make him think you’re involved with someone. And I mean seriously involved, Jack, as in heading to the altar.”

“But I’m not involved. I told you, Nancy and I broke it off six months ago. And over this very issue.” Jack thought about the woman back in Boston who had so recently shared his life, and felt a small prick of disappointment over their bitter parting after so many years of amicable co-existence. Yet, he couldn’t keep the sneer from his voice when he added, “She wanted a ring, and she got one, just not from me. She’s marrying the guy who sold her the Volvo.”

“Marriage isn’t so bad, you know,” Davis said quietly.

“I’m not saying it is,” Jack insisted, scrubbing a hand over his prickly chin. “No one in my family has managed to make it work, although, God bless them, they just keep trying. But I know it does work for some people.” His voice lowered a notch, sincerity replacing flippancy. “I’d say it works for you and Marianne, but it’s just not in my long-range plans.”

“Well, you don’t really have to get engaged,” Davis said finally. “Just drop a few hints leaving that impression. Tell him your fiancée is back in Boston and won’t be moving here until she wraps up loose ends. Once you have the job, it won’t really matter. You can say things didn’t work out. Look, Ira wants to see you again tomorrow morning. Officially, that’s why I’m calling. Be in his office at ten o’clock sharp. Unofficially, I’m telling you that one little white lie really could help. Your call, Jack,” he said before hanging up.

Jack mulled Davis’s suggestion for the next couple of hours. He didn’t like deceptions, but he wondered what one this small, this insignificant, could possibly hurt. He wasn’t lying about his qualifications or keeping some vital piece of information to himself. His private life, after all, was no one’s business but his own. Besides, he did plan to stick around if he got the position. When he became head of Faust, he planned to nurture and expand Ira’s carefully built company, not slice it up and sell it off before he went on his merry way. His conscience duly wrestled into submission, he set the alarm clock and climbed under the covers.

Jack took several deep breaths, exhaling them slowly through his mouth in an effort to quell his nerves before the elevator reached its destination on the top floor at Faust. Now or never, Maris, he thought as he walked down the corridor to Ira’s office. The receptionist smiled politely as Jack approached her cluttered desk.

“I’ll let Mr. Faust know you’re here, Mr. Maris,” she told him.

“Jack, come in,” Ira said a moment later. He held open his office door and waved Jack inside. “I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience to come back today.”

“Not at all, sir. I hope you’ll excuse my casual attire.” He motioned to the khaki trousers and navy sweater he wore beneath a leather jacket. “I only brought one suit, and, well, it had a little run-in with my dinner yesterday.”

Ira chuckled as he settled into the chair behind his desk. “What you’re wearing is fine. Shall we get down to business?”

Jack nodded and took a seat in one of the burgundy wing chairs that faced Ira’s desk. For the next forty minutes they talked about Jack’s work experience. Ira threw out several hypothetical situations and asked Jack how he would handle them. Again, Jack got the feeling the older man was impressed with him, but not quite sold. They were concluding their meeting when the lie that had been in the back of Jack’s mind all morning popped out of his mouth.

“Well, it looks like I’ll be able to make it for an early lunch with my fiancée after all,” he said. Too disgusted with himself to make eye contact with Ira, Jack continued to stare at the gold watch strapped to his wrist.

He heard the leather of Ira’s chair creak as the older man leaned forward. “Fiancée, you say?”

Jack nodded, his tongue unwilling to give voice to such a blatant untruth a second time.

“Ah, yes, better not keep the young woman waiting.” Ira smiled brightly and Jack’s stomach clenched. He considered retracting his words, but he told himself that one little fib wouldn’t really matter.

Halfway to the door Ira laid a companionable hand on Jack’s shoulder and confided, “I think you’ll do nicely as the new vice president of Faust Enterprises. I’m offering you the position, with the option to invest in the company and then take over completely when I retire.”

“That’s terrific! I accept,” he said, nearly sending up a whoop of joy that would have been entirely inappropriate for the vice president of a distributorship. More solemnly he added, “You won’t regret this, sir.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Ira agreed. The two men shook hands, and Ira escorted Jack to the brass-doored elevator.

While they waited for the elevator to arrive, Ira said, “If you have no other plans for the evening, how about dinner? We can toast your new job, and I can answer any other questions you may have about either the company or the community. I’m sure Davis will help you with house-hunting, but I do know an excellent real estate agent if you’re interested.”

“That sounds great. I’d appreciate it.”

The elevator arrived and Jack stepped inside, aware that he probably was wearing a silly grin on his face, but unable to check it. Vice president. He was the new vice president of Faust Enterprises, a company he would someday own as well as oversee. If possible, his grin widened.

