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A Christmas Proposition
Jessica Lemmon


“I need to get married…And the only one who can help me is you.”Trading one scandal for another, Stefanie Ferguson must marry to save her brother’s political career. Luckily, her brother’s best friend wants to help. But until this moment, Emmett Keaton has been off-limits. Now their convenient vows on Christmas Day unleash a passion too long denied. Will this marriage for scandal become a marriage for real?







“I need to get married...And the only one who can help me is you.”

Trading one scandal for another, Stefanie Ferguson must marry to save her brother’s political career. Luckily, her brother’s best friend wants to help. But until this moment, Emmett Keaton has been off-limits. Now their convenient vows on Christmas Day unleash a passion too long denied. Will this marriage for scandal become a marriage for real?


A former job-hopper, JESSICA LEMMON resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing supersexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine) and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

Jessica is a social media junkie who loves to hear from readers. You can learn more at jessicalemmon.com (http://jessicalemmon.com).


Also by Jessica Lemmon (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

Lone Star Lovers

A Snowbound Scandal

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A Christmas Proposition

Jessica Lemmon






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-07699-9

A CHRISTMAS PROPOSITION

© 2018 Jessica Lemmon

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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


To Dad,

for always making Christmastime feel special

(PS: you can stop reading now).


Contents

Cover (#u9418af2a-ab57-5cec-a82a-5a36db613740)

Back Cover Text (#ufcaa8d23-a4d6-559b-a972-3886692305e3)

About the Author (#u4d698c3f-67af-5fb5-a59d-624e52f01f0d)

Booklist (#u8c9c61f8-2d48-55f4-a607-6b1ea399fbb7)

Title Page (#uf92d2d31-f88b-593d-a69d-0e4532c5af2c)

Copyright (#ueade2887-ae38-5fd3-8403-d8fa964af12d)

Dedication (#u371cf5d5-dcaa-505a-a425-fbd14407d7eb)

One (#ua582b9c8-d96c-57a6-a93a-f020317e9683)

Two (#uadfae222-8be2-5e47-9b88-8fb22fd9ff22)

Three (#ufc333cd3-848d-550d-8ea1-0a1ae4bef26a)

Four (#u19805c10-b1fd-533d-86e6-469fc70b7f48)

Five (#ub7f4fe6f-8b9d-5ead-adb1-fc8e70c852ee)

Six (#udd560249-889a-5066-aacb-8e7c7ff163de)

Seven (#u65bbfa00-99c1-590e-a248-805f26f06268)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

December 20

Source: thedallasduchess.com

EXCLUSIVE:

STEFANIE FERGUSON AND BLAKE EASTWOOD REUNION

Good morning, Dallas!

As maven of this fine city, the Dallas Duchess makes it her job to know the happenings of local royalty. In this town, no royalty is finer than the Fergusons.

“Princess” Stefanie Ferguson, socialite, heiress and party girl, has been spotted once again on the arm of cunning and charming Blake Eastwood, who just so happens to be the mayor’s biggest opponent. (Naughty, naughty!) And, my savvy duchess dolls, you’re all aware that the mayor=Stefanie’s gorgeous and recently betrothed brother. Yes, ladies, another of Dallas’s eligible bachelors is about to bite the dust.

(As an aside, you longtimers may recall my breaking story about the mayor shacking up in Montana during a snowstorm with his old flame. Hotcha! You always hear it here first.)

But back to Princess Stef and her dashing bad boy... By now you’ve no doubt seen the photo circulating on social media of Blake and Stefanie dancing cheek to cheek at a Toys for Tots fund-raiser. And if you’re an astute observer like moi, you felt the sparks flying from that photo. As of right this very minute, I can confirm what my pitter-pattering heart was hoping for the most:

Stefanie and Blake are together!

Recently, I spoke with Blake and while I couldn’t get him to commit to a timeline, I did learn a verrrry juicy bit of intel.

Dallas Duchess: I have to ask for the sake of my readers. Are you and Stefanie Ferguson seeing each other again?

Blake Eastwood: [emits a sexy chuckle] Um. Yes. We are.

DD: [squeals of delight] Can you tell me more?

BE: I can tell you that it’s new, but serious.

DD: Put-a-ring-on-it serious?

BE: Come on, Duchess, I can’t let every cat out of

the bag.

DD: But it’s almost Christmas! Surely you can give us one teeny-tiny hint?

BE: Christmastime is Stef’s favorite time of the year. She whispered in my ear just yesterday that it’s the perfect time to shop at Tiffany & Co. I’m a man who knows how to take a hint.

Ladies, gentlemen. If that’s not a confirmation that Blake is popping the question Stefanie is begging him to ask, I don’t know what is!

Go forth and share across social media with the links below. Looks like a Christmas engagement could be forthcoming!

Stefanie Ferguson paced the shining white floor of her sister-in-law’s home office in a pair of knee-high, spike-heel Christian Louboutin boots. Unlike the last public relations hiccup she’d gotten into with Blake, this one couldn’t be handled over a cup of coffee at Hip Stir.

Late last night, she’d been sipping on hot cocoa with Sambuca when she received a text from Blake.

Dallas Duchess has some news to share tomorrow. Me and you, gorgeous.

She’d pecked in an angry “Go to hell” followed by “Leave me alone” and then erased both lines in favor of ignoring him.

Lord only knew what he would’ve done with the screenshots if she’d texted him. It had taken everything in her not to respond to his baiting. Blake was Bad News with a capital B and N.

Last year, he’d gone to the Dallas Duchess via one of her brother’s staff members to break the story about Miriam Andrix returning to Chase’s life. The write-up was in defense of Chase and almost lecturing Miriam for ruining the city’s chaste mayor. Ridiculous. It was clear to anyone who saw them together that Miriam and Chase were gaga over each other—even Stefanie could see that, and she was Chase’s sister.

Blake’s original motivation for his nefarious smear campaign was building a new civic center, which he wanted to erect very close to Ferguson Oil property. Chase had been saying no for years. Blake had promised to “ruin him” if it was the last thing he did, as if he were some sort of mustache-twisting bandit.

Stef reminded herself, again, that she hadn’t known the dirty details when Blake charmed her into his hotel bed one lonely night a few years back. She certainly had never expected him to release pictures of them leaving the hotel together.

Penelope Ferguson had summoned a PR magic spell to bail Stef out of her Blake-related problem then, and she’d had a hand in smoothing over Chase and Miriam’s relationship last year. With Chase’s imminent reelection looming—Stef refused to consider the possibility of him losing—she had zero worries that Pen would be able to work her magic again and smooth this one over, as well.

“You should’ve called me the second Blake the Snake sent you that text,” Penelope scolded from where she sat in front of her computer screen. Her full mouth was a firm line of displeasure, her eyes narrowed in frustration.

Stef stopped pacing and wrapped herself protectively in her own arms. “It was late. I didn’t want to bother you.”

And she hadn’t wanted her sister-in-law to hear the raw vulnerability in her voice. Stef might have refused to respond with the intent of letting Blake know how little he’d affected her, but in truth he had. Like the first time those hotel photos saw the light of day, she felt cheap and used.

He’d been charming and—she’d thought—vulnerable the night he’d told her he wanted her. She’d been fresh off a breakup and vulnerable herself. A night with an attractive man who appreciated her—even one who disagreed with her brother the mayor—was supposed to have boosted her confidence and relieved a long drought of physical affection.

