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Her So-Called Fiancé
Abby Gaines
This time she’s gone too far How could Sabrina tell the press they’re engaged? Just because she believes his “love” gives her the clout to nail her dream job, while her endorsement will make him governor. Because Sabrina Merritt, Jake Warrington’s ex, is the one who blew the whistle on his crooked dad. So with her on his arm, all of Atlanta will see he’s not the man his father was and vote for him.Unfortunately, there’s nothing between Sabrina and Jake but dislike. It’s not as if they’re going to give in to temptation. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Would he?


“All you have to do is say yes to my proposal.”
Sabrina winced. Bad choice of word. “Proposition,” she amended.

Jake rubbed his temples. “This is the kind of idea only you could come up with. Breaking up with you was like breaking out of Fairyland.”

Her eyes smarted, but she said airily, “And I’ll bet you miss the magic.”

His head jerked, but he held her gaze, staring her down for several long seconds.

“You’re overlooking one small fact,” he said. “Namely, you’re the last woman on earth I would marry.”

Her So-Called Fiancé
By

Abby Gaines



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABBY GAINES wrote her first romance novel as a teenager. She typed it up and sent it to Mills & Boon in London, who promptly rejected it. A flirtation with a science-fiction novel never really got off the ground, so Abby put aside her writing ambitions as she went to college, then began her working life at IBM. When she and her husband had their first baby, Abby worked from home as a freelance business journalist…and soon after that the urge to write romance resurfaced. It was another five long years before Abby sold her first novel.
Abby lives with her husband and children – and a labradoodle and a cat – in a house with enough stairs to keep her fit and a sun-filled office whose sea view provides inspiration for the funny, tender romances she loves to write. Visit her at www.abbygaines.com.
Available in August 2010from Mills & Boon®Special Moments™
Daddy on Demand by Helen R Myers & Déjà You by Lynda Sandoval
A Father for Danny by Janice Carter & Baby Be Mine by Eve Gaddy
The Mummy Makeover by Kristi Gold & Mummy for Hire by Cathy Gillen Thacker
The Pregnant Bride Wore White by Susan Crosby
Sophie’s Secret by Tara Taylor Quinn
Her So-Called Fiancé by Abby Gaines
Diagnosis: Daddy by Gina Wilkins
With love to Tessa Radley, one of the smartest, savviest and most generous women I know. Thanks, hon!

Chapter One
SABRINA MERRITT COUNTED at least a dozen photographers waiting for her to exit the gate area at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. They all had their lenses trained on her legs, which two days ago had been labeled “chunky” by beauty pageant pundits.
Great. It had been humiliating enough seeing close-ups of her thighs on national television. Now the local media, the papers read by everyone who mattered to her, were about to jump on the bandwagon.
“Sabrina, this way,” one of the photographers called.
She ignored him, certain that if she so much as met anyone’s eyes, the smile she’d rehearsed in her compact mirror as the plane taxied to the gate would fall off her face. Seven months as Miss Georgia had made her thick-skinned about personal criticism. But to be slammed so publicly, just when she needed people to take her seriously, and over something so meaningless to anyone but herself as her legs…
Glassy-eyed, she scanned the crowd, in search of her good friend Tyler, who’d said he would meet her. Darn it,he’d promised.
Then she saw the lone man beyond the media group. Not Tyler.
Jake Warrington.
The way he leaned his tall frame against a pillar might appear nonchalant, but the rigidity of his shoulders and the thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans proclaimed I know what I want and no one’s going to stop me.
That was Jake, all right.
Was he here to gloat? Sabrina lifted her chin. She was strong and capable, even if nobody else had figured that out yet. She tapped a finger against her cheek and announced, “I’m up here, folks.”
A sheepish laugh rippled through the photographers. They tilted their cameras higher—but not before they’d snapped their shots of her thighs.
Concealing her legs beneath a long, filmy sunshine-yellow sundress didn’t seem to have lessened anyone’s interest in them. Sabrina quashed the urge to spread her hands protectively over the delicate fabric.
