Wife For A Week
Wife For A Week
Kelly Hunter
Nicholas Cooper must produce a wife for his business deal, and Hallie Bennett is beautiful and intelligent enough to pull it off. She needs the money, and Nicholas has determined some strict rules for their week together. Rule No. 1: Displays of affection in public only Keeping their hands on each other in public turns out to be surprisingly easy.It's keeping them off in private that's the problem. Hallie is falling for Nicholas, but will Nicholas make his contract wife his real-life bride?
Wife For A Week
Kelly Hunter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To generous hearts
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
HALLIE BENNETT had been selling shoes for exactly one month. One long, mind-numbing month working solo at the exclusive little shoe shop in London’s fashionable Chelsea, and she really didn’t think she’d last another. Back in the storeroom she’d sorted every pair of shoes by designer, then model and finally by size. Out here on the shop floor she’d arranged the stock by colour and within the colours, by function. Dusting and vacuuming? Done. Serving customers? Not yet but, hey, it was only midday.
Hallie picked up the nearest shoe, a pretty leopard-print open-toed sandal with an onyx heel, and tried to figure out why anyone would actually pay three hundred and seventy-five pounds for a pair of them. She dangled it from her fingertips, turned it this way and that before finally balancing it on her palm.
‘So what do you think, shoe? Are we going to cram a sweet size six like you onto a size eight foot today?’
A quick jiggle made the shoe nod.
‘I think so too but what can I do? They never listen. These women wouldn’t be caught dead in a size eight shoe. Now if they were men it’d be different. As far as men are concerned, the bigger the better.’ The door to the shop opened, the bell tinkled, and Hallie hurriedly set the shoe back on its pedestal and turned around.
‘Darling, what a thoroughly daunting shop! I swear, until I saw you talking to that shoe I didn’t dare come in.’
The woman who had spoken was a study in contradictions. Her clothes were pure glamour, and her figure was a triumph over nature considering that she had to be in her late fifties. But her wrinkles were un-ironed, her hair was grey, and her ‘darling’ had been warm, possibly even genuine.
‘Come on in,’ said Hallie with a smile. ‘Look around. Trust me, they never talk back.’
‘Oh, you’re an Australian!’ said the woman, clearly delighted with the notion. ‘I love Australian accents. Such marvellous vowel sounds.’
Hallie’s smile widened, and she spared a glance for the woman’s companion as he followed her into the shop, a glance that automatically upgraded to a stare because, frankly, she couldn’t help it.
As far as women’s fashion accessories went, he was spectacular. A black-haired, cobalt-eyed, dangerous-looking toy who no doubt warned you outright not to bother playing with him if you didn’t like his rules. He was like a Hermès handbag; women saw and women wanted, even though they knew the price was going to be astronomical. And then he spoke.
‘She needs a pair of shoes,’ he said in a deep baritone that was utterly sexy. ‘Something more appropriate for a woman her age.’
‘You’re new at this, aren’t you?’ muttered Hallie before turning to stare down at the woman’s shoes, a stylish pair of Ferragamo man-eaters with a four-inch heel. They were a perfect fit for the woman’s perfectly manicured size-six feet. They were fire-engine red. ‘There is nothing wrong with those shoes,’ said Hallie reverently. ‘Those shoes are gorgeous!’
‘Thank you, dear,’ said the woman. ‘Why a woman turns fifty and all of a sudden certain people to whom she gave birth start thinking she should be wearing orthopaedic shoes is completely beyond me.’ The woman seemed to age ten years as wrinkles creased and unshed tears leached even more colour from eyes that would have once been a bright sparkling blue. ‘Your father would have loved these shoes!’
Ah. It was all starting to make sense. He of the indigo glare was the woman’s son and right now he was in big trouble. ‘Right,’ said Hallie brightly. ‘Well, I’ll just be over by the counter if you need me.’
He moved fast, blocking her escape. ‘Don’t even think of leaving me alone with this woman. Give her some shoes to try on. Anything!’ He picked up the open-toed leopard-print sandal. ‘These!’
‘An excellent choice,’ she said, deftly plucking it from his hand. ‘And a steal at only three hundred and seventy-five pounds. Maybe your mother would like two pairs?’
His eyes narrowed. Hallie smiled back.
‘If only I had something to look forward to,’ said the woman with a sigh that was pure theatre as she sat on the black leather sofa and slipped off her shoes. ‘Grandchildren, for instance. I need grandchildren.’
‘Everyone needs something,’ said her son, looking not at his mother but at her. ‘What do you need?’
‘Another job,’ said Hallie, kneeling to fit the sandals. ‘This one’s driving me nuts.’ She sat back on her heels and surveyed the sandals. ‘They fit you beautifully.’
‘They do, don’t they?’
‘How do you feel about travel?’ he asked her while his mother preened.
‘Travel is my middle name.’
‘And your first name?’
‘Hallie. Hallie Bennett.’
‘Nicholas Cooper,’ he said and gestured towards the woman. ‘My mother, Clea.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Clea, her handshake warm and surprisingly firm. ‘Nicky, she’s darling! She’s perfect! You need a wife; you said so this morning. I think we’ve just found her.’
‘Wife?’ said Hallie. Wife? That’d teach her to shake hands with strangers. Nicholas Cooper’s smile was lazy. His mother’s was hopeful. Probably they were both mad.
‘He’s loaded,’ said Clea encouragingly.
‘Well, yes.’ She could see that from the way he dressed. He was also far too amused for his own good. ‘But is he creative?’
‘You should see his tax return.’
‘I don’t know, Clea. I think I prefer my men a little less…’ What? She slid Nicholas Cooper another quick glance. Sexy? Wild? Gorgeous? ‘Dark,’ she came up with finally. ‘I prefer blonds.’
‘Well, he’s not a blond,’ conceded Clea, ‘but look at his feet.’
Everyone looked.
He wore hand-stitched Italian leather lace-ups. Size twelve. Wide.
‘Of course, as his mother I can’t let you marry him unless you’re compatible, so maybe you should just kiss him and find out.’
‘What? Now? Ah, Clea, I really don’t think—’
‘Don’t argue with your future mother-in-law, dear. It’s bad form.’
‘No, really, I can’t. It’s not that, er, Nicky doesn’t have a lot going for him—’
‘Thanks,’ he said dryly. ‘You can call me Nick.’
‘Because clearly he does. It’s just that, well…’ She cast about for a reason to resist. Any reason. Yes, that would do. It wasn’t quite the truth, but little white lies were allowed in sticky situations, right? ‘I wouldn’t be very good wife material right now. I have a broken heart.’
‘Oh, Hallie, I’m so sorry,’ said Clea in a hushed voice. ‘What happened?’
‘It was terrible,’ she murmured. ‘I try not to think of it.’
Clea waited expectantly.
Obviously she was going to have to think of something. Hallie leaned forward and tried to look suitably woebegone. ‘He was secretly in love with his football coach the whole time we were together!’
‘The cad!’ said Clea.
‘Was he blond?’ said Nick. ‘I’m betting he was blond.’ He was standing beside her, close, very close, and she was kneeling there, her gaze directly level with…oh!
‘Are you sure you’re not interested?’ asked Clea.
Hallie nodded vigorously and dropped her gaze, looking for carpet and finding feet. Big feet. ‘It’s this job,’ she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Probably he was bluffing. Probably he had regular size-eight feet tucked into those enormous shoes. Her hand shot out of its own accord, spanning the soft leather of his shoe, testing the fit for width and finding it tight. Right. She pressed her thumb down and felt for toes, found them at the very top of the shoe. ‘Phew!’ She felt breathless. ‘It’s a tight fit.’
‘Always,’ he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘But I’m used to it.’
Hallie smiled weakly and scrambled to her feet as warmth spread rapidly through her cheeks. It was his eyes. His voice. Possibly his feet. Any one of them was a guaranteed temptation, but all three together? No wonder she was blushing.
‘What my mother meant to say was that I need someone to pretend to be my wife for a week. Next week to be precise. In Hong Kong. You’d be reimbursed of course. Say, five thousand the week, all expenses covered?’
‘Five thousand pounds? For a week’s work?’ There had to be a catch. ‘And what exactly would I have to do to earn that five thousand pounds?’
‘Share a room with me, but not a bed, which is fortunate considering your broken heart.’
Was he laughing at her? ‘What else would I have to do?’
‘Socialize with my clients; act like my wife.’
‘Could you be a little more specific?’
‘Nope. Just do whatever it is wives do. I’ve never had one; I wouldn’t know.’
‘I’ve never been one. I wouldn’t know either.’
‘Perfect,’ said Clea, bright-eyed. ‘I’m believing it already. Of course if the kiss isn’t convincing it’s just not going to work.’
‘No kissing,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m heartbroken, remember?’
‘There has to be kissing,’ he countered. ‘It’s part of the job description. Who knows? You might even like it.’ There was a subtle challenge to his words, lots of amusement.
‘Kissing would cost extra,’ she informed him loftily. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t exactly the sanest of conversations to begin with.
‘How much extra?’
Hallie paused. She needed ten thousand pounds to finish her Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art; she had five of it saved. ‘I’m thinking another five thousand should do it.’
‘Five thousand pounds for a few kisses?’ He sounded incredulous, still looked amused.
‘I’m a very good kisser.’
‘I think I’m going to need a demonstration.’
Now she’d done it. She was going to have to kiss him. Fortunately common sense kicked in and demanded she make it brief. And not too enthusiastic. One step put her within touching distance; a tilt of her head put her within kissing range. She stood on tiptoe and set her hands to his chest, found his shirt soft and warm from the wearing, with a hard wall of muscle beneath. But she digressed. With a quick breath, Hallie leaned forward and set her mouth to his.
His lips were warm and pleasant; his taste was one she could get used to. She didn’t linger.
‘Well, that was downright perfunctory,’ he said as she pulled away.
‘Best I can do given the circumstances.’ Hallie’s smile was smug; she couldn’t help it. ‘Sorry. No spark.’
‘I’m not sure I can justify paying five thousand pounds for kisses without spark.’ His lips twitched. ‘I’m thinking spark is a must.’
‘Spark is not part of the negotiation,’ she said sweetly. ‘Spark is a freebie. It’s either there or it’s not.’
‘Ah.’ There was a gleam in his eyes she didn’t entirely trust. ‘Turn around, Mother.’ And without waiting to see if his mother complied, Nicholas Cooper threaded his hands through her hair and his mouth descended on hers.
Hallie didn’t have time to protest. To prepare herself for his invasion as he teased her lips apart for a kiss that was anything but perfunctory. Plenty of chemistry here now, she thought hazily as his lips moved on hers, warm, lazy, and very, very knowledgeable. Plenty of heat as her mouth opened beneath his and she tasted passion and it was richer, riper than she’d ever known. She melted against him, sliding her hands across his shoulders to twine around his neck as he slanted his head and took her deeper, tasting her with his tongue, curling it around her own in a delicate duel.
If this was kissing, she thought with an incoherent little gasp, then she’d never really been kissed before. If this was kissing, imagine what his lovemaking would be like.
His smile was crookedly endearing when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair back in place. ‘Now that was much better,’ he said in that delicious bedroom voice, and she damn near melted in a puddle at his size-twelve feet. ‘We’ll take the shoes.’
Right. The shoes. She boxed the sandals with unsteady hands, swiped his credit card through the machine, fumbled for a pen and waited for him to sign the docket before she risked looking at him again. His hands were large like his feet, and his hair was mussed from where her hands had been.
What would it be like to pretend to be this man’s wife for a week? Foolish, certainly, not to mention hazardous to her perfectly healthy sex drive. What if he was as good as his kiss implied? What if they did end up doing…it? Who would ever measure up to him again?
No. Too risky. Besides, she’d have to be crazy to go to Hong Kong for a week with a perfect stranger. What if he was a white-slave trader? What if he left her there?
What if he was perfect?
He was halfway across the room before she opened her mouth. Almost to the door before she spoke. ‘So you’ll get back to me on the wife thing?’
At five thirty-five that afternoon, Hallie counted the day’s take. It wasn’t hard; she’d only made three sales and that included the shoes Nicholas Cooper had purchased for his mother. Next, she shut the customer door, turned the elegant little door sign to ‘closed’, and was about to set the alarm system when a breathless courier rapped on the display window and held up a flat rectangular parcel.
Not shoes, thought Hallie. Shoes did not arrive by courier in flat little parcels, even designer ones. But the courier’s credentials looked real, the address on the parcel was that of the shop, and the name on the paperwork was hers so she opened up with a sigh, signed for the parcel, and locked up behind him before turning back to the parcel.
It was a brown-paper package tied up with string. Hallie snipped and ripped to reveal a slim travel guide to Hong Kong and Nicholas Cooper’s business card. The card said he was a software developer. Good to know. She flipped it over and discovered a message on the back.
‘Marco’s on Kings,’ it read in bold black scrawl, and beneath that, ‘7 p.m. tonight, Nick.’
Presumptuous, yes, he was certainly that. His kiss had been presumptuous too.
Not to mention annoyingly unforgettable.
So what if Marco’s was one of the best seafood restaurants this side of heaven? No sensible woman would even consider his proposal. Pretending to be a complete stranger’s wife for a week was ridiculous, even by her standards.