“Then it’s settled. My wife and I will meet you at your hotel at seven-thirty. The restaurant off the lobby serves an excellent rack of lamb,” Ira replied, his own smile paternal and understanding.

The elevator’s shiny doors were just beginning to slide shut when Ira added, “I’m looking forward to meeting your girl.”

“He wants to meet my girl!” Jack thundered into the telephone.

“I can’t believe you told him she was here,” Davis replied, sounding incredulous. “Boston, Jack, she was supposed to be in Boston!”

“Yeah, well, forgive me for being a lousy liar. It just slipped out that way.”

“Okay, okay, there’s got to be a way to fix this,” Davis muttered on the other end of the line.

Jack sighed miserably. “I have the position I’ve been dreaming about since graduate school, but the guy’s probably going to rescind the offer as soon as he realizes I lied through my teeth to get it.” He sank down on the edge of the bed and, with his free hand, kneaded the bunched muscles at the back of his neck.

“You could say she’s not feeling well,” Davis offered, then grunted skeptically. “Of course, I wouldn’t put it past Faust to show up at your hotel tomorrow with a doctor in tow. If he could just meet the future Mrs. Maris once, I’m sure that would be the end of it. Too bad you don’t know any women willing to play the part of your happy bride-to-be. Unfortunately, most of the single women I know work at Faust, know someone at Faust, or wear support hose. But maybe Marianne has a friend. I’ll call her at work.”

Jack stopped rubbing his neck and grinned as the idea hit him with the same force the crock of chili had the day before.

“Never mind that. I do know a woman,” he said slowly. “And as it happens, she owes me a huge favor.”




Chapter Two


Tess was on her afternoon break when she saw him walk into the restaurant. He was taller than she remembered, at least six-two, with broad shoulders and lean hips. She watched the other female diners swivel in their seats to give him the once-over as he passed their tables, and she smiled. With the body of an athlete and a face that belonged on the cover of Gentleman’s Quarterly, he was a hard man to ignore.

Tess took a moment to hope he would sit in another waitress’s section so that she would not have to face him again. She was surprised he had come back after yesterday’s disaster. Her surprise turned to alarm when he continued to walk to the rear of the restaurant and to the table where she sat alone, eating chicken salad and reading a chapter on metropolitan government.

Oh God, she thought, nearly choking on her meal, he’s decided to make me pay after all.

She was coughing when he reached her table. Her eyes watered a little as the chicken salad finally went down with the help of a gulp of iced tea. Still wary, she studied his expression, but he didn’t look angry or aggrieved. Nor was he holding a bill for a new suit. Instead, he smiled a little uncertainly and politely asked, “May I sit down?”

Heart hammering, Tess could do no more than bob her head in response.

“I’m assuming you remember me from yesterday,” he said, sliding onto the seat opposite hers.

Oh yes, Tess thought, I remember you. He had the kind of face a woman would recall even if she had not also managed to humiliate herself so completely in his company.

“You do remember me?” he repeated. To her embarrassed dismay, Tess realized she had been staring at him like some infatuated adolescent.

“Um, yes, I remember you. I—I spilled chili in your lap. How is it by the way?”

His eyebrows shot up, and she clarified, “The suit, I mean, n-not your lap. Did the stain come out?”

Jack watched her blush again, as she had the day before, and he found it charming. Not many women blushed anymore, especially women who looked like this one. She wore her hair in a bun today, and once more he found himself wondering what it would look like when she let it down. To his guilty surprise, he began to fantasize again, picturing himself taking out the pins one at a time and watching thick curls the color of hot embers spill over her shoulders.

“Well, did it?” she asked, interrupting his fantasy.

He had to clear his throat twice before he could answer her question. “I haven’t got the suit back from the cleaners yet, so I don’t know if the stain came out.”

“Oh.”

He watched as some of the tension eased out of her shoulders, but the wariness remained in her gaze.

“I’m interrupting your lunch.” He pointed to the half-eaten chicken salad on her plate.

“That’s okay,” she assured him. “I still have another fifteen minutes before I have to go back to work. Can I buy you a sandwich or something, to make up for yesterday?”

Jack smiled engagingly. He couldn’t have asked for a better segue.

“As a matter of fact, there is something you can do for me. A favor, a really big favor,” he stressed, leaning forward in his chair.

From across the table he watched the woman swallow nervously. “Wh-what sort of favor?”

“Nothing illegal, I promise. It’s just that I’ve got myself into a jam. It’s kind of humorous actually,” he admitted with a rueful little chuckle. “I…um…led someone to believe I’m engaged. The only problem is, well, that’s not quite true. But now he’s asked my fiancée and me to dinner tonight.”

“The fiancée you don’t have,” she said, brows furrowed as she tried to follow his story.