She’d flown home to Atlanta a day ahead of her official schedule, in the hope of eluding the media. How stupidly naive. If Jake had been the one facing a media meltdown, he’d have anticipated this hoo-ha and prepared a speech.
“Sabrina, you’re the first Miss Georgia in two decades to be eliminated from the Miss U.S.A. Pageant in the first round.” A female TV reporter oozed fake sympathy.
“Good grief, is that right?” That fact, along with every other mortifying detail of her failure, had been endlessly recycled in the media over the past few days.
Presumably for the benefit of the one person in some remote corner of Alaska who hadn’t yet heard about her chunky thighs.
A couple of the men caught the gleam in Sabrina’s eyes and laughed. Their reaction disconcerted their female colleague, who snapped, “How does that make you feel?” Then the woman recovered her TV manners and lowered her voice to radiate puzzled concern. “Do you think your thighs were the real problem, or are the rumors of interpersonal differences between you and another contestant true?”
In other words, was Sabrina’s body or her personality the bigger loser? Her insides quivered, an outright betrayal of her resolution to get tough on herself. Although she’d learned to handle snarky comments since she’d won the Miss Georgia crown, nothing in her existence to date—her pampered existence, as Jake called it—had equipped her to deal with the irrational hostility that insisted her legs had somehow let the state down.
She put a hand to the orchid she’d tucked behind her left ear as she left her dressing room in Vegas. The deep pink flower contrasted nicely with her blond hair and her yellow dress—but so much for the hope it would distract attention from her legs. Dammit, where was Tyler? She wanted to throw her jacket over her head and flee, even though she’d hate for Jake to see her running away.
Behind the reporters, Jake straightened and stepped forward. Sabrina frowned—then, as a camera flashed, hastily raised her eyebrows to smooth her forehead. With her luck, she’d end up in tomorrow’s Journal-Constitution looking like a bad-tempered shrew. With fat thighs.
Mentally, she continued to frown at Jake. No one should look that good under fluorescent lighting. His skin had a healthy tan, and when he smiled, his teeth gleamed white.
She did a double take. Jake, smiling at me?
Sure, it looked as if he was gritting his teeth—definitely smiling, and definitely at her. He was going to rescue her, she realized, which was even more bizarre.
“Sabrina.” Jake’s deep, commanding voice swung the crowd in his direction.
Just like that. A potential governor of Georgia obviously held sway over a dumped beauty queen. Now she understood why he was here—he’d seen the opportunity for some free publicity for his election campaign and was cashing in on her thighs.
She took advantage of the distraction to glare at him. Then he arrived at her side, and his presence sucked up all available oxygen, leaving her in a vacuum of awareness. Darn it, she hated that he could still do that to her.
He tugged her heavy carry-on bag off her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Sabrina blinked at his concern. Before she could reply, he turned to the reporters, who by now were firing questions, and held up a hand.
“If you folks bought into the garbage dished out about Sabrina at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant,” Jake said, “then shame on you.”
Huh? Sabrina’s mouth dropped open. Shouldn’t he be speechifying about the Georgia school system or some other political hot potato?
“Some of you—” he pointed to the reporter from the Journal-Constitution and an interviewer from Good Morning Atlanta “—went on record six months ago as saying Sabrina Merritt is the most beautiful Miss Georgia ever. Now you’re letting a bunch of Yankees tell you otherwise?”
A murmur rose among the shuffling reporters.
The Yankee quip was well judged—Sabrina wished she’d thought of it herself. Because this wasn’t Jake’s fight. Ironic that the very time she was determined to stand her ground, the man least likely to defend her had an attack of chivalry. “Jake, you don’t have to—”
“Take it from me,” Jake told the crowd, now swelled by curious travelers and airport personnel, “Sabrina Merritt is a beautiful person inside and out.”
Sabrina’s famous thighs almost gave way; she steadied herself by clutching at the nearest immovable object. Jake. Through the soft, worn cotton of his casual shirt, she felt the strength of muscle in his forearm.
Jake’s gaze flickered, but he kept his focus on the spectators, where a smattering of clapping had broken out. “And,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument, “she has amazing legs.”