They’d both been attending a boring fund-raiser at the time. Champagne had flowed and he’d been accommodating and, she knew now, lying. He’d been seeking revenge on Chase and would take any of the Fergusons as his pound of flesh. She’d allowed herself to be talked into going to bed with him and she still felt the sting of embarrassment and anger at her naïveté.

The next day, the photos had surfaced and she’d been accused of slutting around with the mayor’s nemesis.

And now this.

“When was the fund-raiser where this was taken?” Pen turned her laptop screen to show the most recent leaked photo of Blake and Stef cheek to cheek on the dance floor.

“Last weekend.”

“You’re looking cozy.”

“He asked me to dance by taking my hand and dragging me to the floor. I didn’t want to cause a scene by telling him where to shove his invitation.”

She’d caused enough problems for her brother and his campaign. Chase didn’t hold her accountable, but she couldn’t unshoulder her fair share of responsibility.

“What you don’t see in this photo is that I’m telling him off. I used some very unladylike language, hence my leaning in close. I told him if he didn’t leave me and my family alone, I’d castrate him with a pair of dull shears.”

Stef smiled, proud. At least she’d stood up for herself then. Pen wasn’t smiling with her.

“What you did was step into a snare of his making, Stefanie. Again.” Pen shook her head. “He timed the release of this photo on purpose, to coincide with the reelection. Why is he hinting that you two are going to be married?”

Stef felt her cheeks warm as she recalled the rest of her conversation that night. “That...is partially my fault.”

Pen raised her eyebrows and waited.

Stef, you’ll be single forever with a mouth like that. You have to be a good little girl if you ever hope to land a husband. Blake had swept her in another circle on the dance floor while her ire had risen to dangerous levels.

Ha! You’re one to talk. Is there a female on this planet who would willingly perch in your family tree or do you have to trick them all into going to bed with you?

You came willingly. A few times if memory serves.

“He was holding me tight, and twisting away didn’t loosen his hold on my waist.” Stef licked her lips, regretting her words now that she’d felt the sting of retaliation. “I may have mentioned something about a ‘tiny prick’ and ‘faking it’ and that if he didn’t let me go, I’d tell everyone within earshot how unsatisfying it was to be bedded by Blake the Snake.”

Pen’s eyebrows climbed higher on her forehead, and just when Stef was sure she’d be read the riot act, her sister-in-law’s smile burst forth like the sun after a hard rain.

“You know how to find trouble, don’t you?” Pen asked through a laugh. She must’ve caught Stef’s crestfallen features when she looked up because she was out of her chair in a shot. “I’m sorry I said that. Ignore me.”

Pen grabbed Stef’s shoulders and Stef felt the wobble in her chin paired with heat behind her eyes.

“I don’t try to.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Seriously.” Pen pulled Stef into a hug.

Stef felt like a fragile piece of china lately, not wanting to be in the way of Chase’s campaign or too involved while Pen and Zach raised their daughter. Heck, even Mom and Dad were going through a second honeymoon phase, so Stef was trying to stay out from underfoot in that capacity, as well.

“You can fix this.” Stef swallowed her budding tears. “You have unraveled some of the biggest knots in Dallas since you moved here. Tell me the easiest, fastest, most succinct way to crush this fake news.”

“As a woman who had her own false engagement to contend with—” Pen smirked “—I have had experience with this sort of thing. Only the ‘groom’ was your brother and part of the plan.”

“And Blake’s a renegade douchebag.”

Of all the bad decisions Stef had made during her thirty brief years on this planet, why this one? Why had she fallen victim to that man’s false charms?

“If you were anyone other than my sister-in-law, I’d advise you to get married.”

“To Blake?” Stef practically shrieked.

“No! My God. No. I’m saying the best way to trump Blake’s claim that he’s engaged to you is to marry someone else. Know any eligible bachelors?”

Stef was staring in shock. This certainly wasn’t the advice she’d expected to get from Penelope.

“I’m joking.” Pen gave Stef’s shoulders a little shake before moving back to her desk. Laptop open, she started typing. “I’ll craft a plan to detangle this mess that will work for you and your brother the mayor.”

“Thank you.”

Pen smiled up at her. “And I promise it won’t involve nuptials.”


Two (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

Emmett Keaton had been Chase Ferguson’s close friend, arguably his best friend, since college.

He could say with authority that Chase rarely allowed his feathers to ruffle. But today his feathers weren’t only ruffled, they were scattered to the four corners of the earth.

Since it was Emmett’s job to keep the mayor’s office safe, he’d have to assume the role of “the calm one” today. As the scandal currently wreaking havoc had to do with Stefanie, he found it challenging to bank his own anger.

The youngest Ferguson had a talent for finding trouble.

“When I get my hands on that sniveling weasel,” Chase grated out through teeth that were welded together, “I swear on everything holy—”

“Chase.” Penelope—wife to Chase’s brother, Zach—stood in front of Chase’s desk, arms crossed. She was dressed in a white pantsuit, her long blond hair pulled into a neat twist at the back of her head. Her stance broadcast one undeniable truth: she wasn’t intimidated by power. She’d handled many a powerful man as a public relations specialist over the years, and had become a trusted friend when Chase hired her to care for Stef the first time she stepped in it with Blake fucking Eastwood.

Because Chase trusted her, Emmett did, also.

“I’ve got this,” Pen said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

A muscle in Chase’s jaw ticked but he gave his sister-in-law a curt nod. She returned it with one of her own and spun on one very high-heeled shoe to leave.

Once she was out the door, Chase glanced at Emmett with irises so dark they bordered on black.

Chase punched a button on his phone. “Cynthia. Get my sister on the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sure you want to do that, boss?” Emmett asked.

Chase didn’t answer.

A moment later, the desk phone rang.

“Where the hell are you?” Chase barked into the receiver. A brief pause and then, “You have thirty seconds.” He slammed the phone down on its base and glared at the only target in the room. Emmett took the blow without flinching. “She was already on her way.”

“Good.”

Chase needed to redirect his anger? Fine.

It was better than him unleashing it on Stefanie.

The door burst open almost exactly thirty seconds later. Stefanie strode into the office in a short red designer dress, tall boots with dangerous-looking heels and a painted pout in siren red.

“I saw Pen on my way in.” Stef tucked her cell phone into an oversize handbag. “She warned me that you weren’t in the best mood. I’m assuming you’re mad at me.”

Nostrils flared, Chase pulled in a deep breath through his nose. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured. “I’m not angry with you, Stefanie. I’m—”

“Don’t say disappointed.” She dropped the handbag onto the leather chair in the corner of the room and sent Emmett a derisive glare.

Typical.

She hated him for reasons he’d yet to discern. He’d only ever offered assistance when she’d needed him—whether she’d asked or not. If memory served, she’d never asked.

“I’m concerned,” Chase said, and her head swiveled back to her brother. “Your Christmas retreat is soon, yes?”

“Yes.” A smile of pure delight crested her red mouth.

That smile lit her face like a string of holiday lights. Emmett had never seen someone so in love with the idea of Christmas. Loving the holiday was as foreign to him as understanding anything else about the lush lifestyle his best friend’s family led. In spite of his own amassed fortune, Emmett had no desire for frills of any kind. And he certainly had no desire to celebrate an occasion that brought forth bad memories and worse consequences.