“Yeah, that’s right. So, I find myself in the odd predicament of needing a woman.” As he said it, his gaze dropped to her mouth. Generous lips that were naturally rose-colored curved into an embarrassed smile, and he rethought his choice of words. “What I mean to say is, I need a woman to act as my fiancée.”

“And this involves me how, exactly?” she asked, but gauging from her expression, Jack could tell she had guessed and was struggling with whether she should be appalled or flattered.

“Will you do me the honor of being my fiancée for the evening?” he asked in solemn good humor.

Tilting her head to one side, she regarded him for a long moment. “You said this was nothing illegal.”

He nodded.

“And it’s just for the evening, right?”

“Just for the evening.”

“Well, I’m working late, so I won’t get off until seven,” she told him, and Jack let out a relieved sigh. She hadn’t exactly consented, but then she hadn’t told him to get lost either. He decided to go on the assumption that since she was telling him what time she got off work, she was agreeing to his wacky plan.

“Hmm, seven.” He rubbed a hand over his chin and did some quick calculations in his head. “That will be tight, but it could work. Dinner’s at seven-thirty in the restaurant at the Saint Sebastian Hotel.”

Jack heard the woman whistle through her teeth, but he was too excited to wonder at her reaction.

“I have a rental car,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “I could come pick you up here and you could freshen up in my hotel suite if you’d like.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when she began shaking her head. “Look, I’d really like to help you out, but I don’t have a thing to wear to a fancy place like that. The Saint Sebastian is easily the nicest place in town.”

“But if you had a dress to wear, you’d go, right?”

“I suppose,” she shrugged. “But I really can’t afford to buy a new one right now, even if I had the time to go shopping. I’m sorry,” she sighed with genuine regret, and said again, “I really would like to help you out.”

Jack remained silent for a moment, then gave in to impulse. “Leave the dress to me.”

“Oh no.” She held up a hand and shook her head in protest. “I can’t allow you to buy me a dress.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, after what happened yesterday I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing you the favor, remember?”

“So? You’d still be doing me a favor. If it helps, think of the dress as a prop that I’ll supply and that you get to keep afterward,” he suggested with a smile.

“But I hardly even know you,” she sputtered. Then, “I don’t even know your name!”

“That’s easy enough to remedy. It’s Jack. Jack Q. Maris. The Q is for Quinten.” He squinted at her in mock challenge. “I don’t tell many people that because I hate the name, but I tend to make exceptions for close friends and pseudo-fiancées.”

When she just sat there and stared at him as if he had grown two heads, he prompted, “And you are?”

“Oh! I’m Tess. Officially, Tessa Claire Donovan, but nobody calls me Tessa,” she added, narrowing her eyes in much the same way he had.

Jack held out his hand and waited until she extended one of her own. He clasped the slender hand tightly and, for the third time since he had first seen her, he watched Tess blush.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Still holding her hand, he added, “By the power vested in me by the state of desperation, I now pronounce you, Tessa Claire Donovan, my make-believe fiancée.”

Tess stood outside Earl’s Place, shoulders hunched against the crisp November evening. She had managed to clock out fifteen minutes early and to change into the jeans and cotton blouse she’d worn to work that morning, and she was hoping Jack would be as good as his word and arrive on time. She still couldn’t believe she had agreed to go to dinner with him, much less pose as his fiancée for the evening. What did she know about the man, after all, except that he had the most gorgeous green eyes, a sexy smile, and a body that seemed chiseled from rock? For all she knew he could be some deranged madman loose from a psychiatric ward, or a serial rapist stalking his next victim.

But then she remembered the way he’d said her name, wrapping his tongue around that one simple syllable as if he were savoring it. And she recalled the way a mere handshake had stolen her breath. To herself, she admitted that even if yesterday’s mishap had not compelled her to agree to help him, she would be waiting outside Earl’s Place anyway. The man intrigued her. And her unprecedented reaction to him intrigued the practical, unflappable Tess even more.

“You need a ride, Tess?” one of the regulars asked on his way out of the restaurant.

“Thanks, but no, my date should be here any minute,” she replied. She smiled after she said it. My fiancé, she corrected silently, then allowed herself the indulgence of a fantasy. She pictured a shiny white limousine pulling to the curb, a black-capped chauffeur stepping out to open the door for her. Inside, Jack sat on supple leather seats holding out a flute of champagne, his smile warm with promise. Tess gave herself a mental shake as Jack’s tan rental sedan pulled to the curb. What was wrong with her? This was no date. It was playacting, two people pretending to be intimately acquainted and doing it for a small, exclusive audience. She pushed aside the sharp twinge of disappointment she felt and concentrated on the evening ahead.