He would know. An unwelcome tide of memory swamped Sabrina. But Jake didn’t appear to be in the thrall of their shared history. He bestowed his most charming smile on the photographers. “That’s all, folks.” To Sabrina, he said in a low voice, “Let’s get out of here.”
“But Tyler—”
“He’s not here, I’m your chauffeur.”
“I need to—” A glance at the reporters told her no one wanted to hear her stand up for herself. All the interest was in Jake, who was already shepherding her through the crowd. “I haven’t picked up my suitcase,” she protested.
“I’ll have one of my staff get it.”
His black Alfa Romeo was parked right outside the terminal, where only taxis and rental-car shuttles were allowed. Jake paid off the guy minding the Alfa, then held the door open for Sabrina. He jerked his head at her to get in.
“A prospective governor shouldn’t park illegally,” she said.
“You think that’s what’ll lose me the primary?” he asked with an irony she didn’t understand.
She slid into the car, and a minute later Jake was maneuvering through the stop-start terminal traffic with his usual controlled flair. Sabrina didn’t realize she was holding her breath until they passed the Welcome to Atlanta sign on the airport periphery and she let it out.
Jake glanced over at her. “Your skirt’s too long.”
“Are you kidding? Those guys wanted to make mincemeat out of my thighs.” Ugh, the words conjured an unpleasant image; Sabrina squirmed in her seat. “You can’t blame me for covering up.”
“Avoidance doesn’t work. Confronting challenges head-on is the only way to win the respect of the media.”
It wasn’t the media’s respect she needed at this stage, though it might help with her new job. “I was about to confront those reporters when you butted in.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A simple thank-you will suffice.”
“I can fight my own battles,” she said, striving for a dignity that would put Jake in his place. His place being out of her life.
He snorted. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re no longer Daddy’s helpless little princess…”
Her fingers curled in her lap. “Did you see my father at the airport?” she demanded. “You know, given half a chance, he would have been there, browbeating those guys. I can get past this on my own.”
“Why break the habit of a lifetime now?” Visibly, Jake bit down on further criticism. Which wasn’t like him. He was the one person who didn’t pull his punches with her.
“Why were you at the airport instead of Tyler?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
Typical Jake, keeping information to himself, treating her as if she was an infant. And not a very smart one at that. Sabrina feigned a gasp of horror. “You’ve gone over to the dark side!”
At his impatient look, she elaborated. “You came to save me from those reporters—you’ve joined the Coddle Sabrina Merritt League.”
He rolled his eyes. “Never going to happen, sweetheart.”
The sweetheart hovered between them. Sabrina tried to think of a smart comment. Then the hard line of Jake’s mouth curved in something that might have been a grimace, but just might have been…
“What’s with the weird smile?” she asked. “That’s the second one today.”
Immediately, his lips resumed their granite set. “Tyler said I had to be nice,” he admitted.
Tyler was Jake’s cousin. He’d managed to stay close friends with both of them, despite the rift between Jake and Sabrina. She pffed. “I don’t need Tyler championing my cause, and I don’t need you grinning at me.”
“My smile is my best feature,” Jake said. “Seventy percent of voters think so.” Again, that ironic tone.
“A hundred percent of this voter doesn’t agree.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “I count on you being nasty.”
They lapsed into a moment’s silence as he passed a moving truck. “I’m not nasty.”
“Mean, then,” she amended. “I rely on you not to handle me with kid gloves. So don’t go screwing up my world any more than it already is.” She folded her arms and looked out her window at the light industrial area they were passing through.
“So you don’t need your dad, you don’t need Tyler. Do they know you’re flying solo?” He sounded curious rather than sarcastic.
“They’ll figure it out when they see the changes I’m making.” She twisted to face Jake. “Being Miss Georgia has been an empowering experience.”
Another snort—she should have known better than to trust his interest.
“That’s what you said on TV,” he said, “in Las Vegas.”
She pounced. “So you were watching.”
The color that rose above the collar of his striped shirt was some compensation.
“I figured it was a line to impress the judges,” he said.
Sabrina contemplated how, if that had been her strategy, it had been a dismal failure. “Your defense of me at the airport was very touching,” she said, the memory of her humiliation stinging afresh.