And yet…
Hallie reached for the travel guide and smoothed it open, first one page, and then another.
Hong Kong: gateway to the orient. Money and superstition. Heat and a million camera shops. A squil-lion neon signs.
‘An enchanting blend of East meets West,’ read the travel guide. Half a world away from this shoe shop, whispered her brain. Ten thousand pounds.
So there were a few drawbacks.
Lies. Deception. Nick Cooper’s kisses. Hallie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and closed the book with a snap.
Big drawbacks.
And yet…
Twenty minutes later, Hallie let herself in through the front door of her brother’s Chelsea flat and dumped her handbag on the sideboard. Why Tris had bought the little two-bedroom apartment when he never stayed more than a year in any one place was a mystery, but she certainly appreciated the use of it. She’d never save enough money to finish her diploma if she had to pay rent. Not on her current wage, at any rate.
Ten thousand pounds, whispered her brain as she slipped off her shoes and padded down the hallway.
No.
Dinner at Marco’s, then. It’s only dinner.
No, it’s not. If you go to dinner you’ll ask him why he needs a wife for a week and then where will you be? Next thing you know, you’ll be agreeing to go to Hong Kong with him.
So?
Oh, boy. Hallie stumbled over the hallway runner and wondered just what it was about Nicholas Cooper that made her lose her mind.
He had a wicked smile. No doubt about it.
And his offer was definitely intriguing.
A rueful smile tugged at her lips. Best not to even think about his kisses.
Come ten to seven, Hallie had finished her argument and was in the bathroom, hurriedly applying make-up, when she heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of a man’s long, loping strides down the hall. Moments later Tris appeared in the doorway, little more than a vague shadow at the edge of her vision. ‘You’re back,’ she said, busy with the mascara. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
‘Plans change,’ he said. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Dinner at Marco’s on Kings Road.’
‘Classy.’ Was it just her imagination or was Tris a whole lot more preoccupied than usual. ‘Who with?’
Ah. That was more like it. ‘Nick.’
‘Nick?’
‘We met today. At the shop.’
‘He wears ladies’ shoes? Is this supposed to be reassuring?’
‘He came in with his mother. He bought her some shoes.’
‘Run,’ said Tris. ‘Run the other way.’
‘Nope. I’ve made up my mind. I’m having dinner with him.’ She finished with the mascara, reached for a smoky grey eyeliner.
‘So…’ said Tris. ‘Does Nick have a last name?’
‘Of course he does, but if I tell it to you you’ll run a check on him at work and come home and tell me what kind of toothpaste he uses. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s not even a date, exactly. More of a business opportunity.’
‘What kind of business opportunity?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’ No need to bore him with details. ‘Something involving travel.’
Tris sighed, heavily. ‘And you believed him.’
Time to change the subject. ‘There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge,’ she said as she dropped her lipstick into her evening bag and turned to leave the bathroom, halting abruptly as she took her first good look at her brother. ‘Whoa.’ His dark, shaggy hair was filthy, his left hand was carelessly bandaged and his clothes looked as if they’d been dragged through a sewer with him still wearing them, but it was his eyes that bothered her most. Because they were full of frustration and pain. ‘You look terrible.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Liar.’ She hated to see him hurting. ‘Want me to stick around?’
‘What? You’re going to cancel a free feed at Marco’s to stay here and fight me for the last of the lasagne?’ Tris summoned a faint smile. ‘Touching, yet stupid.’
‘The job went bad, didn’t it?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it, Hal.’
Hallie sighed. He never did. Tris didn’t talk about his work for Interpol, ever.
‘Go,’ he said, waving her away. ‘I’m gonna take a shower and get cleaned up. There’s nothing you can do. Eat. Be merry.’
And from within the confines of the bathroom as he shut the door behind him, ‘Don’t talk toothpaste.’
Nick Cooper always gave a woman fifteen minutes’ grace. Any longer than that and he was inclined to leave or start without them. Fact was, women enjoyed keeping men waiting. They did it deliberately to heighten anticipation and make a man wonder. To make a man want. All part of the game, but then games were Nick’s specialty. For every attack, there was a counter-attack, no matter how good your opponent. And Hallie Bennett’s fifteen minutes were almost up.
Not that Nick was even sure she was dining with him—as she hadn’t called—but he’d headed for Marco’s regardless. A man had to eat. And call it a hunch but he thought she’d show. He browsed the blackboard specials, scanned the printed menu, looked around for a waiter and saw instead the delectable Hallie Bennett heading his way. Her colouring was pure Renaissance, Titian hair, creamy complexion and golden brown eyes. But her hair was cropped to chin length and her face was pure arthouse Animae; all big eyes, clean lines and memorable mouth.
His body stirred and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to conceal the fierce rush of anticipation that accompanied her arrival as he stood to greet her. Kissing that smart mouth of hers into submission had been an absolute pleasure. Getting to know the rest of her was tempting, very tempting, but the truth was he couldn’t afford the distraction. He didn’t need a bed-mate this coming week; he needed a partner. Someone with an opportunistic streak, a quick wit, and a deft touch with the ridiculous.
So far, Ms Bennett had impressed him on all counts.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I wasn’t sure I was coming until the last minute.’
‘What made you change your mind?’ he asked as he saw her seated and tried to ignore the quickening of his breath and of his blood.
‘Hong Kong and ten thousand pounds,’ she said, her accompanying smile drawing his attention to the generous curve of her lips, currently painted a deep, luscious rose. Her lip colour matched her dress, a sleek, cling-wrap of a dress that emphasized the perfection of the body beneath. ‘I like your dress,’ he said with utmost sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes lightening with a humour that was hard to resist. ‘I like it too. Have you ordered?’
‘After you.’
She chose the clam chowder. He chose the reef fish and, at her nod, a bottle of white wine to wash it down.
‘I’m curious,’ she said once that was all settled. ‘You’re rich, you’re handsome, you’re healthy—you are healthy, aren’t you?’
‘Perfectly,’ he said, enjoying her candour.
‘So why do you need a pretend wife for a week?’
‘I’m negotiating distribution rights to a computer game my company has developed. Unfortunately, the distributor’s teenage daughter took a liking to me and I found it extremely difficult to, er, dissuade her.’
‘You mean you couldn’t fend off one fledgling female? You? You’re kidding me, right?’
‘Wrong.’ Nick sighed. He could handle predatory women, honest he could. But a semi-naked eighteen-year-old Jasmine Tey had cornered him in his bedroom late one night, and the sheer unexpectedness of it coupled with more than one glass of his host’s most excellent rice wine had rendered him momentarily incapable of sensible thought. ‘She was very young,’ he muttered defensively. ‘Very sweet. I was trying to let her down gently.’
‘You invented a wife,’ guessed Hallie. ‘And now you have to produce her.’
‘Exactly. Will you do it?’
‘Why not ask a woman you already know to help you out? She’d probably do it for free.’
‘Because then I’d have to dissuade her. Whereas you and I will have a business arrangement, a contractual obligation if you like, and once you’ve fulfilled that obligation, you leave.’
‘Ah-h-h.’
It was a very expressive ah-h-h.
‘Will you and your wife be staying with your associate and his family?’
Nick nodded. ‘They have a guest suite. And it’s only John Tey and his daughter. He’s a widower.’
‘Dining with them? Socializing? Getting to know them?’
‘All of that,’ he said.
Hallie Bennett leaned back in her chair and regarded him steadily. ‘That’s a lot of lies, Nick. Why don’t you just tell your distributor the truth? Maybe he’ll understand.’
‘Maybe.’ Nick didn’t have a good enough measure of the man to know. When it came to business, John Tey was cutthroat sharp. When it came to his daughter, the man was putty. ‘As far as I can see, John Tey gives his daughter everything she wants.’
‘I was raised by my father and four older brothers,’ countered Hallie. ‘Trust me, giving her what she wants won’t apply to men.’
She had a point.
‘Unless, of course, your distributor decides that marrying his daughter off to you makes good business sense.’
‘Exactly. I can’t risk it.’ He didn’t want to marry Jasmine. He didn’t want to marry anyone just yet. And then the bulk of her earlier remarks about her family registered. ‘Four older brothers, you said.’
‘Not you too.’ Her voice was rich with feminine disdain. ‘Would it help if I told you they were all pacifists?’
‘Is it true?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No. But we were talking about you.’
‘You’re right. I need a wife for a week. Will you do it?’ Nick waited as the waiter set their meals in front of them. Waited while she thanked the man, reached for her napkin and set it across her lap, her features relaxed, her expression noncommittal. She was more than he remembered from the shop. More vibrant. More thoughtful. Four brothers.
‘I’d need to know more about you than I do now,’ she said finally.
‘I’ll send you a fact file.’
‘I’m not a fact-file person.’
Why was he not surprised?
‘No,’ she continued. ‘I’m more of a hands-on person. You’re going to have to show me where you live, where you work and what it is you do all day. That kind of thing.’
Nick groaned.
‘You can send me the fact file as well,’ she said with a placating smile. ‘I don’t suppose it can hurt. And we’re going to need some rules.’
‘What sort of rules?’ He wasn’t very good with rules. Probably not worth mentioning.
‘I want physical contact limited to public places,’ she said firmly.
‘No problem.’ His lips twitched.
‘And only when we have an audience.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’ At this rate she’d get through every sexual fantasy on his list before dessert. ‘What else?’
‘I’ll follow your lead but only within reason. I won’t be a simpering “yes” wife.’
‘But you will simper a little?’
Her chin came up; her eyes flashed warningly. ‘Can’t see it happening.’
‘Okay, I can see that simpering might be a stretch for you. Forget the simpering.’ He wouldn’t. ‘Can you do possessive?’
‘That I can do,’ she said. ‘You want the whole hands-off-my-man, slapping routine?’
‘No slapping,’ he said. ‘Ladies don’t slap.’
‘You never said anything about being a lady.’
Fantasy number three. Damn she was good.
‘Oh, and there’s one more thing…’
‘There is?’ Every man had his limits and Nick had just reached his. His brain fogged, his blood headed south and he was thinking leather, possibly handcuffs, although where he was going to get handcuffs from was anyone’s guess. Silk, then. No problem finding silk in Hong Kong.
‘Earth calling Nick?’ said Hallie in exasperation. She’d seen that glazed look before. Knew that Nick Cooper was definitely not thinking business. Men! They could never multitask. ‘Nick! Can you hear me?’
‘Oh, I’m listening.’
He had the damnedest voice. The laziest smile. But this was a business arrangement. Business, no matter how tempting it was to think otherwise. ‘My return ticket stays with me.’
CHAPTER TWO
HALLIE couldn’t quite remember whose idea it had been to tour Nick’s workplace after dinner, only that it had seemed a sensible suggestion at the time. Business, she reminded herself as they stepped from the restaurant out into the cool night air and he slipped his jacket around her shoulders. Strictly business, as she snuggled down into the warmth of his coat and breathed in the rich, masculine scent of him. The fact that his chivalrous gesture made her feel feminine and desirable was irrelevant. So was the fact that he was quirky and charming and thoroughly good company. This wasn’t a date, not a real one. This was business.
Nick’s office was only a couple of blocks away, familiar territory, this part of Chelsea, and they walked there in companionable silence.
‘I need to make a phone call,’ she said as Nick halted in front of a classy office block and unlocked the double doors that led through to a small but elegant foyer. ‘I’m flatting with one of my brothers at the moment. He’s a touch protective; he likes to know where I am if I’m out with someone new. I used to get annoyed with him. Nowadays I just tell him what he wants to know.’ Most of the time. She pulled out her mobile and dialled Tris’s number, grateful when she got the answering service rather than Tris himself. She relayed her whereabouts and disconnected fast. ‘No offence,’ she said smoothly.
‘None taken. It’s a smart move. Makes you a smart woman,’ said Nick.
Nice reply.
He ushered her into the lift, the doors closed, and it was intimate, very intimate in there. She cleared her throat, risked a glance. Impressive profile. Big feet. And an awareness between them that was so thick she could almost reach out and touch it, touch him, which wouldn’t be smart at all. He turned towards her and smiled that slow, easy smile that bypassed brains and headed straight for the senses, and then—
‘We’re here,’ he said, and the lift doors slid open.
Nick’s office suite was a visual explosion of colour and movement. Cartoon drawings covered every inch of available wall space; computers and scanners crammed every desk. There was a kitchenette full of coffee and cola; a plastic trout mounted above the microwave. The whole place was organized chaos and completely intriguing. ‘So how many people work here?’ she wanted to know.
‘Twelve, including me.’
‘Let me guess—they’re all men.’
‘Except for Fiona our secretary. Sadly she refuses to clean.’
‘I like her already.’
‘Figures,’ he said. ‘So does Clea. This is my office,’ he said, opening a door to a room that was surprisingly tidy.
‘What’s the basketball hoop for?’
‘Thinking.’
Right. ‘And the flat-screen TV and recliner armchairs?’ There were two chairs, side by side, a metre or so back from the wall-mounted television.
‘Working.’
Ah. Why she’d expected a regular office with regular décor was beyond her. There was nothing the least bit ordinary about Nicholas Cooper. ‘So tell me more about this game of yours. Is it something I’d know all about if we were married?’
‘You’d know about it.’ Nick’s voice was rich with humour as he slid a disc into the gaming console and gestured towards an armchair. ‘If we really had been married these past three years you’d have banned all talk of it by now.’