“Where is it this year?” Chase asked.

“San Antonio.”

“Cancel it.”

Her face morphed into tortured shock. “What? Never. Absolutely not.”

“That wasn’t a request. There was no question mark at the end of my sentence.” Chase pointed at her, his quaking arm revealing his anger. “Because you don’t have the sense to stay away from Blake Eastwood, my campaign is suffering from the fallout.”

Emmett’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

He was rarely in disagreement with his friend, but in this case, Chase’s comments were out of line. Stef had been briefly involved with Blake—whom Emmett would love to go a round or two with, bare-knuckle—but the accusation that she was to blame was harsh.

“Whatever you have to do in San Antonio with your girlfriends can be done from Dallas just as easily. You’re not leaving the city, and if you do go out, you’re going to be chaperoned. Do you understand me?”

Her stricken expression faded into a laugh of disbelief. “You can’t ground me, Chase. You’re not my father. And even if you were Dad, he can’t ground me, either. I’m thirty years old!”

“Then why are you acting like a spoiled teenager?” Chase roared.

“Hey!” Emmett’s outburst was so unexpected that both Fergusons faced him wearing shell-shocked expressions.

He took a step closer to Chase, instinct more than decision driving him. “Let’s keep the blame where it should be. On Blake. Stefanie’s been through enough. She doesn’t need you piling on.”

Chase’s lips pressed into a thin, frustrated frown. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and leaned both hands flat on his desk.

Emmett flickered a glance over at Stefanie, who, for the first time in her life, regarded him with something akin to gratitude. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I’m asking, Stefanie—” Chase addressed his blotter before sitting in his chair and meeting his sister’s eyes “—for your cooperation.”

“Penelope is amazing at her job. There’s no reason she can’t—”

“I’m asking,” Chase repeated, his voice firmer.

“I look forward to this retreat every year. I can’t cancel an event that happens in four days.”

“Why not?” Chase’s forehead dented. “Can’t you and your girlfriends drink champagne and talk about fashion another time? Mail them their gifts. Hell, invite them here. You can host at my mansion.”

“I...can’t do that.” She regarded her impractical boots, appearing tormented by the idea of canceling.

Disappointment, Emmett could understand. Torment didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense.

Stef loved her family above all else. Over the years, Emmett had witnessed the special bond she and Chase had—she respected her brother. And she would never lie to him. So why was Emmett getting the distinct impression that she was trying hard not to do just that? Why couldn’t she party here in town? Why did she have to travel to San Antonio?

She wasn’t lying—not yet—but she was definitely keeping from saying too much.

“Plans can be changed. I’ll foot the bill for it, if you like,” Chase told her. “I’ll grease some palms and find you a last-minute venue in Dallas. You can’t leave town with this mark on your back. I forbid it.”

“What mark? Do you think I’m going to be kidnapped by Blake’s henchmen or something?” Stef let out an exasperated laugh. Emmett didn’t find it funny. His back went ramrod straight, his senses on high alert at the idea that any harm would befall her.

He forbade it.

“You do things without thinking,” the mayor said. “Who knows what could happen?”

“Chase, that’s enough.” Emmett took a step closer—to Stefanie this time.

His friend was right to watch out for his youngest sibling, but he was handling this wrong. Not that Emmett had much experience with sensitivity—he had been raised by Van Keaton, after all. But Emmett knew Stef and he also knew the situation. He couldn’t keep from stepping at least one toe in her corner.

“You can stand down,” Stef snapped. “I don’t need your protection from my stupid brother.”

“You need protection from yourself,” Chase interjected.

This conversation was getting nowhere.

“I’m going to San Antonio tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few days. I’m sure your precious campaign will be intact when I return.” She grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder as Chase rose from his chair, his face a beet-worthy shade of red.

“I’ll drive you,” Emmett blurted.

Again he was faced by both Fergusons. But only one of them looked upset by his offer. The cute blonde one.

“Yes. Great idea.” Chase nodded. “Emmett will be your escort.”

“I don’t want an escort!”

“I don’t care!”

“Knock it off.” Emmett bodily moved himself to stand between Stefanie and Chase. “I’ll drive you to San Antonio. Book me a room wherever you’re staying.”

“It’s a bed-and-breakfast and it’s full.” She raised her chin, her aquamarine eyes flashing in warning.

“I’ll sleep in my SUV.” Emmett tipped his head in challenge. “It’s either this or you don’t go. Your brother’s right about it being dangerous. Your image is plastered all over social media. I’ve seen you in the spotlight before. Paparazzi chase you, Stef.”

She was beautiful and young and easily the most famous female billionaire in Dallas, if not the state of Texas. The combination of her it-girl reputation and a rumor that she was going to marry the mayor’s sworn enemy made for tempting media fodder.

She opened her mouth, probably to argue.

Emmett lifted his eyebrows, silently communicating. Give me a break, okay?

Miraculously, rather than arguing, she gritted out, “Fine.”

“Great. Get out,” Chase said. “Both of you.”

So, his best friend was prickly. So what? Emmett wasn’t one for being handled with kid gloves. His rhino-tough hide had been hewed at a young age.

“Come on,” he told Stef, opening the mayor’s door for her to exit. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Emmett held open the passenger door of his black SUV, a gas-guzzling, tinted-windowed, way-too-big-for-a-road-trip vehicle.

“You can’t be serious about taking this beast to San Antonio. We’ll have to pull over every fifteen miles to refill the tank.”

“Get. In.”

She glared up at his chiseled jaw and perfectly shaped head beneath very short, dark brown hair. He wore it cropped close and rarely was it more than a few inches long on top. He was bedecked in what she’d come to think of as his “standard uniform.” A crisp white shirt open at the collar and dark slacks. His brawn and bulk and attitude were better suited for a T-shirt and sweats, but his job title required a dab of formality.

She tossed her purse inside and grasped the SUV’s door handle and the front seat to climb in. Emmett’s warm, broad palm cupped her elbow to steady her, and she nearly jerked away in shock. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was the first time he’d ever touched her.

It was...alarming.

And not in the get-your-damn-hands-off-me kind of way. His touch had felt...intimate.

Once she was inside he dropped his voice and leaned close. She ignored the clean leather smell of him. Or tried to, anyway.

“Heads up. There’s a suspicious cyclist over there.” He shut her door and walked around to the driver’s side.

She scanned the immediate area outside her brother’s office twice before she spotted a casual-looking guy on a bike with a cell phone conspicuously propped on the handlebars and pointing at the SUV.

Damn.

As much as she hated to admit it, Chase might have had a point about media attention.

Emmett settled into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine, sending her an assessing, stony gray stare. Typically, his eyes held a note of blue, but today they mirrored the cloudy skies above.

“What?” she barked. “Do you want me to congratulate you because you’re right?”

He smirked. “Buckle your belt.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Neanderthal,” she said as she jerked the belt over her torso. “You may believe a woman’s place is in the passenger seat. Or that I can’t handle anything on my own without one of you big strong men to help me out, but FYI, I am not yours to command.”

Though some foreign tingly part of her suggested that Emmett might be the perfect specimen to take commands from.

She swallowed the rest of her speech about being an adult and handling her own problems, mainly because they both felt like stretches of the truth. In all of her attempts not to involve her family in her life, she’d somehow managed to tow them in. Her parents, Chase, Penelope, Zach and now Emmett.