“Don’t take it personally, I just told the truth. You do have great legs.” He turned on the radio, tuned in to a current-affairs show. He’d had enough of this conversation, so apparently it was over.
Sabrina hit the off button; Jake’s head jerked in her direction. “I meant,” she said, “the bit where you said I’m beautiful inside and out.”
His lips clamped together, then parted just enough for him to mutter, “I got carried away with my own rhetoric.”
“A common pitfall for politicians.”
No reply. Just the jump of a muscle in his cheek as he returned his focus to the road.
The buzz of her cell phone had Sabrina rummaging through her purse. One glance at the display and she stuffed the phone back into the jumble of makeup and tissues.
“Reporter?” Jake asked.
“My father.”
“Don’t you want to remind him how you don’t need him anymore?”
“He’ll soon see that.” Her dad’s impeccable sources would have reached him in Dallas where he was playing golf this weekend. He would know she was back and would be intent on shielding her, comforting her. Yet he would deny with his last breath that he had no respect for his youngest daughter—plenty of love, but no faith in her capabilities. Why had she let him, and everyone else, get away with that attitude for so long?
Sabrina realized Jake had taken a turn away from the direction of Buckhead, the exclusive area of Atlanta where they’d both grown up. “Hey, where are you going?”
“My place.”
Her heart jolted, the way it had the first time he’d said those words to her, years ago. “Excuse me?” That came out high, panicky. Because no way could he be planning on doing what they’d done back then. Could he?
“I want to talk to you.”
Talk. Sabrina’s pulse slowed. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind.
“Without the risk of one of your sisters barging in,” Jake added.
Sabrina swallowed, licked her lips. “You and I don’t talk.”
Technically, they talked often. Their families were close friends, they met at so many social occasions, it would be impossible to maintain the level of hostility that had consumed them five years ago.
To ease those social connections, they’d fallen into a kind of barbed banter that let them express their dislike in a way that didn’t discomfit other people. Everyone knew their history, no one expected them to be pals. Except Tyler, who, for an intelligent man, had a naive view of their potential for reconciliation.
But they didn’t have private, personal conversations—Sabrina couldn’t remember when she’d last been alone with Jake. Correction, she wished she couldn’t remember.
“Don’t you think it’s time to forgive and forget?” Jake said. “Time we started talking again?”
Jake Warrington, the man who never did anything that didn’t serve his ambition, wanted to be friends? She didn’t even have to think about it. “Nope, I’m good for a few more years.”
His mouth twitched. She looked away. “I want to go home now.” Home. Sabrina had moved back in with her dad when she won the Miss Georgia title. For her security, her father had insisted. He would argue when she told him she was moving out, but this time she would stand firm.
Jake kept driving in the wrong direction.
“This is kidnapping,” she pointed out.
“Only if I ask for a ransom and threaten to cut off your fingers.” He accelerated to get through a light before it turned red. “I’ll deliver you back to Daddy after we talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“I need your help.” He made a face, as if the words tasted of arsenic.
What help could Jake possibly need from her? Fashion advice? She slid a glance at him. She couldn’t fault his style. He looked fantastic whatever he wore.
He wasn’t about to divulge more. Short of wrenching the steering wheel out of his hands—and she would never, ever knowingly do something that might cause another accident—Sabrina had no choice but to go with him. She tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
When it became obvious Sabrina wasn’t about to argue, Jake relaxed his grip on the wheel. He caught himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. That flower in her hair, the orchid, made him think about his father and that in turn made him think about all his problems. He dropped his gaze to the graceful curve of Sabrina’s neck, then lower. Don’t go there. He forced his attention back to the road. Any guy would find her a distraction. From a beautiful, slightly skinny twenty-one-year-old, she’d grown into a stunning woman with curves that made his hands itch. An itch he planned to ignore.
SABRINA SPENT THE remainder of the journey to Virginia Highlands shoring up her resolution. Whatever Jake needed, she wasn’t the one to help him. The distance between them might be all about hostility on his side, but on hers it was self-preservation. Jake had broken her heart five years ago. Just looking at him reminded her of a pain she didn’t want to revisit, a vulnerability she never wanted to succumb to again.