That didn’t sound very wifely. ‘Couldn’t I have been supportive and encouraging?’
‘Sure you could. I was thinking realistically, but we don’t have to do that. We can do fantasy instead.’
‘Hey, it’s your call. You’re the fantasy expert. By the way, how long did you tell your distributor you’d been married for?’
‘I didn’t.’ He slid her a glance. ‘I’m thinking a couple of months, maybe less. That way if we don’t know something about the other it won’t seem so odd.’
‘Works for me.’ And then the game came on. The opening music was suitably raucous, the female figure on the screen impressively funky. ‘Very nice,’ she said politely. ‘What does she do?’
‘Mostly she fights.’ He handed her a gaming hand-set. ‘Press a button, any button.’
Hallie pressed buttons at random and was rewarded by a flurry of kicks, spins and feminine grunts. Not, Hallie noted, that the figure on the screen even came close to raising a sweat. ‘Are those proportions anatomically possible?’ she wanted to know.
‘Not for earth women,’ said Nick. ‘Which she’s not. Xia here is from New Mars.’
‘New Mars, huh? I should have guessed. The clothes she’s almost wearing are a dead give-away. Does she have a wardrobe-change option?’
‘You want to change her clothes?’
‘Well, she can hardly kick Martian butt in six inch stilettos, now can she?
He stared.
Hallie sighed. ‘You’re losing credibility here, Nick.’
‘What did you do before you sold shoes?’ he wanted to know. ‘Bust balls?’
‘I worked a blackjack table at a casino in Sydney for a while.’
‘Why did you stop?’
‘I never saw sunlight.’
‘And before that?’
‘A brief stint washing dogs in a poodle parlour.’ The memory was dim, but still worthy of a shudder. ‘Too many fleas.’
‘So are you actually trained in anything?’
‘I have a fine arts degree, if that counts for anything. And I’m halfway through a Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art. That’s why I came to London.’
‘Why East Asian Art?’
‘My father’s a history professor with a particular interest in dynasty ceramics, and I hung out in his workshop when I was a kid, read all his books.’ It had been the crazy-cracks in the glazes that had first captured her interest. The rich history behind each of the pieces had held it.
‘So you’re following in your father’s footsteps. He must be proud of you.’
‘No, mostly my father ignores me. I learn anyway. I can spot a fake dynasty vase at fifty paces. In fact I’m absolutely certain the Ming in the Central Museum’s a fake.’
He stared.
‘All right, ninety per cent certain.’
‘So why aren’t you finishing your diploma?’
‘I will be. Just as soon as I earn enough money for my last two semesters.’
‘By selling shoes?’
‘It’s a job, isn’t it?’ she said defensively. ‘Interesting, well-paid jobs are hard to come by when you’re a student. Employers know you’re just filling a gap.’
‘Couldn’t you ask your family to help out?’
‘No.’ Her voice was cool; he’d touched a nerve. Her brothers would have lent her the money. Hell, they’d wanted to give her the money, and so had her father for that matter, but she’d refused them all. Little Miss Independent, and it galled her that they hadn’t understood why she’d refused. None of her brothers had taken money from anyone when they’d started out. She was staying with Tris because he had a spare bedroom and because London rentals were outrageously expensive. That was all the help she was prepared to accept.
No, money for nothing wasn’t her style at all. But ten thousand pounds for a week’s work…a week’s fairly unorthodox and demanding work…Well now, that was a different matter altogether.
‘How much do you need to complete your studies?’ he asked curiously.
‘Ten thousand pounds plus money to live on. But I’ve already saved five so with your ten thousand I figure I’ve got it covered.’
‘And then what?’ he said. ‘Will you roam the world in search of ancient artefacts and long-lost oriental treasure?’
‘Yeah, just like Lara Croft and Indiana Jones,’ she said, heavy on the sarcasm. ‘You know, maybe you need to get out more. You might just be spending too much time in fantasy land.’
‘See? I knew it wouldn’t take long before you started sounding like a real wife,’ he countered with a grin. ‘Don’t you want to be a tomb raider?’
Sure she did. She just didn’t think it very likely. And as for sounding like a nagging wife…Hah! Wait till she really put her mind to it. ‘Right now I’m thinking I want to be Xia here, because she’s really good at this alien butt kicking business, isn’t she? What does she get if she wins?’
‘Points.’
‘Points as in money? Does she get to shop afterwards?’
‘Only for a new weapon.’
‘What, no plastic surgery? Because I really think a breast reduction is a must here.’
‘Our target demographic is teenage boys.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’
‘Besides, there’s nothing wrong with her breasts—those are excellent breasts. Fantasy breasts.’
Hallie sighed.
‘Not that yours aren’t very nice too,’ Nick added politely.
‘Mine are real,’ she said dryly, slanting him a sideways glance. ‘Completely real. Just in case anyone should ask.’
‘I’m very impressed.’ His eyes were blue, very blue, and his smile was pure pirate. ‘Because they look to be in excellent shape. I should probably take a closer look; acquire a real feel for them, so to speak. I’m not a fact-file person either.’
‘Is your distributor’s daughter watching?’ she countered smoothly, even as her breasts tingled and her nipples tightened at the thought of him touching her there. ‘Are we in a public place?’
‘Sadly, no.’ And through eyes half closed, his attention back on the screen, ‘Man, I love kinky women.’
Oh, boy. ‘So what’s in this game for us girls?’ she said hastily. ‘Other than this very cool vibrating controller.’
‘Shang.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Shang. Paladin princeling.’
Nick flicked back to the main menu and a male figure appeared on the screen. He had dark, carelessly cut hair, an exotic face, a tough, lean body, and was no slouch in the ammunition department either. ‘Is that a gun in his pocket or is he just glad to see me?’
Now it was Nick’s turn to sigh. ‘You’re not taking this seriously.’
‘It’s a game, Nick. I’m not meant to.’
‘You’re right, you’re not. My mistake. I’m the one who has to take it seriously. My people have spent three years developing this platform, Hallie, and now it’s up to me to market it. I can’t afford to make mistakes. Not with John Tey, not with his daughter. That’s where you come in.’
‘Call me naive when it comes to big business, but I think lying to a potential business partner about your marital status is a mistake,’ Hallie felt obliged to point out.
‘You sound like my conscience,’ he muttered. ‘If you have a plan C let’s hear it.’
‘Ah, well, I don’t currently have a plan C.’
‘Pity.’
He looked tired, sounded wistful. As if having to deceive John Tey really didn’t sit well with him. Sympathy washed over her and all of a sudden she wanted to slide over to his recliner and comfort him. Weave her hands through that dark, tousled hair, touch her mouth to his and feel the passion slide through her and the heat start to build as she feasted on that clever, knowing mouth and—Whoa! Stop right there. Because that wasn’t sympathy.
That was lust.
‘What?’ He was looking at her strangely.
‘Indigestion,’ she said. ‘I think it was something I ate. Probably the clams.’
‘Probably the situation,’ he said. ‘What’s it to be, Hallie? Are you in or out?’
Hallie hesitated, tempted to say ‘yes’. Not for the adventure, the excitement, or the money, but so that she could spend more time with Nick. The same Nick who was prepared to pay her ten thousand pounds so that at the end of the charade she’d leave.
A sensible woman would refuse him now and save herself the heartbreak, the genuine heartbreak, that was bound to come if a woman was careless enough to fall for him. A smart woman would sigh over that Hermès handbag, maybe even spend a minute or two imagining what it would look like on her arm, but in the end she’d turn away. That was what she should do.
What she said was, ‘Do you believe in destiny, Nick? Do you believe in fate?’
‘Only as a last resort. Why?’
‘I think we should let the game decide. Xia and Shang against the Martians. If we win we go to Hong Kong as man and wife. If we lose, you throw yourself on the tender mercies of Mr Tey and spill your guts.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
She was.
‘Deal,’ he said, and the fighting began.
Two murderous hours later it was decided. They were going to Hong Kong.
Hallie’s bedside phone was ringing. She rolled across the bed arm outstretched, groping wildly. Because no way on earth were her eyes going to open at this hour. Her evening with Nick hadn’t been a late one by anyone’s standards, but it wasn’t morning by most people’s standards either. It was still dark, not even dawn. She found the phone, found her ear. ‘Lo,’ she mumbled.
‘Can you get some time off work this afternoon?’
‘Nick?’
‘Yes. Nick.’ He sounded impatient.
‘Couldn’t this have waited till morning?’ she mumbled.
‘It is morning. Were you still in bed?’
Hallie slitted her eyes open to glance at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock. Five-fifty a.m! Ugh, he was a morning person. The notion was going to take some time to digest. She held the receiver to her breast and took several deep breaths before putting it back to her ear. ‘This is my one day off a week and, I’m warning you, there’d better be a good reason for this call. What do you want?’
‘To let you know we have an appointment at Tiffany’s at two this afternoon to get your rings.’
‘Rings?’ Hallie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Tiffany’s? As in Tiffany and Co. the jewellers?’ She was wide awake.
‘Wedding ring, engagement ring. It’ll be expected. The manager of the store on Old Bond Road’s a friend of mine; he’s going to let me borrow some pieces,’ said Nick. ‘After that we’ll go shopping. You’ll need suitable clothes as well.’
Shopping for clothes? This coming from the lips of a man? ‘You’re gay, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ he said, with a smile in his voice that curled her toes.
‘Cross-dresser?’
‘Nope.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Nor am I drunk.’ Exasperation in his voice this time, giving her toes a chance to relax. ‘The way we present ourselves in Hong Kong is going to be important and I’m guessing there’s nothing in your wardrobe that’s suitable.’
‘Suitable how?’ she snapped as visions of tailored suits and pillbox hats floated through her mind. ‘You’re going to dress me up like Jackie Kennedy, aren’t you? You’re having make-over fantasies!’
‘I wasn’t until now.’ The smile was back in his voice—yep, there went her toes. ‘And I’m not thinking First Lady exactly, but we can’t have you looking like Marilyn Monroe either.’
She should have been insulted. Would have been except that this was a sex goddess he was comparing her to. ‘Who’s paying for these clothes?’
‘I am. Consider it a perk.’
‘I love this job,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m in. Two o’clock sharp at the jeweller’s. Oh, and, Nick?’
‘What?’
He sounded complacent. Indulgent. As if she’d reacted exactly as any good little plaything would. ‘Bring your mother.’
Hallie arrived at the jeweller’s at exactly two o’clock, only to find Nick and Clea waiting for her outside, Clea looking thoughtful, Nick looking just plain smug.
‘We got here a little early so we’ve already been in,’ said Nick. ‘Stuart’s given me some pieces on loan. I’m sure you’ll like them.’
‘What do you mean you’re sure I’ll like them? You mean I don’t even get to go into the shop and ogle the pieces for myself?’ Hallie stared at him, aghast. Surely he was kidding. ‘Don’t you need to measure my ring size or something? I mean, what if the rings you’ve chosen don’t fit?’
‘Here, dear, try this on.’ Clea handed her one of her own rings, a wide band of square-cut diamonds set in platinum. ‘We used this one for size. I usually have a good eye for these things.’
Hallie slipped the band on her wedding-ring finger and stared at it in dismay. It was a perfect fit.
‘Does it fit?’ asked Nick, all solicitousness. ‘It looks like it fits.’
‘Sadist,’ she retaliated, handing the ring back to Clea, and, with one last lingering glance through the doors of one of London’s landmark jewellery stores, she turned away.
‘Did you get the week off work?’ Nick asked her.
‘Yes. The owner’s niece is going to fill in for me,’ said Hallie, recalling the conversation she’d had with her employer earlier that morning. No need to tell Nick that if the niece liked the job, she was out of one. If everything went to plan she wouldn’t need the job anyway.
‘What about your brother? The one you’re staying with. Does he know you’re going to Hong Kong?’
‘Not yet. It turns out he’s also going to be away next week. I’ll leave him a note.’
‘That’ll go down well,’ muttered Nick.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Hallie smiled brightly. ‘So where to now?’
Ten minutes later they were standing outside one of the most exclusive clothing boutiques in Knightsbridge. ‘Are we sure about this?’ said Hallie hesitantly. Buying an outfit or two from a mid-range clothing store was one thing; dropping a bundle on a week’s worth of designer clothes was quite another. ‘I’m all for being well dressed, but do we really need to shop somewhere quite this exclusive?’
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Clea. ‘I get a very good discount here.’
‘You want to hope so,’ Hallie muttered to Nick as she stared at the sophisticated power suit in the display window. ‘I think it only fair to warn you that I still have nightmares about the first time my brothers took me shopping for clothes. Pinafore dresses that came to my ankles. Sweaters up to my chin. Wide-brimmed straw hats…’
‘And very sensible too, dear, those hats, what with the harsh Australian sun and your skin type,’ said Clea.
Hallie groaned. And here she’d been hoping that Clea would be an ally when it came to clothes. ‘My point is I battled for years for the right to choose my own clothes, and I’m not about to relinquish it now.’ She pointed a stern finger at Nick. ‘You can tell me what kind of look you’re after, but I won’t have you choosing clothes for me. Are we clear on that?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Having said that, I will of course ask your opinion on the things I’ve chosen. I’m not an unreasonable woman. You can tell me if you like something.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Hallie considered the question. She could be a bit contrary at times. ‘Probably best not to say anything,’ she said, and, squaring her shoulders, sailed on into the shop.