A thought occurred to her as they headed down Fifth Street to the Saint Sebastian. “Jack, if we’re supposed to be engaged, shouldn’t I know more about you than just your name?”

“Good point. Let’s see, I graduated from Northwestern University with a degree in accounting. That’s also where I got my master’s in business administration.” He gave her his full attention while they waited for a traffic light to change. “I was born in Chicago. My father moved back to the Windy City a couple of years ago. My mom’s in Aspen, and I have one older sister, Kirsten, who’s rather nomadic, but she’s living in California these days. I’ve been living in Boston and working for a company there.”

The light turned green and the car pulled forward.

“Should I be from Boston, too?” she asked.

He thought a minute, then shook his head. “No, I think you should be from Chicago. You have a Midwest accent.”

She shrugged, taking his word for it, although she had never considered herself to have an accent of any sort.

“Okay, so how did we meet if you live in Boston?”

“Hmm. How old are you?” he asked, glancing sideways.

“Twenty-four.”

He pursed his lips. “Well, that pretty much rules out college. How about, we met when I went home to visit family a few years ago, and we’ve maintained a long-distance relationship ever since, waiting for you to finish college and me to find my dream job before we settled down.”

It sounded rather romantic to Tess, and much more exciting than her own boring life, but she replied in a bland voice, “I guess that’s plausible.” She couldn’t resist asking, “Just how old are you?”

“I’m not robbing-the-cradle old,” he insisted with a throaty chuckle that had her smiling in return. She liked the sound of his laughter, and the easy camaraderie that had sprung up between them.

“Just how old is �not robbing-the-cradle old’?” she asked.

“I’m only thirty-two.”

“Thirty-two, huh?” She gave him a quick once-over and said, “Looking at you, I’d have to say you’ve aged remarkably well.” The teasing tone of her voice sounded flirtatious even to her own ears. It wasn’t like her to flirt. In fact, she hadn’t realized she knew how. The man certainly had an odd effect on her. When he glanced curiously in her direction, Tess busied herself rummaging through her purse for some breath mints.

They arrived at the hotel five minutes later and bustled inside. While they waited for the elevator, Jack spared a glance in the direction of the restaurant.

“Well, it doesn’t appear our dinner companions have arrived yet,” he said, sounding relieved. As they stepped into the elevator, they continued to discuss their bogus courtship.

A minute later, the elevator reached the seventh floor. When the double doors slid open, the easy banter they had been sharing evaporated along with the saliva in Tess’s mouth. As she waited for him to unlock the door to his room, she looked anxiously up and down the corridor, half expecting someone she knew to pop out and ask her what she was doing going into a strange man’s hotel room. The hall remained empty, but she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was doing something illicit, especially when Jack finally managed to open the door to his room and stood at the threshold waiting for her. She brushed past him, feeling awkward and foolish, but then she spied the dress he had laid ever so carefully across the bed’s floral comforter and her mouth fell open.

“You said size six, right?” He stood just behind her, and she could swear she felt his warm breath feather across the nape of her neck when he spoke.

“Six, yes,” she repeated, transfixed. Basic and black, it was easily the most elegant dress Tess had ever seen. It reminded her a bit of the sleek number Audrey Hepburn had worn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She heard a wistful sigh, and realized it was her own. She adored Audrey Hepburn, but she especially loved her in that movie. It was as if he had known, she thought, then chided herself for being silly. They were strangers, after all. He barely knew her name, let alone what old movies she preferred.

But the man had taste; she would say that for him. She had spent the afternoon agonizing over what kind of a dress he would pick out for her to wear. Would it be sleazy or too prim? Would it be in some horrendous shade that would clash with her flaming hair? But Jack had chosen well.

She decided he must have driven over to the mall in Piedmont during the afternoon. Pleasant River certainly didn’t have any place that carried such stylish evening dresses. She spied the label stitched just inside the neckline and, limited though her exposure to designer fashions was, she knew it must have cost him a mint.

“The lady at the store helped me pick it out,” he said. “Um, she also helped pick out the, uh, other things.” He coughed a little self-consciously, and for the first time Tess noticed the lacy black slip and sheer hose lying next to the dress on the bed.

“Oh,” was all she could manage, grateful he stood behind her and could not watch her face redden.

“The shoes were a little trickier. I hope they’re comfortable.” His tone was dubious.

Tess noticed the pair of strappy black leather heels lined up at the foot of the bed next to a pair of size-eleven men’s dress shoes. For some reason the sight of their footwear sharing space next to a bed seemed more intimate than the fact the man had helped pick out her unmentionables.

“Well, everything seems to be in order,” he said, rubbing his hands together. He walked to the closet and pulled out a new suit. It was double-breasted and the color of charcoal, with the barest hint of a pinstripe. She noticed the tags still dangling from the cuff. At her questioning gaze, he offered a careless shrug.