Jake flicked his turn signal and pulled into the driveway of a house that blended modern design and rustic materials—stone base, natural cedar siding, cedar-shingle roof—to stunning effect. Sabrina had never been here before, but she’d heard all about it. The reality was even more impressive. She buzzed her window down, stuck her head out. “This place is fantastic.”
“Built by Warrington Construction.”
She knew from Tyler, whose brother Max ran Warrington Construction, that the basic design was Jake’s, handed over to an architect for refining.
Jake walked around the car to open Sabrina’s door. He hadn’t opened a door for her in years. “What’s going on, Jake? I don’t trust you when you’re nice.”
“Welcome to my world,” he muttered.
She climbed out, pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as she looked up at the house.
Jake’s scanned her, head to toe. “Inside,” he ordered.
The sooner she heard him out, the sooner she could go home and get on with her life. Sabrina stuck her chin in the air and marched up the front walk.
Jake keyed in an entry code and the extra-high, double-wide front door swung silently, easily, on industrial-size hinges.
Sabrina stepped into a slate-floored atrium, glanced at the elaborately framed mirror on the far wall, then up to the ceiling. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He led the way to the open-plan living and dining area, dominated by a stone-and-timber fireplace. Recesses in the fire surround stored logs and pinecones. Rustic.
“The kitchen’s through here.” Jake pointed to the doorway beyond.
She followed him into the large, south-facing kitchen. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the French doors, making patterns on the white marble floor and the warm wooden cabinets.
“Have a seat.” Jake waved to the stools at the marble-topped island. He filled the kettle and put it on the stove.
“You must love living here, in a place you’ve created for yourself,” Sabrina said as he retrieved mugs, coffee, sugar.
He shrugged. “I wanted to build something distinctive, but with an architectural integrity that would stand the test of time.”
Typical of Jake to reduce this incredible home to something as calculated as architectural integrity. They lapsed into a silence while they waited for the kettle.
At last, Jake concentrated on adding boiling water to the French press. He added half-and-half and one sugar to Sabrina’s cup, nothing to his, then poured the dark, rich brew. He slid hers across the island.
Sabrina blew on the hot coffee then took a sip. She gave him the thumbs-up and a mischievous smile. “Perfect.”
Jake’s scowl told her he wished he hadn’t remembered how she took hers. He reached for the folder on the end of the island and handed her a sheet of paper. “Read this.”
Curious enough to obey, she put her mug down on the island. She scanned the page, a summary of the latest opinion poll about the forthcoming gubernatorial primary. “Ouch.”
“Exactly,” he said. “The public trust me about as much as they’d trust an arsonist with a match.”
She gripped the paper more tightly. “You must have known that would be a problem.”
“Know why they don’t trust me?” His tone was conversational, but she picked up the old resentment beneath the surface.
Sabrina swallowed, though she hadn’t drunk any more coffee. “Because your father broke the law.”
His mouth tightened. “If you could do it over again,” he said, “would you?”
They both knew what “it” was. The back of her neck prickled; she dropped the damning opinion-poll results. “Jake, your father was a hero to me, the best governor a man could be. I thought he was so caring, so principled.” Needlessly, she stirred her coffee. “No one could have been more upset to discover he’d taken a bribe—apart from his family,” she added quickly. “But no matter how much I admired him, I couldn’t let him get away with it.”
“I mean,” Jake said deliberately, “would you do it the same way?”
He had her there. Because with the benefit of hindsight—and a whole lot more maturity—she wouldn’t have been so rash in her denunciation of Governor Ted Warrington. Wouldn’t have made those distraught calls summoning the media to a midnight press conference, thus guaranteeing the story would trounce every other headline off the front pages. She wouldn’t have forced Jake and his family to wake up to a posse of reporters on their doorstep, so that his dad appeared before the nation aging and vulnerable in his pajamas.
She didn’t want to think about that night, or about what happened afterward—the public frenzy that had condemned Ted before he gave his side of the story. And the flaming, bitter end of her relationship with Jake.
“The outcome would have been the same,” she said uneasily, not meeting his eyes. She caught her reflection in the oven door, saw how she’d hunched down in self-defense. She straightened on her stool. “Your father would still have had to quit.”