Angry with herself more than her driver, she stared out the window in silence as the SUV pulled away from the curb.


Three (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

Stef had gone to bed late last night, staring at the ceiling for a long while, her mind lost on her current predicament.

She hadn’t stayed up late to pack—she’d done that already and her matching luggage was lined up dutifully next to her apartment door. Knowing that Emmett would pick her up promptly at 7:00 a.m., she also hadn’t indulged in more than one glass of sparkling rosé before bed. No, her insomnia couldn’t be blamed on a lack of planning or too much alcohol. She’d lain awake, earning this morning’s puffy eyes and groggy brain for one reason.

She was tired of being everyone else’s problem.

It wasn’t enough to tell her parents and her brothers that she was an adult. She had to show them. In order to show them, she needed to take care of the Blake situation herself.

Penelope was equipped to handle any PR disaster, but the more Stef thought about it, the more Pen’s plan to “wait and see” sounded like a slow track to a solution. Chase’s election was less than six months away. Stefanie refused to let Blake continue to drag her family’s good name through the muck.

Chase had made it clear last fall that he didn’t hold Stefanie accountable for her act of indiscretion with Blake. In spite of his absolving her, her guilt remained.

That Blake held this much power over her infuriated her. She refused to let him cause her to lose even one more minute of sleep.

Last night while staring at the ceiling of her apartment, she’d decided not to let Blake have that power over her family, either.

Penelope’s words rang in her ears.

If you were anyone other than my sister-in-law, I’d advise you to get married.

Well, why hadn’t that been Pen’s suggestion? It shouldn’t matter that Stefanie was her sister-in-law. A solution was a solution! There was only one eensy-weensy problem. Stefanie would have to find someone to marry, and fast.

She wasn’t sure who to approach, let alone how to ask. She’d climbed out of bed during the wee hours, unhooked her phone from the charger in her kitchen and poured one more small glass of wine. Then she started scrolling through her contacts in her phone’s address book.

Every prospect she thumbed through seemed worse than the last. She passed over ex-boyfriends, hookups and acquaintances alike. None of them were marriage material—not even temporarily. Plus, how would she ask for a favor like that from someone she hadn’t talked to in months, or years in some cases?

Hi, I know you haven’t heard from me for a while, but would you mind marrying me for a few months?

Not to mention she would need her groom to keep their marriage arrangement a secret. The entire purpose of the ruse would be to convince the press and that horrible blogger woman that Stefanie wasn’t involved with Blake. Then Blake would be forced to recant his bullshit statement.

After she’d thought it through, she decided an engagement announcement would look like a desperate cover-up. It gave Blake too much wiggle room, and she couldn’t risk him slithering into her family’s life again.

Wineglass empty and fatigue finally overcoming her, Stef had dragged herself to the couch, pulled a blanket over her body and caught about three hours of tossing-turning sleep.

The knock on her front door came way too early, even though she was ready for it. She’d pulled her hair into a sloppy bun on top of her head, dashed on a layer of makeup and donned big, dark sunglasses so that if a photo was snapped of her in the wild, she wouldn’t look like she’d had a sleepless night fretting over Blake.

Stef had called Pen yesterday afternoon and suggested releasing a statement that she was no more marrying Blake than she was marrying Kermit the Frog, but Pen had recommended against it.

We can’t turn this into he said, she said, especially while you’re out of town. Let’s let the dust settle and we’ll handle things in the new year. Enjoy your Christmas party!

Despite what she’d led everyone to believe, Stef wasn’t going to a Christmas party with her girlfriends. She was hosting a massive charity dinner that she’d arranged for some of the poorest families in Harlington, a city outside San Antonio.

Over the last three Christmas Eves, she’d hosted similar dinners and, so far, had kept her little Christmas secret. She didn’t want publicity or attention for it—not yet. She wanted to do it her way, and without input from family members on how to arrange the place settings or what kind of food to serve.

Providing for the less fortunate and giving back filled her with a sense of satisfaction like nothing else. To Stef, this dinner party was about more than writing a check. She’d personally witnessed gratitude and happiness on the faces of men, women and children who otherwise wouldn’t have had a merry Christmas.

Hiding what she was doing from her family wasn’t too difficult, but keeping her identity a secret from her guests was a bit trickier. So far so good—no one had recognized her yet. She might be widely recognized by the snooty Dallas upper crust, but to the hardworking people of Texas proper, she was simply a young woman helping out.

Her goal was to grow the charity event larger starting next year, which would mean she’d need to reveal her true identity in order to expand and give it the attention it deserved. But she couldn’t do that while living in the Ferguson shadow or tiptoeing around her brother and his career as mayor.

Yes, going public would mean she’d have to do a bit of pruning to her own reputation before next Christmas.

“Coming!” she called when the knock at the door came again.

She rushed to the door and held it open, but rather than ushering Emmett forward, she ended up walking outside into the cold with him.

“Is that snow? Oh my gosh, that’s snow!”

Snow in Texas was a rare occasion. Typically this time of year temperatures hovered in the forties.

“Yeah—hey, where are you going?”

She ignored him to step out onto her upstairs front stoop. The snow wasn’t sticking, sadly, but the flakes were enough to fill her heart with joy. Each delicate, sparkly and, yes, sloppy flake was a reminder that her favorite holiday was nearly upon them.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s wet. Inconvenient. And not why I live in Texas.”

She frowned at Emmett. In a black leather coat, his white collared shirt visible just beneath the open zipper, and his standard black pants and leather boots, he should look like a tall, attractive, sturdy man she could count on. Instead, he was a grousing, grumpy individual set on ruining her good mood.

“It’s magical. And I refuse to let you make me feel bad about that.”

She slapped a palm against his broad chest, shoving him aside. Okay, so she didn’t so much shove him as push against a chest made of solid muscle that had no give whatsoever. No matter! Emmett Keaton was not going to ruin her day. She’d already given that power away, and all too recently. It was a mistake she vowed not to repeat.

“I’ll just take these magical bags out to my mystical SUV and wait for you to float on down, then,” he said as he picked up her luggage.

Humming a Christmas tune to drown out Scrooge Keaton, she snagged her coffee thermos out from under the single-cup coffee maker and snapped on the lid. She might have to spend several days with him, but thank God the car ride was only four hours long.

How much damage could he do in four hours?

Hour One

“No Christmas music.”

“That’s inhumane.”

She stabbed the button on the radio to turn it on and Emmett pushed a button on the steering wheel to shut it off.

“Can you explain to me how I am on my way to a Christmas celebration—that you have volunteered to drive me to, by the way—and yet I’m not allowed to listen to Christmas music on the drive over?”

“My car. My rules.”

“That was rhetorical. Don’t be a grump.” She turned on the music again, and again Emmett turned it off. “What if the volume is really, really low?”

He didn’t pull his eyes from the road, not even to glare at her.

“Fine. I’ll talk instead.” She cleared her throat. “So, I found this dress for my mother’s art show next month. It’s blue and sparkly and goes perfectly with my new shoes that I bought from—”

A long-suffering sigh sounded from his chest, and Emmett powered on the radio in surrender. He thumbed down the volume button on the steering wheel, but she considered it a win.