“The chili didn’t come out. I guess you could say my American Express card got quite the workout today, especially since I had to have them do a rush job on the alterations.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to forestall the apology that she was about to offer. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Tess. After tonight, we’re more than even.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I won’t apologize. But can I say thank you?”

He grinned, that sexy little dimple tugging in his cheek. “You’re welcome. Now we’d better get ready. I can change in the bathroom, unless you’d like to freshen up first?”

“Yes, please. I think I smell like chili dogs.” She crinkled her nose. “I’ll just take the dress and the other things in there with me,” she told him, quickly gathering them up. “I won’t be long.”

Jack glanced at his watch. “I hate to rush you, but it’s almost twenty after,” he said.

Jack Maris had never known a woman who could be ready in five minutes. Nancy and her endless fussing over her appearance had caused them to be chronically late.

He changed into his suit and paced the length of the room once. Then he went to the closed bathroom door and raised his hand to knock, planning to tell Tess he would meet her downstairs. He didn’t want to keep his new partner waiting. The door opened before he could knock, however, and Jack’s eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.

“Ready,” she announced. She gave her head a little shake that sent copper-colored curls dancing.

He sucked in a sharp breath. None of the fantasies he’d had about her hair matched the reality. It corkscrewed nearly to her waist in rivulets of molten lava.

“I took down my hair,” she said needlessly when he kept staring at it. “I can put it back up. I just thought—”

“No, no,” he interrupted her, his voice a little gruff. “Leave it down. It’s…” Then Jack noticed the dress. The woman whose firm curves filled it out so nicely needed no flounces, ruffles or sequins to compensate for—or camouflage—any shortcomings. Perfection, he thought, as his heart picked up speed. She was sheer perfection.

“Tess. I…” His voice trailed away along with his train of thought, and whatever he had been about to say was swallowed up by the awkwardness of the moment.

He watched as color suffused her face. She seemed to look everywhere in the room but at him, and Jack wondered what had possessed him to stand there gawking at her as if he were some pimply-faced schoolboy on a first date. This wasn’t a date at all, he reminded himself, although it was difficult to ignore the sexual attraction that had his blood heating.

Finally, his tone crisp and businesslike to compensate for the erotic thoughts he’d been entertaining, he said, “Come on, let’s go get this over with.”

Tess followed Jack through the beveled-glass doors of the Saint Sebastian’s dining room and looked around. With the exception of an older couple seated near the rear of the restaurant, most of the faces were unfamiliar. Most likely out-of-town guests, she decided, wondering who she and Jack were there to meet. She smiled at the diners seated at each table they approached, eager to look the part of a happy bride-to-be, but Jack just kept walking. He walked past the young couple enjoying linguini in the booth near the wall. Past the dark-suited businessman scribbling notes on a yellow pad of paper. Past the trio of middle-aged women sipping coffee and eating cheese-cake. That’s when she knew, and her stomach felt as if it had dropped to her feet. She snagged Jack by the arm and tugged him to a halt.

“Wh-what is it?” he asked.

“The Fausts,” she replied in a hushed tone. “You didn’t tell me we were eating dinner with Ira and Cora Faust.”

His eyes widened as his face bleached of color. “Please tell me you don’t know them.”

“Everyone in Pleasant River knows them,” she whispered frantically. “They’re the city’s first family, so to speak. They sponsor just about everything that goes on around here, from the Christmas pageant to the annual blueberry festival. I was Miss Blueberry twice in high school. Ira Faust crowned me, for heaven’s sake!”

At any other time, Jack thought, he might have been amused by the quaint image her words brought to mind, but with the beginning of a nasty headache pounding behind his eyes, he could only groan. Briefly, he considered turning around and slinking out. Later he could make up some excuse. But Ira took away that option by calling out, “Look, dear, here they are.”

Jack sent Tess a pleading look, then plastered a smile on his face as they joined the Fausts at their table.

“Good evening, sir. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” He turned to the plump, silver-haired matron who was seated next to Ira and said, “This must be your lovely wife. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Any hope he harbored that the older couple would not recognize his date was dashed immediately.

“Why, this is a surprise,” Cora Faust said, her tone incredulous and a little excited. “Don’t tell me that Pleasant River’s very own Tess Donovan is your fiancée?”

“Young man, why didn’t you mention that your girl was a local?” Ira admonished good-naturedly. “This is extraordinary.”

“Hello, Mr. Faust,” Tess said. Jack noticed her discreetly wiping her palm on her dress before shaking the older man’s hand. Turning to Ira’s wife, she said, “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Faust.”