The boutique was streamlined and classy, the coiffed and polished saleswoman just that little bit daunting, never mind that she greeted Clea with friendly familiarity.
‘Size eight, I think,’ said the saleswoman after turning an assessing eye on Hallie.
‘Ten,’ said Hallie.
‘In this shop, darling, you’re an eight.’
Hallie liked the woman better already.
‘Do you have any colour preferences?’ the woman asked.
‘I like them all.’
The saleswoman barely suppressed a shudder. ‘Yes, dear. But do they all like you? Let’s start with grey.’
Hallie opened her mouth to protest, but the woman was having none of it. She pulled a matching skirt and jacket from the rack and held them out commandingly. ‘Of course, it relies on the wearer for colour and life, but I think you’ve got that covered.’
‘Umm…’ Hallie took the suit from the woman and held it up for Nick’s inspection. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m confused,’ he said. ‘If I tell you I like it you may or may not decide to buy it, depending on whether you like it. However, if I say I don’t like it you’ll feel compelled to buy it whether you like it or not. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ Hallie felt a smile coming on. ‘So what do you think?’
‘Try it on.’
And then when she did and his eyes narrowed and his face grew carefully impassive. ‘No?’ she asked. ‘It’s probably not the look you were after.’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘It is.’
Still she hesitated. ‘It’s very—’
‘Elegant,’ he said. ‘Understated. Just what we’re looking for.’
Elegant, eh? Not a term she’d normally use to describe herself. She’d won the right to choose her own clothes in her late teens and in typical teenager fashion she’d headed straight for the shortest skirts and the brightest, tightest tops. Okay, so she’d matured a little since then—she did have some loose-fitting clothes somewhere in her wardrobe, but truth was they didn’t often see daylight. She had never, ever, worn anything as classy as this. The suit clung to her every curve, the material was soft and luxurious beneath her hands, like cashmere only not. Even the colour wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. And yet…
‘It’s not really me, though, is it?’ she said.
‘Think of it as a costume,’ said Nick. ‘Think corporate wife.’
‘I don’t know any corporate wives.’ Hallie turned to Clea, who was busily browsing a rack of clothes. ‘Unless you’re one?’
‘No!’ said Nick hastily. ‘She’s not!’
‘It’s very grey, isn’t it, dear?’ said Clea, who glittered like a Vegas slot machine in her gold trousers and blood-red chiffon shirt with its strategically placed psychedelic gold swirls.
‘Greyer than a Chinese funeral vase,’ agreed Hallie glumly. ‘Do you have anything a bit more cheerful?’ she asked the saleswoman.
‘What about this?’ said Clea, holding up a boldly flowered silk sundress in fuchsia, lime and ivory. ‘This is pretty.’
‘Why my mother?’ muttered Nick. ‘Why couldn’t we have brought along your mother?’
‘She died when I was six,’ said Hallie, and then to Clea, ‘I like that.’ She held it up to her body, twirled around, and looked up to find Nick regarding her intently.
‘Sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘You said you’d been raised by your father and brothers but I didn’t make the connection. Try it on.’
And when she did…
‘She’ll take it,’ he told the saleswoman, and to Hallie, ‘That’s non-negotiable.’
‘Lucky for you I happen to agree,’ said Hallie.
‘His father had excellent taste in clothes as well,’ said Clea. ‘Bless his soul.’
But Hallie wasn’t listening. She was looking at herself in the mirror and her reflection was frowning right back at her as she turned and twirled, first one way and then the other. Finally, hands on hips, she turned to Nick.
‘Does this dress make me look fat?’
Two hours later, Hallie and Clea had purchased enough clothes for a six-month stint on the QEII, and as far as Nick was concerned he was neither the sadist Hallie had accused him of being, nor the skinflint his mother claimed. No, for a man to endure so much and complain so little, he was quite simply a saint.
‘So where to now? Are we done?’ said Hallie after they’d seen Clea to her Mercedes and watched her drive away. ‘Is there anything you need?’
‘A bar,’ he muttered with heartfelt sincerity.
‘Good call,’ said Hallie. ‘I’ll come too. I never realized boutique shopping was such thirsty work. Mind you, I’ve never bought more than a couple of items of clothes at any one time before either. Who knew?’
‘You’re not going to rehash every dress decision you just made, are you?’
‘Who, me?’ She was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Only if you insist.’
Nick shuddered, spotted a sports bar a few doors up and practically bolted for the door. He needed a drink, somewhere to sit. Somewhere with dark wood, dark carpet, dim lighting, good Scotch and no mirrors. He needed it bad.
‘Ah-h-h,’ said Hallie as she slid into the booth beside him. ‘Very nice.’
‘You don’t find it a little too…masculine?’
‘Nope. Feels pretty homely to me. I have four brothers, remember?’
‘Trust me, I hadn’t forgotten. Where do they live?’
‘Wherever their work takes them. Luke’s a Navy diver midway through a three-year stint in Guam; Pete’s flying charter planes in Greece; Jake runs a martial arts dojo in Singapore and Tristan lives here in London. He’s the one I’m staying with while I do my course.’
‘Tristan?’ After Pete, Luke and Jake, a brother named Tristan sounded somewhat incongruous. ‘What does Tristan do?’
‘He works for Interpol.’
‘Paper pusher?’
‘Black ops,’ she corrected. ‘But he’s a pussycat really.’
Sure he was. All black ops specialists were pussycats. It was such a caring, non-confrontational profession. ‘You know, maybe I need a different type of wife for Hong Kong,’ he said. ‘Maybe I need a brunette.’
‘I was a brunette once,’ said Hallie. ‘The hairdresser was a young guy, just starting out, and we decided to experiment. He left the salon not long after that.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m sure Tris wouldn’t really have castrated him.’
Maybe he was doomed. ‘Or a blonde,’ he muttered. ‘I could always replace you with a blonde.’
‘Ha. You can’t fool me. You’re not going to replace me now; you’d have to go clothes shopping again.’
Nick shuddered. She was right. Replacing her was out of the question.
‘Besides,’ she continued blithely, ‘it’s not as if I’m going to be telling any of my brothers the finer details of our little arrangement. They wouldn’t understand.’
On this they were in total accord.
‘So tell me about your family,’ she said, deftly changing the focus back to him and his. ‘When did your father die?’
‘Two years ago. He was a property developer.’
‘And Clea? You said she wasn’t a corporate wife. What does she do?’
‘Many people find it hard to believe, but she’s an architect. A very good one.’
‘Is that how they met? Through their work?’
‘No, they met at a birthday party. Clea was in the cake. I try not to think about it.’
‘What about brothers and sisters?’
‘There’s just me.’
‘Didn’t you ever get lonely?’ she asked.
‘Nope.’ She looked as if she was struggling with the only-child concept. ‘I had plenty of friends, plenty of company. And whenever I had any spare time there was always a computer handy and a dozen imaginary worlds to get lost in.’
‘And now you create fantasy worlds for a living. I guess that means you always knew what you wanted to do, even as a kid.’
‘I always did it. Is that the same thing?’
‘Probably. My brothers always knew what they wanted to do when they grew up too.’ Hallie’s smile was wry. ‘With me it was different…every week a new idea…astronaut, race-car driver, professional stunt-woman…My family’s still not convinced I won’t change my mind about wanting to work in the art business.’
‘And will you?’
‘Who knows?’ she said with a shrug. ‘I love the thrill that comes with finding something old and beautiful, and I love discovering its history and the history of the people behind it. Hopefully I’ll find work with a respectable dealer in Asian antiquities and it’ll be fascinating, but if it’s not…well…I’ll do something else. At least I’ll have given it a try.’
‘You want to make your own mistakes.’
‘That’s it!’ There was fire in her eyes, passion in her voice. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to make your own decisions with four older brothers all hell-bent on guiding you through life? I mean honestly, Nick, I’m twenty-four years old and I’m not a slow learner! So what if I make a mistake or two along the way? I’ll fix them. I certainly don’t need my brothers charging in to straighten me out every time I step sideways.’ Hallie’s chin came up; he was beginning to know that look. ‘I can take care of myself. I want to take care of myself. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Not at all. What you want is freedom.’
‘And equality,’ she said firmly. ‘And it wouldn’t kill them to show me a bit of respect every now and then too.’
Right. Nick quelled the slight twinge of sympathy he was beginning to feel for her brothers and concentrated on the bigger picture. Freedom, equality, respect! He could manage that. It wasn’t as if she was asking for the sun, the moon and the stars to go with it.
‘I want you to know that even though I’m paying you a great deal of money to deceive my future business partner you have my utmost respect,’ he stated firmly. ‘We’re in this together as equals.’
And to the drinks waiter who had appeared at his side, ‘Two single-malt Scotches. Neat.’
CHAPTER THREE
THREE days later Hallie boarded a plane to Hong Kong. She’d been manicured, pedicured, pampered and polished and was corporate-wife chic in her lightweight camel-coloured trousers and pink camisole. Her shoes matched her top, her handbag was Hermès, and Nick was at her side, thoroughly eye-catching in a grey business suit and crisp white business shirt minus the tie. She was the woman who had it all, and it was all pure fantasy.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t embrace the moment.
Wispy streaks of cloud scattered the midday sky, their seats were business class, the take-off was perfect, and Hallie relaxed into her seat, prepared to be thoroughly indulged, only to discover that any woman sitting next to Nick was more likely to be thoroughly ignored. That or she was currently invisible to the women of the world as they dimpled, sighed, primped and preened for him.
The flight attendants settled once the flight was underway and went about their business with efficient professionalism, but the encouraging smiles of the female passengers continued. One innovative young lady even managed to trip and fall gracefully into Nick’s lap amidst a flurry of breathless apology and a great deal of full body contact.
‘Do women always fall over their feet trying to get your attention?’ she asked once the woman had gone.
‘Actually, she fell over my feet,’ said Nick. ‘They were sticking out into the aisle. It was my fault she landed in my lap.’
‘And her breasts in your face? That was your fault too?’
Nick shrugged, trying to look a picture of innocence and failing miserably. ‘She was trying to get up,’ he said in her defence. ‘These things happen.’
‘So I see.’
He was used to it, Hallie decided. He was just plain used to women falling all over him. ‘You know, you’d save yourself a lot of unwanted attention if you wore a wedding ring,’ she said. She was wearing one, along with a diamond engagement ring the size of a small egg. As far as the world was concerned she was well and truly taken. Nick’s hands, however, were ring-free.
‘I wasn’t wearing one last time I visited,’ he countered. ‘It’d seem a bit strange if I turned up wearing one now.’
‘No, it wouldn’t, considering what happened.’ She was beginning to sense some reluctance here. ‘Say we really were married, would you wear a ring then?’
‘You’d have to insist.’ He slid her a sideways glance. ‘You would too, wouldn’t you?’
‘Absolutely.’ She held her left hand up between them, angling her fingers so that the diamond sparkled in the light. ‘Some people actually respect the sanctity of marriage and don’t hit on a person wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Funny,’ he said dryly. ‘You don’t look that naive.’
‘Hah. It just so happens I don’t think I’m being naive. But I do concede that if you never wear one we’ll never know.’
The clumsy young thing was back, all purring solicitousness as she asked Nick if she’d hurt him, if he was feeling all right, and was there anything, absolutely anything, she could do for him.
Honestly!
‘Oh, I think we’ve got it covered.’ Hallie smiled, sharp as a blade as her hand—the one with those shiny rings on it—came to rest high on Nick’s trouser clad thigh. Nothing subtle about that particular manoeuvre; she was claiming ownership and the other woman knew it. ‘On second thoughts, darling, you feel a bit cold,’ she said to Nick as she squeezed gently and slid her hand a fraction higher up his thigh. Muscles jumped beneath her palm even as the rest of him went absolutely still. ‘Would you like a blanket for your lap? There’s one in the webbing in front of you.’
With an annoyed pout and a narrow-eyed glare for Hallie, the other woman made herself scarce. Not that Nick noticed. His wife had his attention now. His complete and utter attention.
‘What are you doing?’ he rasped.
‘Practising.’
‘For what? The mile-high club?’
Hallie’s smile widened. Really, his imagination was so delightfully easy to manipulate. ‘I’m practising my possessive moves for when I meet Jasmine.’
‘Well, would you mind practising with your hand somewhere else? I’m not made of stone.’
This was debatable. Right this minute, Nicholas Cooper’s thigh was hard as a rock. ‘Sorry, my mistake. I thought we agreed on physical contact in public places,’ she said as she withdrew her hand, reached for the blanket and draped it across his knees. She shouldn’t bait him; she knew it. But she couldn’t resist. ‘This is a public place,’ she said sweetly. ‘And we did have an audience.’
‘You know, you’re right. You’re absolutely right,’ he said. He flicked off the overhead light, brought her hand back to his thigh and drew the blanket over his lap with a smile that was pure challenge. ‘Feel free to continue.’