Hour Two

“I don’t see why we couldn’t stop at a decent restaurant and order takeout.” She held the fast-food bag between a finger and thumb and eyed the grease spots that had seeped through the paper dubiously. “There are approximately a million calories in this bag. If I’m going to consume a million calories, it’d better be a gourmet meal.”

Emmett stuck his hand into the bag and came out with one of the cheeseburgers. She watched as he unwrapped the sandwich, took a huge bite and, because that move took both hands, drove with his knee.

Because he was big enough to drive with his knee.

One booted foot firmly on the floor, his left knee kept the SUV perfectly positioned in the center of the lane.

What an irritatingly sexy move that was. Why did he have to be so damn capable at everything?

She rummaged through the bag until she found her sandwich. A fish sandwich had been the least calorie-laden item on the menu. It was roughly the size of a silver dollar, smashed flat, and half the cheese was glued to the cardboard container rather than on the bun.

“Great.”

Emmett’s hand plunged into the bag again and he came out with a container of fries. The burger held in one hand, he wedged the fry container between his big thighs and shoved three or four fries into his mouth. Even with one cheek stuffed like a chipmunk’s, he didn’t appear any less capable.

She’d been around strong men all her life. Her father and her brothers were all strong, commanding, decisive men.

Emmett had those traits as well, but it came in a less refined package. Sure, he dressed well, but there was a rough-hewn edge beneath that Armani shirt.

It bothered her. It bothered her because it didn’t make any sense.

It bothers you because you find it attractive.

Just like she’d found Blake attractive? Just like she’d found plenty of other men who were all wrong for her attractive?

She nibbled on the edge of her fish sandwich, sending a longing look to the fries nestled between Emmett’s legs.

“See something you like?” He crumpled the empty burger wrapper and tossed it into the fast-food bag at her feet.

She jerked her gaze to his face and was alarmed to find him smiling over at her.

“No. I don’t,” she argued a little too fervently.

His smile remained. Eyes on the road, he proffered the container of fries.

Rather than resist, she plucked out three perfectly golden, salty potatoes and reminded herself that the bossy, attractive man in the driver’s seat was as bad for her as this meal.


Four (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

Hour Three

Emmett slid a look over at Stefanie, who was intently scrolling through her phone and had been for the last several miles. What the hell was she doing?

“You’re going to make yourself carsick,” he grumbled.

He could feel her eyes on him. Wide, innocent eyes.

He didn’t understand that observation about her, but it was nonetheless true. The only Ferguson daughter wasn’t naive or immature. She was headstrong and mulish, and he knew from experience, since he had both those attributes in spades. When they belonged to a woman, however, people saw her as a trite, vapid troublemaker.

Frankly, it pissed him off. He’d known Stef for as long as he’d known Chase, and she wasn’t any of those things. But she must’ve been immune to what the public said about her. She never complained about her image or tried to make herself smaller because the media talked about her.

“You do your thing, I’ll do mine.” Her snide remark made him smile in spite of himself.

His “thing” at the moment was chauffeuring her safely from Dallas to San Antonio so that she could hobnob with her friends and ignore him. Which was what being around her was always like. He’d been joking about sleeping in the SUV, but he assumed he could find a last-minute room. San Antonio was a big city.

He checked the rearview mirror and noticed the same black sedan he’d clocked earlier. It trailed three or four cars behind him. He wasn’t so paranoid that he believed they were being followed—it was a highway and they were all heading the same direction—but neither would he take Stef’s safety for granted.

He’d been in the habit of looking out for her over the past couple of years, so he supposed that was the reason he’d offered himself up as the human sacrifice rather than asking her to change her plans.

First off, he knew she wouldn’t. And if she’d gone anyway, he’d have been the one tailing her right now.

Another glance showed the black sedan sliding into the same lane and vanishing behind a semi.

It was early yet. He’d keep an eye on it.

Both eyes.

Hour Four

Stef paused her scrolling through her address book, which she’d been desperately searching for a man to marry her for show.

She was young, rich and attractive, yet this was proving to be an insurmountable task. Every name she passed on the list was either seeing someone or the wrong choice. Like Oliver James, for example.

She and Oliver had casually dated for three months last summer. He was a successful commercial real estate buyer and a few years older than her. They’d stopped seeing each other mutually when things had simmered down.

She’d been contemplating texting him to find out if he was still single when Emmett spoke up to ask her if she was cold and snapped her out of her imaginings. Just as well. Oliver was a nice enough guy, but she didn’t know if she could trust him when it came to being discreet. He was showy with a big personality. Always telling a joke or commanding the attention of the room.

Definitely not a good choice for an undercover marriage.

Now, though, her eyes rested on a name that she hadn’t considered before. She blinked, considered what she knew of the man and wondered if she could slot him into the role of groom even on a pretend-temporary basis.

Emmett Keaton.

She wrinkled her nose, but the distaste she tried to feel wasn’t there.

Stefanie Keaton.

It might work.

At first blush, the idea seemed insane, but when she allowed herself to walk through the steps of arranging a wedding to the man driving, it wasn’t so insane.

Emmett didn’t like her and she didn’t like him that much, either. Ending a marriage when it was time would be as natural as breathing for them.

She looked up “marriage licenses in Harlington” on her phone and Google provided the website for the city. She hadn’t exactly lied about going to San Antonio. The smaller district was located about thirty minutes outside San Antonio. If she had told Chase that she was heading to the one-horse town to visit her high-class friends, he would’ve known something was up.

She hadn’t told Emmett yet, but they weren’t close to where he needed to pull off the highway. She opened a map. In about twenty miles, he’d need to reroute.

Back to the issue at hand: marrying Emmett.

The marriage license had a seventy-two-hour waiting period. If they applied today... She counted the days on her fingers. They’d be good to go by Christmas Eve. The question was, could she find someone to marry them at the last minute on a holiday?

She opened her email app and pecked out a correspondence to the woman who ran the B and B where Stef had made her reservations.

Hi, Margaret,

Do you know anyone who could marry a couple on Christmas Eve?

She watched out the windshield, considering the timing of the charity dinner. It was a six o’clock dinner, and even with cleanup she’d be out of there by ten o’clock. Once they returned to the B and B, changed into whatever wedding attire she was able to scrounge up in the three-day gap between license and “I do,” that’d mean...

Preferably midnight, she typed. As Christmas Eve turns to Christmas day.

She smiled to herself as she finished the email. Married at midnight on Christmas day. Could it be more perfect?

She slanted a glance at Emmett and frowned. Maybe perfect was overshooting it. She hoped he could summon up an expression other than “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” for a few of the photos.

She should probably make sure Emmett didn’t have a secret wife or girlfriend first. He kept his personal life in Stef’s blind spot. She knew him in relation only to what he did at the mayor’s office, and even then it looked to her like a bunch of walking around while wearing a starched white button-down shirt and a stern expression.

“Do you date?”

Emmett snapped his head around, a look of incredulity on his face. “What?”

“Date. Do you date?”

If she wasn’t mistaken, he squirmed in his seat.

“Women. Men. Anyone?”

“Women.” His frown intensified.

“Are you dating anyone right now?”

He said nothing, both hands on the wheel in an elbows-locked position.

“Why?” he finally muttered.

It seemed too early to blurt out that she wanted to marry him. She’d have to ease into that request.

“Just making conversation. I never see you with anyone whenever you’re at a family function.”

“That’s work.”

“You can’t work all the time.”