They were seated, and the waiter came for their drink order, forestalling what Jack knew was only the inevitable. Tess ordered a club soda, apparently determined to keep a clear head. Jack, however, ordered Scotch. False courage, he decided, was better than nothing. The black-vested server had barely moved out of hearing range when Cora lobbed the first verbal volley of what promised to be a long evening of probing questions.

“Tess, dear, I ran into your mother just last month at the beauty shop. We chatted while I was waiting for my manicure to dry. She never mentioned your engagement. When exactly did this occur?”

“Um, well, actually…” Tess turned to Jack, her gaze silently beseeching him to clear up this misunderstanding before it went any further.

For the millionth time, he wondered why he had listened to Davis’s foolish suggestion, even as he admitted that the plan had worked splendidly. He had the job. And, God help him, he wanted to keep it. Below the folds of the linen tablecloth he reached for Tess’s hand, offering a reassuring squeeze, and sent her a look that begged for understanding.

“It happened rather suddenly. In fact, we haven’t told our families yet. We wanted it to be secret, just for a little while longer. I’m sure you can understand that.” His gaze strayed to Cora and he winked at the older woman, as if including her in some Shakespearean plot. Cora’s eyes misted, evidence, Jack decided, of her romantic heart. He felt himself relax a bit.

“Oh, of course. Ira and I were young once. I remember how love was at the beginning. Not that it’s not still wonderful after all these years, but at first it’s all…” she seemed to hunt for the right word, then, she sighed, “…magic.”

“This calls for a toast,” Ira announced, giving Jack an affectionate thump on the back. The waiter had just arrived with their drinks, but as he transferred them from the tray to the table, Ira said, “Any proper toast must be done with champagne.”

The waiter returned and was filling their glasses with sparkling wine when Cora said, “Where on earth did you two kids meet? Ira tells me you’re from Boston, Jack. When did Tess take a trip to Boston?”

The tale they had concocted in the car clearly no longer applied.

“That’s actually a very interesting story, isn’t it Tess?” Jack began, buying time. Tess nodded vigorously, and he watched her gulp down champagne, nearly emptying the fluted glass before she returned it to the table. Apparently she also needed a little false courage now. Always one to oblige a woman in distress, he reached over to refill her glass.

“You were saying,” Cora prompted helpfully.

“Um, yes, how Tess and I met. It’s a very interesting story,” he repeated inanely. His mind, however, remained stubbornly blank. Ira and Cora Faust seemed to lean forward in their seats, as if willing the words out of his mouth, but no matter how fast his brain searched for a scenario they would believe, nothing came. It was no use, he decided. He sent Tess an apologetic little smile and opened his mouth, ready to expose his idiotic deception and beg the Fausts’ pardon.

“The truth is—”

That’s all he got out before Tess interrupted.

“It was last spring.”

Jack watched her swallow thickly as she realized she had the Fausts’ undivided attention. They regarded her with polite curiosity, while he had the feeling his own expression held a mixture of gratitude and panicky desperation.

Tess drained the rest of her champagne, stalling shamelessly as she searched her imagination for some plausible explanation. She couldn’t believe she was going to lie, and not just some lie of omission either, but a whopper elaborate enough to satisfy the town’s pre-eminent busybody. A painting hung on the wall behind Cora, a gilt-framed watercolor of a basket of fresh-cut lilies. It gave her an idea.

“Uh, Jack and I met at the French Impressionists exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Art. We’re both huge fans of Monet.”

Tess smiled in relief. She had gone to the exhibit alone, so no one would be able to prove or disprove her story. The Fausts and Jack seemed to be waiting for her to continue, so she did, surprised by how easily it all came to her as one falsehood after another slipped from her lips, transforming her staid, predictable life into something to sigh over.

“Um, we, uh, corresponded for months afterward. And talked on the telephone a lot, too. But it was through his letters that I fell in love with him.” She sent Jack a shy smile that had Cora Faust’s ample bosom heaving in appreciation.

Tess was thinking about the love letters the star-crossed Abelard and Héloïse had sent to one another in the twelfth century. She had studied them in a history class during her freshman year of college. They were beautiful letters, full of passion and heartache and unbearable longing. She had read them with a box of tissues at her side; her heart breaking for two lovers who had remained true to one another despite the horrendous circumstances that forced them apart forever. She wanted a love as pure as that—minus the tragedy, of course.

Tess smiled at Cora and confided, “You get to know a lot about a man by how well he can put his thoughts down on paper.”

“So when’s the big day?” Ira asked.

“We haven’t set a date yet,” Jack responded at the same time that Tess, still caught up in the romantic fantasy she’d been concocting, replied rather dreamily, “June.”

They stared at one another in stricken silence as Ira and Cora looked on in amusement.