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Kelly Hunter
Nicholas Cooper must produce a wife for his business deal, and Hallie Bennett is beautiful and intelligent enough to pull it off. She needs the money, and Nicholas has determined some strict rules for their week together. Rule No. 1: Displays of affection in public only Keeping their hands on each other in public turns out to be surprisingly easy.It's keeping them off in private that's the problem. Hallie is falling for Nicholas, but will Nicholas make his contract wife his real-life bride?
Wife For A Week
Kelly Hunter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To generous hearts
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
HALLIE BENNETT had been selling shoes for exactly one month. One long, mind-numbing month working solo at the exclusive little shoe shop in London’s fashionable Chelsea, and she really didn’t think she’d last another. Back in the storeroom she’d sorted every pair of shoes by designer, then model and finally by size. Out here on the shop floor she’d arranged the stock by colour and within the colours, by function. Dusting and vacuuming? Done. Serving customers? Not yet but, hey, it was only midday.
Hallie picked up the nearest shoe, a pretty leopard-print open-toed sandal with an onyx heel, and tried to figure out why anyone would actually pay three hundred and seventy-five pounds for a pair of them. She dangled it from her fingertips, turned it this way and that before finally balancing it on her palm.
‘So what do you think, shoe? Are we going to cram a sweet size six like you onto a size eight foot today?’
A quick jiggle made the shoe nod.
‘I think so too but what can I do? They never listen. These women wouldn’t be caught dead in a size eight shoe. Now if they were men it’d be different. As far as men are concerned, the bigger the better.’ The door to the shop opened, the bell tinkled, and Hallie hurriedly set the shoe back on its pedestal and turned around.
‘Darling, what a thoroughly daunting shop! I swear, until I saw you talking to that shoe I didn’t dare come in.’
The woman who had spoken was a study in contradictions. Her clothes were pure glamour, and her figure was a triumph over nature considering that she had to be in her late fifties. But her wrinkles were un-ironed, her hair was grey, and her ‘darling’ had been warm, possibly even genuine.
‘Come on in,’ said Hallie with a smile. ‘Look around. Trust me, they never talk back.’
‘Oh, you’re an Australian!’ said the woman, clearly delighted with the notion. ‘I love Australian accents. Such marvellous vowel sounds.’
Hallie’s smile widened, and she spared a glance for the woman’s companion as he followed her into the shop, a glance that automatically upgraded to a stare because, frankly, she couldn’t help it.
As far as women’s fashion accessories went, he was spectacular. A black-haired, cobalt-eyed, dangerous-looking toy who no doubt warned you outright not to bother playing with him if you didn’t like his rules. He was like a Hermès handbag; women saw and women wanted, even though they knew the price was going to be astronomical. And then he spoke.
‘She needs a pair of shoes,’ he said in a deep baritone that was utterly sexy. ‘Something more appropriate for a woman her age.’
‘You’re new at this, aren’t you?’ muttered Hallie before turning to stare down at the woman’s shoes, a stylish pair of Ferragamo man-eaters with a four-inch heel. They were a perfect fit for the woman’s perfectly manicured size-six feet. They were fire-engine red. ‘There is nothing wrong with those shoes,’ said Hallie reverently. ‘Those shoes are gorgeous!’
‘Thank you, dear,’ said the woman. ‘Why a woman turns fifty and all of a sudden certain people to whom she gave birth start thinking she should be wearing orthopaedic shoes is completely beyond me.’ The woman seemed to age ten years as wrinkles creased and unshed tears leached even more colour from eyes that would have once been a bright sparkling blue. ‘Your father would have loved these shoes!’
Ah. It was all starting to make sense. He of the indigo glare was the woman’s son and right now he was in big trouble. ‘Right,’ said Hallie brightly. ‘Well, I’ll just be over by the counter if you need me.’
He moved fast, blocking her escape. ‘Don’t even think of leaving me alone with this woman. Give her some shoes to try on. Anything!’ He picked up the open-toed leopard-print sandal. ‘These!’
‘An excellent choice,’ she said, deftly plucking it from his hand. ‘And a steal at only three hundred and seventy-five pounds. Maybe your mother would like two pairs?’
His eyes narrowed. Hallie smiled back.
‘If only I had something to look forward to,’ said the woman with a sigh that was pure theatre as she sat on the black leather sofa and slipped off her shoes. ‘Grandchildren, for instance. I need grandchildren.’
‘Everyone needs something,’ said her son, looking not at his mother but at her. ‘What do you need?’
‘Another job,’ said Hallie, kneeling to fit the sandals. ‘This one’s driving me nuts.’ She sat back on her heels and surveyed the sandals. ‘They fit you beautifully.’
‘They do, don’t they?’
‘How do you feel about travel?’ he asked her while his mother preened.
‘Travel is my middle name.’
‘And your first name?’
‘Hallie. Hallie Bennett.’
‘Nicholas Cooper,’ he said and gestured towards the woman. ‘My mother, Clea.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Clea, her handshake warm and surprisingly firm. ‘Nicky, she’s darling! She’s perfect! You need a wife; you said so this morning. I think we’ve just found her.’
‘Wife?’ said Hallie. Wife? That’d teach her to shake hands with strangers. Nicholas Cooper’s smile was lazy. His mother’s was hopeful. Probably they were both mad.
‘He’s loaded,’ said Clea encouragingly.
‘Well, yes.’ She could see that from the way he dressed. He was also far too amused for his own good. ‘But is he creative?’
‘You should see his tax return.’
‘I don’t know, Clea. I think I prefer my men a little less…’ What? She slid Nicholas Cooper another quick glance. Sexy? Wild? Gorgeous? ‘Dark,’ she came up with finally. ‘I prefer blonds.’
‘Well, he’s not a blond,’ conceded Clea, ‘but look at his feet.’
Everyone looked.
He wore hand-stitched Italian leather lace-ups. Size twelve. Wide.
‘Of course, as his mother I can’t let you marry him unless you’re compatible, so maybe you should just kiss him and find out.’
‘What? Now? Ah, Clea, I really don’t think—’
‘Don’t argue with your future mother-in-law, dear. It’s bad form.’
‘No, really, I can’t. It’s not that, er, Nicky doesn’t have a lot going for him—’
‘Thanks,’ he said dryly. ‘You can call me Nick.’
‘Because clearly he does. It’s just that, well…’ She cast about for a reason to resist. Any reason. Yes, that would do. It wasn’t quite the truth, but little white lies were allowed in sticky situations, right? ‘I wouldn’t be very good wife material right now. I have a broken heart.’
‘Oh, Hallie, I’m so sorry,’ said Clea in a hushed voice. ‘What happened?’
‘It was terrible,’ she murmured. ‘I try not to think of it.’
Clea waited expectantly.
Obviously she was going to have to think of something. Hallie leaned forward and tried to look suitably woebegone. ‘He was secretly in love with his football coach the whole time we were together!’
‘The cad!’ said Clea.
‘Was he blond?’ said Nick. ‘I’m betting he was blond.’ He was standing beside her, close, very close, and she was kneeling there, her gaze directly level with…oh!
‘Are you sure you’re not interested?’ asked Clea.
Hallie nodded vigorously and dropped her gaze, looking for carpet and finding feet. Big feet. ‘It’s this job,’ she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Probably he was bluffing. Probably he had regular size-eight feet tucked into those enormous shoes. Her hand shot out of its own accord, spanning the soft leather of his shoe, testing the fit for width and finding it tight. Right. She pressed her thumb down and felt for toes, found them at the very top of the shoe. ‘Phew!’ She felt breathless. ‘It’s a tight fit.’
‘Always,’ he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘But I’m used to it.’
Hallie smiled weakly and scrambled to her feet as warmth spread rapidly through her cheeks. It was his eyes. His voice. Possibly his feet. Any one of them was a guaranteed temptation, but all three together? No wonder she was blushing.
‘What my mother meant to say was that I need someone to pretend to be my wife for a week. Next week to be precise. In Hong Kong. You’d be reimbursed of course. Say, five thousand the week, all expenses covered?’
‘Five thousand pounds? For a week’s work?’ There had to be a catch. ‘And what exactly would I have to do to earn that five thousand pounds?’
‘Share a room with me, but not a bed, which is fortunate considering your broken heart.’
Was he laughing at her? ‘What else would I have to do?’
‘Socialize with my clients; act like my wife.’
‘Could you be a little more specific?’
‘Nope. Just do whatever it is wives do. I’ve never had one; I wouldn’t know.’
‘I’ve never been one. I wouldn’t know either.’
‘Perfect,’ said Clea, bright-eyed. ‘I’m believing it already. Of course if the kiss isn’t convincing it’s just not going to work.’
‘No kissing,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m heartbroken, remember?’
‘There has to be kissing,’ he countered. ‘It’s part of the job description. Who knows? You might even like it.’ There was a subtle challenge to his words, lots of amusement.
‘Kissing would cost extra,’ she informed him loftily. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t exactly the sanest of conversations to begin with.
‘How much extra?’
Hallie paused. She needed ten thousand pounds to finish her Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art; she had five of it saved. ‘I’m thinking another five thousand should do it.’
‘Five thousand pounds for a few kisses?’ He sounded incredulous, still looked amused.
‘I’m a very good kisser.’
‘I think I’m going to need a demonstration.’
Now she’d done it. She was going to have to kiss him. Fortunately common sense kicked in and demanded she make it brief. And not too enthusiastic. One step put her within touching distance; a tilt of her head put her within kissing range. She stood on tiptoe and set her hands to his chest, found his shirt soft and warm from the wearing, with a hard wall of muscle beneath. But she digressed. With a quick breath, Hallie leaned forward and set her mouth to his.
His lips were warm and pleasant; his taste was one she could get used to. She didn’t linger.
‘Well, that was downright perfunctory,’ he said as she pulled away.
‘Best I can do given the circumstances.’ Hallie’s smile was smug; she couldn’t help it. ‘Sorry. No spark.’
‘I’m not sure I can justify paying five thousand pounds for kisses without spark.’ His lips twitched. ‘I’m thinking spark is a must.’
‘Spark is not part of the negotiation,’ she said sweetly. ‘Spark is a freebie. It’s either there or it’s not.’
‘Ah.’ There was a gleam in his eyes she didn’t entirely trust. ‘Turn around, Mother.’ And without waiting to see if his mother complied, Nicholas Cooper threaded his hands through her hair and his mouth descended on hers.
Hallie didn’t have time to protest. To prepare herself for his invasion as he teased her lips apart for a kiss that was anything but perfunctory. Plenty of chemistry here now, she thought hazily as his lips moved on hers, warm, lazy, and very, very knowledgeable. Plenty of heat as her mouth opened beneath his and she tasted passion and it was richer, riper than she’d ever known. She melted against him, sliding her hands across his shoulders to twine around his neck as he slanted his head and took her deeper, tasting her with his tongue, curling it around her own in a delicate duel.
If this was kissing, she thought with an incoherent little gasp, then she’d never really been kissed before. If this was kissing, imagine what his lovemaking would be like.
His smile was crookedly endearing when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair back in place. ‘Now that was much better,’ he said in that delicious bedroom voice, and she damn near melted in a puddle at his size-twelve feet. ‘We’ll take the shoes.’
Right. The shoes. She boxed the sandals with unsteady hands, swiped his credit card through the machine, fumbled for a pen and waited for him to sign the docket before she risked looking at him again. His hands were large like his feet, and his hair was mussed from where her hands had been.
What would it be like to pretend to be this man’s wife for a week? Foolish, certainly, not to mention hazardous to her perfectly healthy sex drive. What if he was as good as his kiss implied? What if they did end up doing…it? Who would ever measure up to him again?
No. Too risky. Besides, she’d have to be crazy to go to Hong Kong for a week with a perfect stranger. What if he was a white-slave trader? What if he left her there?
What if he was perfect?
He was halfway across the room before she opened her mouth. Almost to the door before she spoke. ‘So you’ll get back to me on the wife thing?’
At five thirty-five that afternoon, Hallie counted the day’s take. It wasn’t hard; she’d only made three sales and that included the shoes Nicholas Cooper had purchased for his mother. Next, she shut the customer door, turned the elegant little door sign to ‘closed’, and was about to set the alarm system when a breathless courier rapped on the display window and held up a flat rectangular parcel.
Not shoes, thought Hallie. Shoes did not arrive by courier in flat little parcels, even designer ones. But the courier’s credentials looked real, the address on the parcel was that of the shop, and the name on the paperwork was hers so she opened up with a sigh, signed for the parcel, and locked up behind him before turning back to the parcel.
It was a brown-paper package tied up with string. Hallie snipped and ripped to reveal a slim travel guide to Hong Kong and Nicholas Cooper’s business card. The card said he was a software developer. Good to know. She flipped it over and discovered a message on the back.
‘Marco’s on Kings,’ it read in bold black scrawl, and beneath that, ‘7 p.m. tonight, Nick.’
Presumptuous, yes, he was certainly that. His kiss had been presumptuous too.
Not to mention annoyingly unforgettable.
So what if Marco’s was one of the best seafood restaurants this side of heaven? No sensible woman would even consider his proposal. Pretending to be a complete stranger’s wife for a week was ridiculous, even by her standards.
And yet…
Hallie reached for the travel guide and smoothed it open, first one page, and then another.
Hong Kong: gateway to the orient. Money and superstition. Heat and a million camera shops. A squil-lion neon signs.
‘An enchanting blend of East meets West,’ read the travel guide. Half a world away from this shoe shop, whispered her brain. Ten thousand pounds.