“I can. I do.”

Yeah, this was getting her nowhere.

“Your head is the perfect shape. Not everyone can wear their hair that short.”

“The deep car chatter continues.”

“I’m just saying, I’m sure you can find a date even though your personality is basically the worst.”

His shoulders jumped in what might have been a laugh, but no smile yet.

She smiled, enjoying a challenge. “So? Do you date?”

“Not as much as you do.”

She ignored the jab. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

“Yes. You. Exclusively.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the road to look at her so he didn’t see her bite her lip in consideration. As segues went, this was pretty much her only chance.

“I talked to Penelope about how to handle the Blake situation. Know what she said?”

“Stay out of it and let her do her job?”

Almost verbatim, but that wasn’t what Stef was getting at.

“She said that if I were anyone else, she’d suggest I get married.”

“She would suggest you pretend you’re married?” he asked, his tone flat.

“No. She would suggest I literally get married. Marriage licenses are public record. Any reporter worth her salt could verify if it was real or not.”

Emmett said nothing.

“I’ve been scrolling through my phone in search of Mr. Stefanie Ferguson, but no luck. I’m almost halfway through the alphabet.”

He changed lanes, the mar in his brow deepening.

“You’re going to have a lot of wrinkles when you’re old because of the frowning. Did you know that—”

“It takes more muscles to frown than smile? Yes. I knew that.”

“Anyway, when I find my husband-to-be, it’ll only have to last until the election. Once Chase is reelected as mayor, I can annul it, no harm no foul.”

A minute of silence passed, the only sound in the car a Mariah Carey holiday tune playing quietly on the radio. Emmett stabbed a button on the steering wheel to shut it off.

“You have to take this exit for where we’re going.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so.” She held her phone up and showed him the map.

“Where is that?” he asked, even as he dutifully changed lanes.

“I lied about San Antonio. We’re going to a town called Harlington. It’s just outside—”

“I know Harlington.” His visage darkened.

“You do?” She’d assumed he was from a similarly wealthy Dallas background as her family. At least upper middle class. “Here. This exit.” She rested her cell phone on the dash, and though he mumbled a swear word under his breath, he pulled off the exit.

“From here take route—”

“I can read the map, Stefanie.”

Yeah, proposing should work out great, she thought with an eye roll.

She waited a few more silent minutes before turning on the radio again. The Sting song didn’t cause her driver to visibly wince.

Her email notification lit up her phone and she opened her inbox to read Margaret’s reply, whose answer was an exuberant “Yes!”

Evidently Margaret’s son was a minister and available on Christmas Eve for a midnight wedding. In the next paragraph of her reply, Margaret went on and on about the beautiful decorations in the sitting room of her old Victorian house.

Stefanie responded with a quick message. I’m working out the marriage license now.

Little did Emmett know, the address she’d keyed into her map was for city hall downtown.


Five (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

“Which building?” Emmett drove through the thick traffic of downtown Harlington.

Yeah, he knew this town. He’d grown up not far from here. Before he’d escaped to go to college. Before happenstance had put him at the same wild frat party as Chase Ferguson. They’d stopped in the center of the room en route to flirt with the same girl. Neither of them had won the girl, but they’d forged a strong friendship.

From there, Emmett’s world had forked. He’d left behind his former life as a rough kid from a lonely home. He’d dropped out of college and never finished, but his old man hadn’t noticed. Van Keaton had been lost in his own prison of grief since the Christmas that’d robbed both him and Emmett of all that was good.

Since then, Emmett had been determined to create good. In addition to working with Chase as his head of security, Emmett had also learned how to invest well. Hell, he’d mimicked his friend’s financial habits, had read every book Chase recommended and had listened to countless podcasts on the topic. It never would’ve occurred to Emmett that he could live the way he lived now if it wasn’t for the Fergusons. They took the idea of “living well” to an advanced level.

Emmett’s work at the mayor’s office might as well be his source of oxygen. He had the Fergusons, who had been a placeholder for the family Emmett rarely saw. His father was a lonely man determined to bask in his own misery, so Emmett let him do it. And he’d never gone home on a holiday. Van didn’t do holidays. Not anymore.

And neither did Emmett.

Stef squealed from the passenger seat, going on about how “beautiful” the red bows and pine boughs tied to paint-chipped lampposts were, but he could only offer a grunt.

Those tattered pine boughs had seen better days and the red ribbons drooped. The shop windows downtown covered in spray snow would require tedious scraping with a razor blade to come clean, and the strings of white lights wrapped around every lamppost served as a reminder of what once was but could never be again.

“Where the hell is this place?” he asked at a stoplight. He didn’t see any building resembling a B and B.

“Oh. Um. I have to stop at city hall first.”

She directed him to the tall brick building between a shoe shop and a store called the Fan Man, which, as far as Emmett could tell, sold ceiling fans and lighting fixtures.

“What for?” He navigated to an open parking spot, but when she took off her seat belt, he caught the strip of nylon in one fist. She sagged back into her seat.

“I know you think the idea of me marrying someone sounds—”

“Insane,” he finished for her, letting her go.

“Think about it, Em. Blake won’t have a leg to stand on. I refuse to let him use a mistake I made in the past against my family.”

Every time he pictured her with that guy, rage spilled into his bloodstream.

“It was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Huge,” he grumbled in agreement.

Guilt outlined her pretty features.

It was the wrong thing for him to say. Blake was predatory and single-minded. And when Chase had found out his sister slept with that pig, his reaction had mirrored Emmett’s. Emmett would’ve happily castrated the bastard to ensure he’d never hurt anyone again.

“There are worse things in life,” he told Stef. “Trust me.”

Christmas shoppers flooded the streets, bustling around to finish their shopping before it was too late, many with small children in tow. One little boy with dark hair and pink cheeks rode in a stroller and pointed with one mitten as snow began to fall, and Emmett’s heart crushed.

That kid was the same age as his brother, Michael, when he’d passed.

“I was awake for hours last night trying to think of a suitable groom, but after a quick scan of my contacts I came up empty-handed. I decided to check again today in case I’d overlooked someone and then I found myself lingering over a name...”

“Completely insane.” He shook his head.

“Do you know why?”

He did look at her now, having neither any idea why nor any clue as to how she thought this was the best way to proceed.

“Because I came across the only name in my address book that belonged to someone who cares enough about my brother to agree to my plan.”

Something tender invaded her expression. He’d never until this moment been regarded by Stefanie Ferguson with “tenderness.”

Hell if he knew what to do with that.

“You.” She said the word with finality.

“Me what?” he asked, the question loud in the cab of the SUV.

“You are the only man who would be discreet, go along with my plan and, provided you don’t already have a girlfriend, fiancée or wife—”

“You think I have a wife?” There was a crazy idea. Even crazier was the idea that Stefanie would be that wife. He reached for his cup of gas station coffee, wincing when the mouthful was cold instead of hot.

“There’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period, so we have to apply for the license today. Then we can be married on Christmas Eve after my...um... After I visit my friends.”

“Forget it.” He put the SUV in Reverse to wiggle from the parking space when her hand—and cold, delicate fingers—brushed his.

Her touch was foreign, as most touches were to him, yet familiar in a way he couldn’t understand. Maybe because he’d known her for so long. Other than her mother, Eleanor Ferguson, Stefanie had been the only constant woman in his life since he was a very small boy.