“Women always want June weddings, my boy,” Ira said, nodding sagely. “Marriage is about compromise. They demand and we bend.” He added a sly wink when his wife slapped his arm. “Might as well start by compromising on the wedding date.”

“I’ll think about it, sir,” he mumbled, trading champagne for a bracing gulp of Scotch.

The waiter returned for their dinner orders and, for the time being they were spared having to devise any more creative responses. For the next twenty minutes Jack managed to steer the conversation back to Faust Enterprises and his new responsibilities there. But when their entrées arrived, Cora routed the conversation once again to matrimony by exclaiming, “My goodness, dear, where is your engagement ring?”

She captured Tess’s hand and held it up to her myopic eyes for inspection.

“Oh…well,” Tess sputtered.

“Honey,” Jack tsk-ed. “You must have left it next to the bathroom sink in our suite.”

Tess smothered a groan while Cora’s mouth puckered into a shocked O.

“You’re staying in his hotel room?” the older woman asked in a scandalized voice, holding a hand to her bosom.

Tess wanted to die. The sexual revolution might have taken place decades ago, but a woman like Cora Faust, who donned white gloves on Sunday and probably still wore a corset, didn’t hold with co-habitation before marriage. What had Jack been thinking, giving the woman the impression that he and Tess were physically intimate? Tess pictured Cora and the other ladies at Mabel’s Style Haven discussing Tess’s sleeping arrangements as they sat under the dryers, and she knew if her mother caught wind of this, Rita Donovan wouldn’t need a permanent to put curl in her hair.

“N-n-no, ma’am,” she stuttered, offering a prim smile as she fidgeted in her seat like a first-grader caught eating paste. “I got off work at seven, and it was easier to come straight here and get ready upstairs than to drive all the way home and wait for Jack to come pick me up there.”

That much, at least, was the truth. And while Cora nodded, Tess had the feeling the cagey older woman wasn’t completely convinced of Tess’s chastity.

It was almost ten when the waiter brought the check, and Tess left the restaurant on shaking limbs, unable to clearly remember all of the lies she and Jack had spun for the Fausts’ benefit. All she knew for certain was that she had started out the day worried about a midterm exam and ended it with the town’s most celebrated gossip believing she was engaged to, and carnally involved with the gorgeous new vice president of Faust Enterprises.

Tess had traded black silk for denim and cotton, and sat huddled in the front seat of Jack’s rental car waiting for the heat to kick in as they drove back to Earl’s Place. Beside her Jack groaned and muttered, “I can’t believe I let it get this far.”

He’d been saying basically the same thing since leaving the Fausts, but this time Tess felt the need to offer her own bit of editorial comment.

“You? My reputation is in tatters. Cora Faust thinks we’ve been…” she gestured wildly with her hand to fill in the blank. Just thinking the words made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t bring herself to say them aloud.

“We’ve been what?” Jack asked. He turned toward her, and she saw the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know only too well what she thinks we’ve been doing,” Tess croaked. They passed the beauty shop, where gossip was dispensed as freely as the hairspray, and something even more depressing occurred to her. “What if this gets back to my mother? I’m twenty-four, but I may as well be in pinafores as far as my mother is concerned.”

He sent her a sympathetic look before returning his attention to the road.

“On the bright side, at least the man you’re supposedly sleeping with is willing to make an honest woman out of you.” When he glanced her way, Tess sent him a withering look intended to tell him exactly what she thought of his attempt at humor.

“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

But Tess didn’t want her mood lightened. She slumped against the headrest and closed her eyes. “What if my family learns of our supposed engagement?” she moaned.

“Maybe they won’t get wind of it. Maybe Cora will keep quiet for a while out of a sense of romance, and by the time she says anything to your family, this entire mess will be resolved. Then you can tell them the truth and have a good laugh over it.”

“Somehow, I doubt they would find this funny.”

Jack brought the car to a stop in the lot behind Earl’s Place and shifted into park. He turned to face her and when he spoke, all humor was gone from his voice.

“I’m really sorry, Tess. I didn’t mean to drag you so deeply into my predicament.”

The street lamp illuminated only half of his face, but there was no mistaking his sincerity. She exhaled slowly and straightened in her seat. “Oh, it’s not all your fault. I went along with it, even when I realized who we were supposed to be fooling. I could have said no, but I didn’t.”

“Why did you do it?” he asked softly, his gaze just a little too direct.

Tess looked away. She didn’t have an answer for him, not one she could share without sounding pathetic. How could she tell him that work and school had taken up so much of her life for the past several years that she hadn’t had time for many dates or much fun? And despite all the complications their “date” had wrought, she had had fun. She’d enjoyed putting on a sexy dress and going out to a fancy restaurant. She’d enjoyed Jack’s company and the forbidden feelings he conjured up in her whenever he smiled or touched her hand. It was heady stuff for a woman who spent most of her spare time dressed in ratty sweats, her nose pressed into a textbook.