So there were a few drawbacks.
Lies. Deception. Nick Cooper’s kisses. Hallie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and closed the book with a snap.
Big drawbacks.
And yet…
Twenty minutes later, Hallie let herself in through the front door of her brother’s Chelsea flat and dumped her handbag on the sideboard. Why Tris had bought the little two-bedroom apartment when he never stayed more than a year in any one place was a mystery, but she certainly appreciated the use of it. She’d never save enough money to finish her diploma if she had to pay rent. Not on her current wage, at any rate.
Ten thousand pounds, whispered her brain as she slipped off her shoes and padded down the hallway.
No.
Dinner at Marco’s, then. It’s only dinner.
No, it’s not. If you go to dinner you’ll ask him why he needs a wife for a week and then where will you be? Next thing you know, you’ll be agreeing to go to Hong Kong with him.
So?
Oh, boy. Hallie stumbled over the hallway runner and wondered just what it was about Nicholas Cooper that made her lose her mind.
He had a wicked smile. No doubt about it.
And his offer was definitely intriguing.
A rueful smile tugged at her lips. Best not to even think about his kisses.
Come ten to seven, Hallie had finished her argument and was in the bathroom, hurriedly applying make-up, when she heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of a man’s long, loping strides down the hall. Moments later Tris appeared in the doorway, little more than a vague shadow at the edge of her vision. ‘You’re back,’ she said, busy with the mascara. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
‘Plans change,’ he said. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Dinner at Marco’s on Kings Road.’
‘Classy.’ Was it just her imagination or was Tris a whole lot more preoccupied than usual. ‘Who with?’
Ah. That was more like it. ‘Nick.’
‘Nick?’
‘We met today. At the shop.’
‘He wears ladies’ shoes? Is this supposed to be reassuring?’
‘He came in with his mother. He bought her some shoes.’
‘Run,’ said Tris. ‘Run the other way.’
‘Nope. I’ve made up my mind. I’m having dinner with him.’ She finished with the mascara, reached for a smoky grey eyeliner.
‘So…’ said Tris. ‘Does Nick have a last name?’
‘Of course he does, but if I tell it to you you’ll run a check on him at work and come home and tell me what kind of toothpaste he uses. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s not even a date, exactly. More of a business opportunity.’
‘What kind of business opportunity?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’ No need to bore him with details. ‘Something involving travel.’
Tris sighed, heavily. ‘And you believed him.’
Time to change the subject. ‘There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge,’ she said as she dropped her lipstick into her evening bag and turned to leave the bathroom, halting abruptly as she took her first good look at her brother. ‘Whoa.’ His dark, shaggy hair was filthy, his left hand was carelessly bandaged and his clothes looked as if they’d been dragged through a sewer with him still wearing them, but it was his eyes that bothered her most. Because they were full of frustration and pain. ‘You look terrible.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Liar.’ She hated to see him hurting. ‘Want me to stick around?’
‘What? You’re going to cancel a free feed at Marco’s to stay here and fight me for the last of the lasagne?’ Tris summoned a faint smile. ‘Touching, yet stupid.’
‘The job went bad, didn’t it?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it, Hal.’
Hallie sighed. He never did. Tris didn’t talk about his work for Interpol, ever.
‘Go,’ he said, waving her away. ‘I’m gonna take a shower and get cleaned up. There’s nothing you can do. Eat. Be merry.’
And from within the confines of the bathroom as he shut the door behind him, ‘Don’t talk toothpaste.’
Nick Cooper always gave a woman fifteen minutes’ grace. Any longer than that and he was inclined to leave or start without them. Fact was, women enjoyed keeping men waiting. They did it deliberately to heighten anticipation and make a man wonder. To make a man want. All part of the game, but then games were Nick’s specialty. For every attack, there was a counter-attack, no matter how good your opponent. And Hallie Bennett’s fifteen minutes were almost up.
Not that Nick was even sure she was dining with him—as she hadn’t called—but he’d headed for Marco’s regardless. A man had to eat. And call it a hunch but he thought she’d show. He browsed the blackboard specials, scanned the printed menu, looked around for a waiter and saw instead the delectable Hallie Bennett heading his way. Her colouring was pure Renaissance, Titian hair, creamy complexion and golden brown eyes. But her hair was cropped to chin length and her face was pure arthouse Animae; all big eyes, clean lines and memorable mouth.
His body stirred and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to conceal the fierce rush of anticipation that accompanied her arrival as he stood to greet her. Kissing that smart mouth of hers into submission had been an absolute pleasure. Getting to know the rest of her was tempting, very tempting, but the truth was he couldn’t afford the distraction. He didn’t need a bed-mate this coming week; he needed a partner. Someone with an opportunistic streak, a quick wit, and a deft touch with the ridiculous.
So far, Ms Bennett had impressed him on all counts.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I wasn’t sure I was coming until the last minute.’
‘What made you change your mind?’ he asked as he saw her seated and tried to ignore the quickening of his breath and of his blood.
‘Hong Kong and ten thousand pounds,’ she said, her accompanying smile drawing his attention to the generous curve of her lips, currently painted a deep, luscious rose. Her lip colour matched her dress, a sleek, cling-wrap of a dress that emphasized the perfection of the body beneath. ‘I like your dress,’ he said with utmost sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes lightening with a humour that was hard to resist. ‘I like it too. Have you ordered?’
‘After you.’
She chose the clam chowder. He chose the reef fish and, at her nod, a bottle of white wine to wash it down.
‘I’m curious,’ she said once that was all settled. ‘You’re rich, you’re handsome, you’re healthy—you are healthy, aren’t you?’
‘Perfectly,’ he said, enjoying her candour.
‘So why do you need a pretend wife for a week?’
‘I’m negotiating distribution rights to a computer game my company has developed. Unfortunately, the distributor’s teenage daughter took a liking to me and I found it extremely difficult to, er, dissuade her.’
‘You mean you couldn’t fend off one fledgling female? You? You’re kidding me, right?’
‘Wrong.’ Nick sighed. He could handle predatory women, honest he could. But a semi-naked eighteen-year-old Jasmine Tey had cornered him in his bedroom late one night, and the sheer unexpectedness of it coupled with more than one glass of his host’s most excellent rice wine had rendered him momentarily incapable of sensible thought. ‘She was very young,’ he muttered defensively. ‘Very sweet. I was trying to let her down gently.’
‘You invented a wife,’ guessed Hallie. ‘And now you have to produce her.’
‘Exactly. Will you do it?’
‘Why not ask a woman you already know to help you out? She’d probably do it for free.’
‘Because then I’d have to dissuade her. Whereas you and I will have a business arrangement, a contractual obligation if you like, and once you’ve fulfilled that obligation, you leave.’
‘Ah-h-h.’
It was a very expressive ah-h-h.
‘Will you and your wife be staying with your associate and his family?’
Nick nodded. ‘They have a guest suite. And it’s only John Tey and his daughter. He’s a widower.’
‘Dining with them? Socializing? Getting to know them?’
‘All of that,’ he said.
Hallie Bennett leaned back in her chair and regarded him steadily. ‘That’s a lot of lies, Nick. Why don’t you just tell your distributor the truth? Maybe he’ll understand.’
‘Maybe.’ Nick didn’t have a good enough measure of the man to know. When it came to business, John Tey was cutthroat sharp. When it came to his daughter, the man was putty. ‘As far as I can see, John Tey gives his daughter everything she wants.’
‘I was raised by my father and four older brothers,’ countered Hallie. ‘Trust me, giving her what she wants won’t apply to men.’
She had a point.
‘Unless, of course, your distributor decides that marrying his daughter off to you makes good business sense.’
‘Exactly. I can’t risk it.’ He didn’t want to marry Jasmine. He didn’t want to marry anyone just yet. And then the bulk of her earlier remarks about her family registered. ‘Four older brothers, you said.’
‘Not you too.’ Her voice was rich with feminine disdain. ‘Would it help if I told you they were all pacifists?’
‘Is it true?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No. But we were talking about you.’
‘You’re right. I need a wife for a week. Will you do it?’ Nick waited as the waiter set their meals in front of them. Waited while she thanked the man, reached for her napkin and set it across her lap, her features relaxed, her expression noncommittal. She was more than he remembered from the shop. More vibrant. More thoughtful. Four brothers.
‘I’d need to know more about you than I do now,’ she said finally.
‘I’ll send you a fact file.’
‘I’m not a fact-file person.’
Why was he not surprised?
‘No,’ she continued. ‘I’m more of a hands-on person. You’re going to have to show me where you live, where you work and what it is you do all day. That kind of thing.’
Nick groaned.
‘You can send me the fact file as well,’ she said with a placating smile. ‘I don’t suppose it can hurt. And we’re going to need some rules.’
‘What sort of rules?’ He wasn’t very good with rules. Probably not worth mentioning.
‘I want physical contact limited to public places,’ she said firmly.
‘No problem.’ His lips twitched.
‘And only when we have an audience.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’ At this rate she’d get through every sexual fantasy on his list before dessert. ‘What else?’
‘I’ll follow your lead but only within reason. I won’t be a simpering “yes” wife.’
‘But you will simper a little?’
Her chin came up; her eyes flashed warningly. ‘Can’t see it happening.’
‘Okay, I can see that simpering might be a stretch for you. Forget the simpering.’ He wouldn’t. ‘Can you do possessive?’
‘That I can do,’ she said. ‘You want the whole hands-off-my-man, slapping routine?’
‘No slapping,’ he said. ‘Ladies don’t slap.’
‘You never said anything about being a lady.’
Fantasy number three. Damn she was good.
‘Oh, and there’s one more thing…’
‘There is?’ Every man had his limits and Nick had just reached his. His brain fogged, his blood headed south and he was thinking leather, possibly handcuffs, although where he was going to get handcuffs from was anyone’s guess. Silk, then. No problem finding silk in Hong Kong.
‘Earth calling Nick?’ said Hallie in exasperation. She’d seen that glazed look before. Knew that Nick Cooper was definitely not thinking business. Men! They could never multitask. ‘Nick! Can you hear me?’
‘Oh, I’m listening.’
He had the damnedest voice. The laziest smile. But this was a business arrangement. Business, no matter how tempting it was to think otherwise. ‘My return ticket stays with me.’
CHAPTER TWO
HALLIE couldn’t quite remember whose idea it had been to tour Nick’s workplace after dinner, only that it had seemed a sensible suggestion at the time. Business, she reminded herself as they stepped from the restaurant out into the cool night air and he slipped his jacket around her shoulders. Strictly business, as she snuggled down into the warmth of his coat and breathed in the rich, masculine scent of him. The fact that his chivalrous gesture made her feel feminine and desirable was irrelevant. So was the fact that he was quirky and charming and thoroughly good company. This wasn’t a date, not a real one. This was business.
Nick’s office was only a couple of blocks away, familiar territory, this part of Chelsea, and they walked there in companionable silence.
‘I need to make a phone call,’ she said as Nick halted in front of a classy office block and unlocked the double doors that led through to a small but elegant foyer. ‘I’m flatting with one of my brothers at the moment. He’s a touch protective; he likes to know where I am if I’m out with someone new. I used to get annoyed with him. Nowadays I just tell him what he wants to know.’ Most of the time. She pulled out her mobile and dialled Tris’s number, grateful when she got the answering service rather than Tris himself. She relayed her whereabouts and disconnected fast. ‘No offence,’ she said smoothly.
‘None taken. It’s a smart move. Makes you a smart woman,’ said Nick.
Nice reply.
He ushered her into the lift, the doors closed, and it was intimate, very intimate in there. She cleared her throat, risked a glance. Impressive profile. Big feet. And an awareness between them that was so thick she could almost reach out and touch it, touch him, which wouldn’t be smart at all. He turned towards her and smiled that slow, easy smile that bypassed brains and headed straight for the senses, and then—
‘We’re here,’ he said, and the lift doors slid open.
Nick’s office suite was a visual explosion of colour and movement. Cartoon drawings covered every inch of available wall space; computers and scanners crammed every desk. There was a kitchenette full of coffee and cola; a plastic trout mounted above the microwave. The whole place was organized chaos and completely intriguing. ‘So how many people work here?’ she wanted to know.
‘Twelve, including me.’
‘Let me guess—they’re all men.’
‘Except for Fiona our secretary. Sadly she refuses to clean.’
‘I like her already.’
‘Figures,’ he said. ‘So does Clea. This is my office,’ he said, opening a door to a room that was surprisingly tidy.
‘What’s the basketball hoop for?’
‘Thinking.’
Right. ‘And the flat-screen TV and recliner armchairs?’ There were two chairs, side by side, a metre or so back from the wall-mounted television.
‘Working.’
Ah. Why she’d expected a regular office with regular décor was beyond her. There was nothing the least bit ordinary about Nicholas Cooper. ‘So tell me more about this game of yours. Is it something I’d know all about if we were married?’
‘You’d know about it.’ Nick’s voice was rich with humour as he slid a disc into the gaming console and gestured towards an armchair. ‘If we really had been married these past three years you’d have banned all talk of it by now.’
That didn’t sound very wifely. ‘Couldn’t I have been supportive and encouraging?’
‘Sure you could. I was thinking realistically, but we don’t have to do that. We can do fantasy instead.’