“I’ve worked out everything. All you have to do is agree and smile for the camera so I can leak a few photos to social media. That’s it. Two little things.”

“Little?” His incredulous laugh cracked the air. “You’re suggesting we get married, Stef. There’s nothing little about that ask.”

“The end game is to screw over Blake and save Chase’s campaign. It’s noble. You’d be doing your civic duty.”

“There’s got to be another way.”

It was nuts. He couldn’t consider this.

So why was he?

“Well. I guess I could pay someone to marry me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Anger filled him to the brim at the idea she’d sell herself to the highest bidder. And what goon from her dating past would be the lucky lotto winner? The idea of Stefanie being taken advantage of again made his blood pressure climb to dangerous levels.

“Listen. It’s a surefire plan. This is the ultimate undo button for me. Haven’t you ever wanted to go back in time and stop a tragedy from happening?”

Her pulled-up blond hair revealed a sweet face silhouetted by the cheesy town holiday decorations and winking lights in every window of city hall. Hell yes, he’d wanted to go back in time. He’d fantasized about going back for a huge “undo” for most of his childhood life.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. She beamed, but that grin was erased when he spoke again. “Then I grew up and learned that what’s done is done. There is no going back. There is no undo button on tragedy.”

She squeezed his fingers as if apologizing for the tragic evening that changed his and his father’s lives forever. She had no idea what had happened to him and his family—no one did. Save Chase, but Emmett had sworn his best friend to secrecy.

“Help me, Emmett. I’m begging.” Against his will, the plea in her eyes took root in his chest. “You know it’s serious if I have to beg. If there were anyone else, I’d ask them. But there’s only you.”

The sentiment was strange to hear in any context, especially in one where he was being proposed to, but it didn’t stop him from reconsidering.

“I’m not going in there,” he said. Stefanie’s shoulders slumped in defeat before he added, “Until you explain every last detail of how this will work.”

Thirty minutes later Stefanie walked out of city hall with her fiancé.

Her big, brawny, silent, scowling fiancé.

“There.” She pointed across the street at a jeweler and marched over as soon as there was a break in traffic. She was a woman on a mission.

A cheery bell jingled as she pushed open the door of the jewelry store. Emmett did a neat jog to catch up and join her, but his expression remained as unreadable as it had when they’d applied for their marriage license.

It was so simple it was sort of unbelievable. It was like they’d let anyone get married these days.

“Hello.” A saleslady scanned her new customers, ring-laden fingers clasped at her front. “What can I help you find today?”

“Wedding bands. And an engagement ring.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Stef peeked over her shoulder at Emmett, who was standing by the door looking unhappy.

She jerked her head, widening her eyes to communicate her meaning: get your ass in here.

He strode in, a reluctant lurch to his walk, as the saleslady led them to a glass case filled with sparkling diamond bands. She pulled out a tray of platinum settings at Stefanie’s request. Stef leaned over them, fingering each one.

“They’re beautiful.”

She reached for a princess cut but before she had it lifted from its velvet bed, Emmett pushed the ring back down and plucked a band featuring a trio of marquise-cut diamonds instead. Rows of smaller diamonds winked from their homes on each side of the band.

“Great choice,” the saleslady praised. “That’s an old set. It was traded in yesterday by a woman whose husband passed away ten years ago. They were married forty-eight years and she had no children to leave it to. She said their marriage was a happy one, but she was remarrying and felt wrong keeping it. She thought bringing it here would allow another couple to give it new life for another four decades or more.” She eyed Emmett and then Stefanie. “You two look young enough to make it to your forty-eighth wedding anniversary.”

It was both a sad and sweet sentiment since Stef knew that her marriage to Emmett wouldn’t last until summer.

“Go ahead and slip it onto her finger,” the saleslady told Emmett with a wink. “Practice for the big day.”

He lifted Stef’s left hand, the ring gripped between his blunt fingers.

“Maybe this ring is the wrong choice for us.” She started to tug her hand away, but her betrothed didn’t heed her warning, instead slipping the ring past her third finger’s knuckles, where it sat as snugly as if it’d been sized for her hand.

“It’s perfect.” His gruff voice held a note of surprise.

“It’s beautiful.” The saleslady took Stefanie’s hand and turned the diamond this way and that. “I tightened those prongs myself.”

It was beautiful. And Emmett was right. It was also perfect. The woman handed over the matching band, and he pulled it onto his finger—again, a perfect fit.

“It was meant to be.” The saleslady let out a gasp of delight. “We have financing and we also accept credit cards.”

“Cash.” Emmett wiggled the ring from his finger and placed it onto the counter as Stef was reaching into her purse for her wallet.

“Splendid. Let me grab a few boxes.” The saleslady dashed off to the back, rings in hand and a spring in her step thanks to the hefty price tag.

“I’ll pay for it,” Stef said.

“No. You won’t.”

“Em—”

“Let me.” He grasped her hand where the engagement ring sat, his palm big and warm. An answering warmth curled around her heart and sent a flush up her neck.

Speechless, she let Emmett take care of the purchase.


Six (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

Emmett drew the line at shopping for clothes.

Applying for a marriage license and purchasing the rings they’d exchange during their vows had been surreal enough. If she added a wedding dress to the mix, he’d have to call a shrink.

Agreeing to her harebrained plan would work twofold. It would defuse the threat to Chase’s campaign and keep Stefanie out of one of her boneheaded exes’ beds.

Emmett couldn’t stomach the idea of her stooping to offer herself to another man who likely had his sights set on the Ferguson fortune. Not when Emmett himself was perfectly able to fill the role of temporary husband—and would sooner die than be compensated for the task.

He’d slid that band onto Stefanie’s finger in the jewelry store, the tale of the ring’s past eating into his soul. What he hadn’t been able to deny was his desire to protect her at all costs. The rest of the Fergusons weren’t going to approve, but Emmett didn’t care. Stefanie needed him, and in the same way he’d been protecting the Ferguson family since Chase hired Emmett onto the security team, he’d protect Stef now. She didn’t need him to leap in front of a bullet. She needed him to commit to a vow that was temporary for both of them.

He could hardly believe he’d let her talk him into it.

“There it is.” She pointed out the window at a tall Victorian home. The painted wood siding was slate with brick red shutters. The matching sign was dusted with a thin layer of snow and the wood-carved lettering read Lawson Bed and Breakfast. “It’s as pretty as the online photos.”

It was a regal house in an older neighborhood of Harlington, probably from before the oil wells dried up, back when the residents believed it to be a forever home. It was impressive that it’d been kept up. He pulled down the driveway and into a parking area with four spots. Three of which were taken.

“Margaret Lawson runs the B and B,” Stef said as they walked to the front door. She rang the buzzer. “Her son will be officiating our wedding. We’ll have to share a room, I’m afraid. Otherwise, it’d look weird.”

“Gee, I’d hate to look weird.” He caught sight of the engagement ring when she tugged off one glove, then the next. It was odd seeing it there—the ring he’d put there. It filled him with a propriety he had no right to feel. As if she were his to care for and watch over.

A cheery redhead answered the door. “You must be Stefanie. And this is your...”

“Emmett Keaton.” He thrust a hand forward in introduction.

“Nice to meet you. Your room is ready whenever you are.”

“Is there a couch or extra bed in our room?” he blurted. When Margaret’s smile vanished, he covered with “I toss and turn. Wouldn’t want my future missus to lose any beauty sleep.”