“Tess?” he prompted.

She decided it was best to ignore the question. “I can’t believe I said we’re having a June wedding. It just got out of control.”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a sigh. He leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and moaned like a man facing amputation without anesthesia. “Way out of control. I guess we should own up to it and apologize. We probably should have done that from the start. It would have been much easier.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing myself, although I don’t relish the thought of telling Cora Faust I lied to her.” In jest, she asked, “Got any other ideas?”

Jack rolled his head to the side on the steering wheel and squinted at her, as if taking her question seriously. “Well, we could keep up the charade for a little while longer. I mean, just long enough for my position to be secure. Then we could tell the Fausts we called off our engagement.” He sat up and shrugged. “Tell them we decided we just weren’t suited.”

“Jack, I don’t know. My family.”

“I’m asking a lot, I know. Before you say no, think about it. We’ve already asked the Fausts to keep our engagement a secret. We could also ask them to keep quiet about our breakup to spare us any public embarrassment. No one else needs ever know we lied.” He grinned triumphantly. “It’s a brilliant plan, Tess.”

“You mean devious.”

“Well,” he cocked his head to one side. “Maybe just a little, but my intentions, ultimately, aren’t dishonest.”

She remained quiet for a moment, surprised to find she was actually considering what he proposed.

“It wouldn’t be for long, Tess, I promise. A few weeks, maybe a month. What do you say?”

Tess glanced around the empty parking lot and tried to figure out just why she was willing to continue playing along with this scheme, because that’s precisely what she was prepared to do. Surely, she had more than paid Jack back for the ruined suit. But then, Tess knew it had stopped being about the suit several lies ago. Maybe it had never been about the suit at all.

She liked Jack Maris. She liked spending time with him. She liked the way he said her name, and the way he had held her hand as they sat at the table, stroking the pad of his thumb over her knuckles with such casual tenderness. Maybe she was just being a fool, but this—whatever this was—felt right. She thought about her mother’s firm belief in fate. Perhaps Tess should believe in such things herself.

“I must be crazy,” she muttered.

Jack’s brows pulled together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, I’ll do it,” she said slowly.

In the low light, he looked relieved, then oddly troubled, as if he were having second thoughts. Fiddling with his seat belt, he said, “Make sure, Tess. You don’t have to, you know. I may have made you feel obligated, but you’re not.”

“It’s just a white lie, really,” she said, trying to reassure him as well as herself.

“Right, just one little white lie. Who can it hurt?”

“Certainly not the Fausts,” she agreed a little desperately. “After all, how can our pretending to be engaged possibly hurt them?”

“It will just be one less gift for them to buy come June,” he added with a smile.

“Then it’s settled.”

Once they reached an agreement there seemed little reason not to say good-night, but Tess hesitated until the silence became awkward.

“Well, I…” she said at the same time Jack began to speak. They both laughed a little tightly, then she said, “Go on, please.”

“I was just going to say that I’m flying back to Boston on Sunday night. I need to pack up my things and get my affairs in order.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and scribbled something on the back before handing it to her. “Here’s a number where you can reach me in the evenings if anything comes up. If you need me before Sunday call me at the Saint Sebastian.”

She nodded and tucked the card inside her purse.

“Well, I suppose I had better get going. I have a test tomorrow night that I haven’t studied for yet.”

“Test?”

She beamed a smile in his direction and informed him grandly, “Your fiancée, Jack Maris, is a college student, who, after this semester, will be only twelve credits shy of a degree in journalism.”

“Really?”

“Really. What did you think, that my aspirations stopped at being a waitress at Earl’s Place?”

Tess’s words held only teasing humor, but Jack realized he didn’t know what she aspired to be. He didn’t know much about her at all except that she had gorgeous hair, filled out a size-six dress with the perfection of a fashion model, and blushed prettily with only the slightest provocation. But those were superficial things. He surprised himself by wanting to know more about Tess Donovan. Much more.

She opened the door and got out, then poked her head back inside the car. The heavy curtain of her hair dangled down with all the invitation of a bull-fighter’s cape. He wondered if she realized how sexy she was, and decided that she didn’t when the smile she offered was more shy than sensual.

“Thank you for a very memorable evening, Jack.”

“Memorable,” he murmured as he watched her walk away.




Chapter Three


Dawn had barely broken the next morning when Jack donned sweats and set out on a five-mile run. The Saint Sebastian’s bellhop had mapped out the route and assured Jack it was scenic. Jack didn’t care about scenery. He wanted to clear his head, and he generally found that a punishing run helped him do that. These days he had a lot mucking up his orderly life.




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