‘Hey, it’s your call. You’re the fantasy expert. By the way, how long did you tell your distributor you’d been married for?’
‘I didn’t.’ He slid her a glance. ‘I’m thinking a couple of months, maybe less. That way if we don’t know something about the other it won’t seem so odd.’
‘Works for me.’ And then the game came on. The opening music was suitably raucous, the female figure on the screen impressively funky. ‘Very nice,’ she said politely. ‘What does she do?’
‘Mostly she fights.’ He handed her a gaming hand-set. ‘Press a button, any button.’
Hallie pressed buttons at random and was rewarded by a flurry of kicks, spins and feminine grunts. Not, Hallie noted, that the figure on the screen even came close to raising a sweat. ‘Are those proportions anatomically possible?’ she wanted to know.
‘Not for earth women,’ said Nick. ‘Which she’s not. Xia here is from New Mars.’
‘New Mars, huh? I should have guessed. The clothes she’s almost wearing are a dead give-away. Does she have a wardrobe-change option?’
‘You want to change her clothes?’
‘Well, she can hardly kick Martian butt in six inch stilettos, now can she?
He stared.
Hallie sighed. ‘You’re losing credibility here, Nick.’
‘What did you do before you sold shoes?’ he wanted to know. ‘Bust balls?’
‘I worked a blackjack table at a casino in Sydney for a while.’
‘Why did you stop?’
‘I never saw sunlight.’
‘And before that?’
‘A brief stint washing dogs in a poodle parlour.’ The memory was dim, but still worthy of a shudder. ‘Too many fleas.’
‘So are you actually trained in anything?’
‘I have a fine arts degree, if that counts for anything. And I’m halfway through a Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art. That’s why I came to London.’
‘Why East Asian Art?’
‘My father’s a history professor with a particular interest in dynasty ceramics, and I hung out in his workshop when I was a kid, read all his books.’ It had been the crazy-cracks in the glazes that had first captured her interest. The rich history behind each of the pieces had held it.
‘So you’re following in your father’s footsteps. He must be proud of you.’
‘No, mostly my father ignores me. I learn anyway. I can spot a fake dynasty vase at fifty paces. In fact I’m absolutely certain the Ming in the Central Museum’s a fake.’
He stared.
‘All right, ninety per cent certain.’
‘So why aren’t you finishing your diploma?’
‘I will be. Just as soon as I earn enough money for my last two semesters.’
‘By selling shoes?’
‘It’s a job, isn’t it?’ she said defensively. ‘Interesting, well-paid jobs are hard to come by when you’re a student. Employers know you’re just filling a gap.’
‘Couldn’t you ask your family to help out?’
‘No.’ Her voice was cool; he’d touched a nerve. Her brothers would have lent her the money. Hell, they’d wanted to give her the money, and so had her father for that matter, but she’d refused them all. Little Miss Independent, and it galled her that they hadn’t understood why she’d refused. None of her brothers had taken money from anyone when they’d started out. She was staying with Tris because he had a spare bedroom and because London rentals were outrageously expensive. That was all the help she was prepared to accept.
No, money for nothing wasn’t her style at all. But ten thousand pounds for a week’s work…a week’s fairly unorthodox and demanding work…Well now, that was a different matter altogether.
‘How much do you need to complete your studies?’ he asked curiously.
‘Ten thousand pounds plus money to live on. But I’ve already saved five so with your ten thousand I figure I’ve got it covered.’
‘And then what?’ he said. ‘Will you roam the world in search of ancient artefacts and long-lost oriental treasure?’
‘Yeah, just like Lara Croft and Indiana Jones,’ she said, heavy on the sarcasm. ‘You know, maybe you need to get out more. You might just be spending too much time in fantasy land.’
‘See? I knew it wouldn’t take long before you started sounding like a real wife,’ he countered with a grin. ‘Don’t you want to be a tomb raider?’
Sure she did. She just didn’t think it very likely. And as for sounding like a nagging wife…Hah! Wait till she really put her mind to it. ‘Right now I’m thinking I want to be Xia here, because she’s really good at this alien butt kicking business, isn’t she? What does she get if she wins?’
‘Points.’
‘Points as in money? Does she get to shop afterwards?’
‘Only for a new weapon.’
‘What, no plastic surgery? Because I really think a breast reduction is a must here.’
‘Our target demographic is teenage boys.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’
‘Besides, there’s nothing wrong with her breasts—those are excellent breasts. Fantasy breasts.’
Hallie sighed.
‘Not that yours aren’t very nice too,’ Nick added politely.
‘Mine are real,’ she said dryly, slanting him a sideways glance. ‘Completely real. Just in case anyone should ask.’
‘I’m very impressed.’ His eyes were blue, very blue, and his smile was pure pirate. ‘Because they look to be in excellent shape. I should probably take a closer look; acquire a real feel for them, so to speak. I’m not a fact-file person either.’
‘Is your distributor’s daughter watching?’ she countered smoothly, even as her breasts tingled and her nipples tightened at the thought of him touching her there. ‘Are we in a public place?’
‘Sadly, no.’ And through eyes half closed, his attention back on the screen, ‘Man, I love kinky women.’
Oh, boy. ‘So what’s in this game for us girls?’ she said hastily. ‘Other than this very cool vibrating controller.’
‘Shang.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Shang. Paladin princeling.’
Nick flicked back to the main menu and a male figure appeared on the screen. He had dark, carelessly cut hair, an exotic face, a tough, lean body, and was no slouch in the ammunition department either. ‘Is that a gun in his pocket or is he just glad to see me?’
Now it was Nick’s turn to sigh. ‘You’re not taking this seriously.’
‘It’s a game, Nick. I’m not meant to.’
‘You’re right, you’re not. My mistake. I’m the one who has to take it seriously. My people have spent three years developing this platform, Hallie, and now it’s up to me to market it. I can’t afford to make mistakes. Not with John Tey, not with his daughter. That’s where you come in.’
‘Call me naive when it comes to big business, but I think lying to a potential business partner about your marital status is a mistake,’ Hallie felt obliged to point out.
‘You sound like my conscience,’ he muttered. ‘If you have a plan C let’s hear it.’
‘Ah, well, I don’t currently have a plan C.’
‘Pity.’
He looked tired, sounded wistful. As if having to deceive John Tey really didn’t sit well with him. Sympathy washed over her and all of a sudden she wanted to slide over to his recliner and comfort him. Weave her hands through that dark, tousled hair, touch her mouth to his and feel the passion slide through her and the heat start to build as she feasted on that clever, knowing mouth and—Whoa! Stop right there. Because that wasn’t sympathy.
That was lust.
‘What?’ He was looking at her strangely.
‘Indigestion,’ she said. ‘I think it was something I ate. Probably the clams.’
‘Probably the situation,’ he said. ‘What’s it to be, Hallie? Are you in or out?’
Hallie hesitated, tempted to say ‘yes’. Not for the adventure, the excitement, or the money, but so that she could spend more time with Nick. The same Nick who was prepared to pay her ten thousand pounds so that at the end of the charade she’d leave.
A sensible woman would refuse him now and save herself the heartbreak, the genuine heartbreak, that was bound to come if a woman was careless enough to fall for him. A smart woman would sigh over that Hermès handbag, maybe even spend a minute or two imagining what it would look like on her arm, but in the end she’d turn away. That was what she should do.
What she said was, ‘Do you believe in destiny, Nick? Do you believe in fate?’
‘Only as a last resort. Why?’
‘I think we should let the game decide. Xia and Shang against the Martians. If we win we go to Hong Kong as man and wife. If we lose, you throw yourself on the tender mercies of Mr Tey and spill your guts.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
She was.
‘Deal,’ he said, and the fighting began.
Two murderous hours later it was decided. They were going to Hong Kong.
Hallie’s bedside phone was ringing. She rolled across the bed arm outstretched, groping wildly. Because no way on earth were her eyes going to open at this hour. Her evening with Nick hadn’t been a late one by anyone’s standards, but it wasn’t morning by most people’s standards either. It was still dark, not even dawn. She found the phone, found her ear. ‘Lo,’ she mumbled.
‘Can you get some time off work this afternoon?’
‘Nick?’
‘Yes. Nick.’ He sounded impatient.
‘Couldn’t this have waited till morning?’ she mumbled.
‘It is morning. Were you still in bed?’
Hallie slitted her eyes open to glance at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock. Five-fifty a.m! Ugh, he was a morning person. The notion was going to take some time to digest. She held the receiver to her breast and took several deep breaths before putting it back to her ear. ‘This is my one day off a week and, I’m warning you, there’d better be a good reason for this call. What do you want?’
‘To let you know we have an appointment at Tiffany’s at two this afternoon to get your rings.’
‘Rings?’ Hallie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Tiffany’s? As in Tiffany and Co. the jewellers?’ She was wide awake.
‘Wedding ring, engagement ring. It’ll be expected. The manager of the store on Old Bond Road’s a friend of mine; he’s going to let me borrow some pieces,’ said Nick. ‘After that we’ll go shopping. You’ll need suitable clothes as well.’
Shopping for clothes? This coming from the lips of a man? ‘You’re gay, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ he said, with a smile in his voice that curled her toes.
‘Cross-dresser?’
‘Nope.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Nor am I drunk.’ Exasperation in his voice this time, giving her toes a chance to relax. ‘The way we present ourselves in Hong Kong is going to be important and I’m guessing there’s nothing in your wardrobe that’s suitable.’
‘Suitable how?’ she snapped as visions of tailored suits and pillbox hats floated through her mind. ‘You’re going to dress me up like Jackie Kennedy, aren’t you? You’re having make-over fantasies!’
‘I wasn’t until now.’ The smile was back in his voice—yep, there went her toes. ‘And I’m not thinking First Lady exactly, but we can’t have you looking like Marilyn Monroe either.’
She should have been insulted. Would have been except that this was a sex goddess he was comparing her to. ‘Who’s paying for these clothes?’
‘I am. Consider it a perk.’
‘I love this job,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m in. Two o’clock sharp at the jeweller’s. Oh, and, Nick?’
‘What?’
He sounded complacent. Indulgent. As if she’d reacted exactly as any good little plaything would. ‘Bring your mother.’
Hallie arrived at the jeweller’s at exactly two o’clock, only to find Nick and Clea waiting for her outside, Clea looking thoughtful, Nick looking just plain smug.
‘We got here a little early so we’ve already been in,’ said Nick. ‘Stuart’s given me some pieces on loan. I’m sure you’ll like them.’
‘What do you mean you’re sure I’ll like them? You mean I don’t even get to go into the shop and ogle the pieces for myself?’ Hallie stared at him, aghast. Surely he was kidding. ‘Don’t you need to measure my ring size or something? I mean, what if the rings you’ve chosen don’t fit?’
‘Here, dear, try this on.’ Clea handed her one of her own rings, a wide band of square-cut diamonds set in platinum. ‘We used this one for size. I usually have a good eye for these things.’
Hallie slipped the band on her wedding-ring finger and stared at it in dismay. It was a perfect fit.
‘Does it fit?’ asked Nick, all solicitousness. ‘It looks like it fits.’
‘Sadist,’ she retaliated, handing the ring back to Clea, and, with one last lingering glance through the doors of one of London’s landmark jewellery stores, she turned away.
‘Did you get the week off work?’ Nick asked her.
‘Yes. The owner’s niece is going to fill in for me,’ said Hallie, recalling the conversation she’d had with her employer earlier that morning. No need to tell Nick that if the niece liked the job, she was out of one. If everything went to plan she wouldn’t need the job anyway.
‘What about your brother? The one you’re staying with. Does he know you’re going to Hong Kong?’
‘Not yet. It turns out he’s also going to be away next week. I’ll leave him a note.’
‘That’ll go down well,’ muttered Nick.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Hallie smiled brightly. ‘So where to now?’
Ten minutes later they were standing outside one of the most exclusive clothing boutiques in Knightsbridge. ‘Are we sure about this?’ said Hallie hesitantly. Buying an outfit or two from a mid-range clothing store was one thing; dropping a bundle on a week’s worth of designer clothes was quite another. ‘I’m all for being well dressed, but do we really need to shop somewhere quite this exclusive?’
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Clea. ‘I get a very good discount here.’
‘You want to hope so,’ Hallie muttered to Nick as she stared at the sophisticated power suit in the display window. ‘I think it only fair to warn you that I still have nightmares about the first time my brothers took me shopping for clothes. Pinafore dresses that came to my ankles. Sweaters up to my chin. Wide-brimmed straw hats…’
‘And very sensible too, dear, those hats, what with the harsh Australian sun and your skin type,’ said Clea.
Hallie groaned. And here she’d been hoping that Clea would be an ally when it came to clothes. ‘My point is I battled for years for the right to choose my own clothes, and I’m not about to relinquish it now.’ She pointed a stern finger at Nick. ‘You can tell me what kind of look you’re after, but I won’t have you choosing clothes for me. Are we clear on that?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Having said that, I will of course ask your opinion on the things I’ve chosen. I’m not an unreasonable woman. You can tell me if you like something.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Hallie considered the question. She could be a bit contrary at times. ‘Probably best not to say anything,’ she said, and, squaring her shoulders, sailed on into the shop.