The older woman glanced from Emmett to Stefanie, who was regarding him like she wanted to strangle him.

“There’s a love seat,” Margaret answered. “A rather small one.”

“We’ll make do. Thank you, Margaret,” Stef said. “Honey, won’t you grab the luggage?”

He could take a hint. He excused himself to unload the SUV as Stefanie followed their hostess into the house.

Granted, this was her idea, but could Emmett at least appear to like her? First, he argued that she was insane for suggesting a marriage of convenience, then he asked the owner of the B and B for separate sleeping accommodations. At least he’d been game for the ring buying or else she would have developed a complex.

He stomped into the room in heavy boots and unloaded their luggage—several bags for her and one duffel bag for him.

“Do you have a suit and tie in there?” she asked.

“I have what you see me wearing in there.” He unshouldered his coat to reveal his white-shirt-black-pants combo. His broad frame filled the room—which was small by anyone’s definition of the word. Having him in it shrank it to cracker-box size.

She tapped a key on her laptop, having extracted the computer from her bag first. “I’ll look into tux rental.”

“What’s it matter?”

From her cross-legged seat on the center of the bed, she slapped the laptop closed. In a voice low but firm, she told him exactly why it mattered.

“This isn’t going to work unless you pretend to at least like me. I’ve been doing a good job of cordiality but you are failing with a capital F. Margaret patted me on the arm after leading me up here and assured me men always behaved strangely before a wedding and not to take what you said to heart!”

“I don’t see how that is any of her business.”

“I don’t see how you’re missing the point I’m so clearly conveying,” she snapped. Closing her eyes, she pulled in a deep breath. Serenity now! “We need everyone to buy into the farce or else it’ll leak that this is fake, which will give Blake even more ammunition and ruin my reputation.”

“What do you suggest I do, Stef? Follow you around like a puppy? Hold your hand? Nuzzle your neck?” he bit out.

The idea of Emmett holding her close and nuzzling her anything had her growing warm—and not in a good way. She’d obligated him enough. She couldn’t ask that he force a reaction he wasn’t comfortable with. That would be sexual harassment.

“Of course not.” She craned her chin as he stepped closer to the bed.

He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her, his weighty presence stifling and strangely sensual. Flummoxed by her reaction to him, she changed the subject.

“I have errands to run over the next couple of days. Wedding dress and shoe shopping.”

She also needed to go to the site of the charity dinner and make sure everything was coming along as planned. Caterers would be delivering tables and chairs, and decorating no fewer than three Christmas trees. Not to mention that the volunteers from the community church would be wrapping presents for the invited families.

“I’ll need you to drive me.” She half expected resistance but Emmett nodded easily. “I won’t make you wear a tux.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

He eyed the bed where she was sitting, legs folded pretzel-style in front of her. Then he sent a glance at the diminutive love seat on the other side of the room.

“You can have the bed,” she told him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Nice try.” He grinned, an almost jovial light in his eyes. It faded as fast as it appeared, but damn, what she wouldn’t give to see it again. That smile had transformed his entire face. “I’ll take the floor.”

“It’s cold down there.”

“I’ll live.” He walked to the door and when she asked where he was going, he turned to answer her, his body taking up most of the doorway. “I have a sleeping bag in the SUV, Stef. Stop worrying about me, yeah?”

Then he patted the doorway and was off.

She wasn’t worrying about him, but she was trying to accommodate him. Clearly, he was uncomfortable, and now that they were to be wedded she was feeling equally awkward about their suddenly intimate situation. How was she going to manage an “I do” kiss and sharing a room with him if she could barely talk to him when they were alone?

And it wouldn’t end in Harlington.

No, this decision would follow her home. Follow her around until she and Emmett were unmarried. And what would they do until then?

She didn’t want to think about it. She opened her laptop and started typing a list of to-dos for her wedding. After a few minutes of crafting a list, she realized that even the basics were going to take plenty of time and energy and effort.

In order to pull off a wedding as well as a successful charity dinner, she would have to either make a clone of herself or do some delegating. And there was only one other person to delegate to.

That person strode back into the room with a rolled sleeping bag tucked under his arm. He hadn’t bothered with his coat for the quick jaunt outside, so his face and nose were red even from the brief exposure. Before he dropped the bag, she made her request.

“I need your help with a few things while I’m here.” Realizing that sounded demanding, she added, “If you can take the time away from your job.”

“You are my job while I’m here.” He crossed the room and dumped the sleeping bag onto the love seat.

It was easier for her to admit this next part while looking at his back...

“One more thing...” He turned before she could finish and she gulped, a dry sound that caused her throat to click. “I need to tell you the truth about why we’re here.”


Seven (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

“You mean there’s more to it than cornering me into matrimony and eating a fancy dinner with your fancy friends?”

But that last bit didn’t make much sense, did it? Not now that they were in Harlington, where the “fanciest” restaurant in town was a Chili’s.

“You’re joking with me. That’s new. Usually you’re frowning at me.” Her smile was tentative. She leaned back on the bed, the pair of leggings making her slim legs look a mile long and the oversize pink sweater hiding her petite curves. She looked comfortable and relaxed, which was as crazy as the fact that he felt the same way.

Stefanie didn’t like him—he’d have lost a bet that she’d smile at him let alone propose to him even if it were up to them to repopulate the planet. There were a million strings attached to the proposal, and it was an arrangement for the greater good, but...shouldn’t they both be more on edge?

She picked at a thread on the quilt rather than look up at him. “Does this mean we’re becoming friendly instead of mortal enemies? That someday I could be more than a job to you?”

Ah, hell. Surely she didn’t think that. He didn’t consider her an enemy—he liked her.

He cared about her safety.

And about her as a person.

“I only ask because we need to make this marriage look real if we go forward. How good of an actor are you?”

His face scrunched at the question.

“Can you hold my hand in public? Open a door for me? Be a gentleman? I don’t think the public would believe I’d fall for someone who didn’t do those things.”

“Who cares what the public thinks?” he barked, stung at her accusing him of not knowing how to treat a woman. He was accustomed to protecting—to watching other people’s backs. That was why he brought up the rear whenever they walked anywhere together.

“Do it for Chase if you can’t do it for me.” Hurt flooded her eyes.

Did she really believe he found her so unsavory? Emmett wouldn’t stoop to defend himself aloud, but his thoughts went there. He was doing this for her. So that she could come out here to...do whatever she was doing.

“You owe me the truth,” he reminded her. But when she took a breath, presumably to tell him, he held up a hand. “Not here, though. I’m hungry.”

Stefanie had never set foot inside a Chili’s restaurant until today. It wasn’t that she was too good for a burger and fries; it was that there wasn’t much of an opportunity to go to a chain when there were hundreds of other unique restaurants to choose from. Any man she’d dated had endeavored to impress her with meals that had cost hundreds of dollars.

Emmett didn’t apologize for choosing a restaurant that had nary a word of French on the menu. She appreciated being treated as an equal and not catered to like some spoiled rich girl. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was stubborn or because he knew her better than anyone else, but the latter seemed impossible. They barely knew each other at all.

Once they were settled in with their drinks—wine for her and beer for him—and a bowl of warm tortilla chips and a dish of salsa, Emmett gestured with a chip for her to speak. “Go.”




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