The boutique was streamlined and classy, the coiffed and polished saleswoman just that little bit daunting, never mind that she greeted Clea with friendly familiarity.
‘Size eight, I think,’ said the saleswoman after turning an assessing eye on Hallie.
‘Ten,’ said Hallie.
‘In this shop, darling, you’re an eight.’
Hallie liked the woman better already.
‘Do you have any colour preferences?’ the woman asked.
‘I like them all.’
The saleswoman barely suppressed a shudder. ‘Yes, dear. But do they all like you? Let’s start with grey.’
Hallie opened her mouth to protest, but the woman was having none of it. She pulled a matching skirt and jacket from the rack and held them out commandingly. ‘Of course, it relies on the wearer for colour and life, but I think you’ve got that covered.’
‘Umm…’ Hallie took the suit from the woman and held it up for Nick’s inspection. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m confused,’ he said. ‘If I tell you I like it you may or may not decide to buy it, depending on whether you like it. However, if I say I don’t like it you’ll feel compelled to buy it whether you like it or not. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ Hallie felt a smile coming on. ‘So what do you think?’
‘Try it on.’
And then when she did and his eyes narrowed and his face grew carefully impassive. ‘No?’ she asked. ‘It’s probably not the look you were after.’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘It is.’
Still she hesitated. ‘It’s very—’
‘Elegant,’ he said. ‘Understated. Just what we’re looking for.’
Elegant, eh? Not a term she’d normally use to describe herself. She’d won the right to choose her own clothes in her late teens and in typical teenager fashion she’d headed straight for the shortest skirts and the brightest, tightest tops. Okay, so she’d matured a little since then—she did have some loose-fitting clothes somewhere in her wardrobe, but truth was they didn’t often see daylight. She had never, ever, worn anything as classy as this. The suit clung to her every curve, the material was soft and luxurious beneath her hands, like cashmere only not. Even the colour wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. And yet…
‘It’s not really me, though, is it?’ she said.
‘Think of it as a costume,’ said Nick. ‘Think corporate wife.’
‘I don’t know any corporate wives.’ Hallie turned to Clea, who was busily browsing a rack of clothes. ‘Unless you’re one?’
‘No!’ said Nick hastily. ‘She’s not!’
‘It’s very grey, isn’t it, dear?’ said Clea, who glittered like a Vegas slot machine in her gold trousers and blood-red chiffon shirt with its strategically placed psychedelic gold swirls.
‘Greyer than a Chinese funeral vase,’ agreed Hallie glumly. ‘Do you have anything a bit more cheerful?’ she asked the saleswoman.
‘What about this?’ said Clea, holding up a boldly flowered silk sundress in fuchsia, lime and ivory. ‘This is pretty.’
‘Why my mother?’ muttered Nick. ‘Why couldn’t we have brought along your mother?’
‘She died when I was six,’ said Hallie, and then to Clea, ‘I like that.’ She held it up to her body, twirled around, and looked up to find Nick regarding her intently.
‘Sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘You said you’d been raised by your father and brothers but I didn’t make the connection. Try it on.’
And when she did…
‘She’ll take it,’ he told the saleswoman, and to Hallie, ‘That’s non-negotiable.’
‘Lucky for you I happen to agree,’ said Hallie.
‘His father had excellent taste in clothes as well,’ said Clea. ‘Bless his soul.’
But Hallie wasn’t listening. She was looking at herself in the mirror and her reflection was frowning right back at her as she turned and twirled, first one way and then the other. Finally, hands on hips, she turned to Nick.
‘Does this dress make me look fat?’
Two hours later, Hallie and Clea had purchased enough clothes for a six-month stint on the QEII, and as far as Nick was concerned he was neither the sadist Hallie had accused him of being, nor the skinflint his mother claimed. No, for a man to endure so much and complain so little, he was quite simply a saint.
‘So where to now? Are we done?’ said Hallie after they’d seen Clea to her Mercedes and watched her drive away. ‘Is there anything you need?’
‘A bar,’ he muttered with heartfelt sincerity.
‘Good call,’ said Hallie. ‘I’ll come too. I never realized boutique shopping was such thirsty work. Mind you, I’ve never bought more than a couple of items of clothes at any one time before either. Who knew?’
‘You’re not going to rehash every dress decision you just made, are you?’
‘Who, me?’ She was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Only if you insist.’
Nick shuddered, spotted a sports bar a few doors up and practically bolted for the door. He needed a drink, somewhere to sit. Somewhere with dark wood, dark carpet, dim lighting, good Scotch and no mirrors. He needed it bad.
‘Ah-h-h,’ said Hallie as she slid into the booth beside him. ‘Very nice.’
‘You don’t find it a little too…masculine?’
‘Nope. Feels pretty homely to me. I have four brothers, remember?’
‘Trust me, I hadn’t forgotten. Where do they live?’
‘Wherever their work takes them. Luke’s a Navy diver midway through a three-year stint in Guam; Pete’s flying charter planes in Greece; Jake runs a martial arts dojo in Singapore and Tristan lives here in London. He’s the one I’m staying with while I do my course.’
‘Tristan?’ After Pete, Luke and Jake, a brother named Tristan sounded somewhat incongruous. ‘What does Tristan do?’
‘He works for Interpol.’
‘Paper pusher?’
‘Black ops,’ she corrected. ‘But he’s a pussycat really.’
Sure he was. All black ops specialists were pussycats. It was such a caring, non-confrontational profession. ‘You know, maybe I need a different type of wife for Hong Kong,’ he said. ‘Maybe I need a brunette.’
‘I was a brunette once,’ said Hallie. ‘The hairdresser was a young guy, just starting out, and we decided to experiment. He left the salon not long after that.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m sure Tris wouldn’t really have castrated him.’
Maybe he was doomed. ‘Or a blonde,’ he muttered. ‘I could always replace you with a blonde.’
‘Ha. You can’t fool me. You’re not going to replace me now; you’d have to go clothes shopping again.’
Nick shuddered. She was right. Replacing her was out of the question.
‘Besides,’ she continued blithely, ‘it’s not as if I’m going to be telling any of my brothers the finer details of our little arrangement. They wouldn’t understand.’
On this they were in total accord.
‘So tell me about your family,’ she said, deftly changing the focus back to him and his. ‘When did your father die?’
‘Two years ago. He was a property developer.’
‘And Clea? You said she wasn’t a corporate wife. What does she do?’
‘Many people find it hard to believe, but she’s an architect. A very good one.’
‘Is that how they met? Through their work?’
‘No, they met at a birthday party. Clea was in the cake. I try not to think about it.’
‘What about brothers and sisters?’
‘There’s just me.’
‘Didn’t you ever get lonely?’ she asked.
‘Nope.’ She looked as if she was struggling with the only-child concept. ‘I had plenty of friends, plenty of company. And whenever I had any spare time there was always a computer handy and a dozen imaginary worlds to get lost in.’
‘And now you create fantasy worlds for a living. I guess that means you always knew what you wanted to do, even as a kid.’
‘I always did it. Is that the same thing?’
‘Probably. My brothers always knew what they wanted to do when they grew up too.’ Hallie’s smile was wry. ‘With me it was different…every week a new idea…astronaut, race-car driver, professional stunt-woman…My family’s still not convinced I won’t change my mind about wanting to work in the art business.’
‘And will you?’
‘Who knows?’ she said with a shrug. ‘I love the thrill that comes with finding something old and beautiful, and I love discovering its history and the history of the people behind it. Hopefully I’ll find work with a respectable dealer in Asian antiquities and it’ll be fascinating, but if it’s not…well…I’ll do something else. At least I’ll have given it a try.’
‘You want to make your own mistakes.’
‘That’s it!’ There was fire in her eyes, passion in her voice. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to make your own decisions with four older brothers all hell-bent on guiding you through life? I mean honestly, Nick, I’m twenty-four years old and I’m not a slow learner! So what if I make a mistake or two along the way? I’ll fix them. I certainly don’t need my brothers charging in to straighten me out every time I step sideways.’ Hallie’s chin came up; he was beginning to know that look. ‘I can take care of myself. I want to take care of myself. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Not at all. What you want is freedom.’
‘And equality,’ she said firmly. ‘And it wouldn’t kill them to show me a bit of respect every now and then too.’
Right. Nick quelled the slight twinge of sympathy he was beginning to feel for her brothers and concentrated on the bigger picture. Freedom, equality, respect! He could manage that. It wasn’t as if she was asking for the sun, the moon and the stars to go with it.
‘I want you to know that even though I’m paying you a great deal of money to deceive my future business partner you have my utmost respect,’ he stated firmly. ‘We’re in this together as equals.’
And to the drinks waiter who had appeared at his side, ‘Two single-malt Scotches. Neat.’
CHAPTER THREE
THREE days later Hallie boarded a plane to Hong Kong. She’d been manicured, pedicured, pampered and polished and was corporate-wife chic in her lightweight camel-coloured trousers and pink camisole. Her shoes matched her top, her handbag was Hermès, and Nick was at her side, thoroughly eye-catching in a grey business suit and crisp white business shirt minus the tie. She was the woman who had it all, and it was all pure fantasy.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t embrace the moment.
Wispy streaks of cloud scattered the midday sky, their seats were business class, the take-off was perfect, and Hallie relaxed into her seat, prepared to be thoroughly indulged, only to discover that any woman sitting next to Nick was more likely to be thoroughly ignored. That or she was currently invisible to the women of the world as they dimpled, sighed, primped and preened for him.
The flight attendants settled once the flight was underway and went about their business with efficient professionalism, but the encouraging smiles of the female passengers continued. One innovative young lady even managed to trip and fall gracefully into Nick’s lap amidst a flurry of breathless apology and a great deal of full body contact.
‘Do women always fall over their feet trying to get your attention?’ she asked once the woman had gone.
‘Actually, she fell over my feet,’ said Nick. ‘They were sticking out into the aisle. It was my fault she landed in my lap.’
‘And her breasts in your face? That was your fault too?’
Nick shrugged, trying to look a picture of innocence and failing miserably. ‘She was trying to get up,’ he said in her defence. ‘These things happen.’
‘So I see.’
He was used to it, Hallie decided. He was just plain used to women falling all over him. ‘You know, you’d save yourself a lot of unwanted attention if you wore a wedding ring,’ she said. She was wearing one, along with a diamond engagement ring the size of a small egg. As far as the world was concerned she was well and truly taken. Nick’s hands, however, were ring-free.
‘I wasn’t wearing one last time I visited,’ he countered. ‘It’d seem a bit strange if I turned up wearing one now.’
‘No, it wouldn’t, considering what happened.’ She was beginning to sense some reluctance here. ‘Say we really were married, would you wear a ring then?’
‘You’d have to insist.’ He slid her a sideways glance. ‘You would too, wouldn’t you?’
‘Absolutely.’ She held her left hand up between them, angling her fingers so that the diamond sparkled in the light. ‘Some people actually respect the sanctity of marriage and don’t hit on a person wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Funny,’ he said dryly. ‘You don’t look that naive.’
‘Hah. It just so happens I don’t think I’m being naive. But I do concede that if you never wear one we’ll never know.’
The clumsy young thing was back, all purring solicitousness as she asked Nick if she’d hurt him, if he was feeling all right, and was there anything, absolutely anything, she could do for him.
Honestly!
‘Oh, I think we’ve got it covered.’ Hallie smiled, sharp as a blade as her hand—the one with those shiny rings on it—came to rest high on Nick’s trouser clad thigh. Nothing subtle about that particular manoeuvre; she was claiming ownership and the other woman knew it. ‘On second thoughts, darling, you feel a bit cold,’ she said to Nick as she squeezed gently and slid her hand a fraction higher up his thigh. Muscles jumped beneath her palm even as the rest of him went absolutely still. ‘Would you like a blanket for your lap? There’s one in the webbing in front of you.’
With an annoyed pout and a narrow-eyed glare for Hallie, the other woman made herself scarce. Not that Nick noticed. His wife had his attention now. His complete and utter attention.
‘What are you doing?’ he rasped.
‘Practising.’
‘For what? The mile-high club?’
Hallie’s smile widened. Really, his imagination was so delightfully easy to manipulate. ‘I’m practising my possessive moves for when I meet Jasmine.’
‘Well, would you mind practising with your hand somewhere else? I’m not made of stone.’
This was debatable. Right this minute, Nicholas Cooper’s thigh was hard as a rock. ‘Sorry, my mistake. I thought we agreed on physical contact in public places,’ she said as she withdrew her hand, reached for the blanket and draped it across his knees. She shouldn’t bait him; she knew it. But she couldn’t resist. ‘This is a public place,’ she said sweetly. ‘And we did have an audience.’
‘You know, you’re right. You’re absolutely right,’ he said. He flicked off the overhead light, brought her hand back to his thigh and drew the blanket over his lap with a smile that was pure challenge. ‘Feel free to continue.’
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Kelly Hunter
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Nicholas Cooper must produce a wife for his business deal, and Hallie Bennett is beautiful and intelligent enough to pull it off. She needs the money, and Nicholas has determined some strict rules for their week together. Rule No. 1: Displays of affection in public only Keeping their hands on each other in public turns out to be surprisingly easy.It′s keeping them off in private that′s the problem. Hallie is falling for Nicholas, but will Nicholas make his contract wife his real-life bride?