“People might at least have given him credit for having selfless motives. If he’d been allowed to retain some dignity…” He let out a hiss. “My parents’ marriage might have survived.”
She drew in a pained breath. If he dared suggest that had his parents not divorced, his mom would never have dated the man who’d taken her sailing on a day when no right-thinking person would have gone out, and drowned them both…
Sabrina shuddered—and saw from Jake’s narrowed eyes that she was taking exactly the path he wanted her to. Fortunately, he brought out her fighting instincts like nobody else. “Whatever help you want from me,” she said coolly, “you obviously think you need to guilt-trip me first. Let’s consider that done, and you can tell me why I’m here.”
He blinked. He must have expected her to cave at the first hint of conflict. She could practically see him rearranging his tactics.
“I need your help to establish public confidence in me,” he said finally, matching her bluntness.
“How could I—” That’s when realization dawned. “Ah. You mean, like—” she waggled her fingers, quote marks for an imaginary headline “—Fat-Thighed Beauty Queen Says, Vote Warrington?”
“I mean—” he made quote marks of his own “—Whistle-blower Says Son Is Not Like Father.”
She had to admit, it had a certain poetic beauty. If the woman who’d blown the whistle on crooked Governor Ted Warrington endorsed Ted’s son for office, voters would have to believe Jake was on the level. But the thought of getting involved with him again, even politically…
“I don’t understand why you’re even running for office,” she hedged. “You knew this would be a problem.”
“Susan did some polling before I decided to run. The results suggested that my grandfather’s and great-uncle’s years of public service to the state were enough to outweigh Dad’s mistakes.” Susan Warrington, Jake’s aunt and Tyler’s mom, was Jake’s campaign manager, as she’d been his father’s before him. Jake came from a long line of Georgia governors. “None of the numbers we’ve polled since then support that conclusion,” he finished.
Sabrina tapped the page in front of her. “That tells me why you thought you could win. You still haven’t said why you want to be governor.” Jake had always thought bigger than Georgia; he’d had his heart set on national politics, starting with Congress, back when he and Sabrina were dating.
The bribe scandal had ended that ambition. Jake had quit politics to work with Max at Warrington Construction.
“My father cheated this state, and I want to put that right,” he said. “I want to move on. I’m sick of being ‘crooked Ted Warrington’s son.’”
Sabrina swallowed and ducked her head. The poll data caught her eye. “This isn’t all bad news. People think you’re intelligent, likable and—and you have a nice smile.” According to the demographics data at the bottom of the page, seventy percent of the respondents were women. Sabrina knew they meant his smile—the one that adorned campaign posters around town, the one she never saw—was sexy. “Maybe Susan’s original numbers were right, and people will look past what your dad did.”
“They won’t,” he said flatly.
“My support would be more of a handicap than a help,” she assured him. “You saw those photographers at the airport. I’m a bad joke.”
He barked a laugh. “I guess you haven’t seen the local papers. The media might be poking fun at you, but there’s been a swell of public sympathy like you wouldn’t believe. The newspapers are full of letters saying what a wonderful Miss Georgia you are. And you’re Saint Sabrina of Talkback Radio.” The sweep of his hand encompassed the Georgia airwaves.
“You’re exaggerating,” she said, a part of her hoping he wasn’t. That the entire state didn’t hold her in contempt.
“Sabrina.” Jake gripped the edge of the island. “Would you trust me as governor?”
She would never trust him with her heart again, and would recommend no other woman should, either, but she did trust him as a politician. Unlike his father’s, Jake’s integrity was unshakable.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then we don’t have a problem.” His fingers relaxed. “Do we?”
She almost agreed. Then she realized what Jake was doing. In short order, he’d had her feeling grateful for his intervention at the airport, sorry for him over his poll results, guilty about the role she’d played in his family’s breakup…He was manipulating her emotions, just as he had five years ago. Back then, he’d left her shattered. Thankfully, he’d been too mad to see how he’d hurt her.
“Your getting involved in the governor race will take everyone’s minds off your legs,” he coaxed, as if offering her an irresistible enticement.
“Politics being even weightier?” she said sharply.
He grinned, almost amicably, and she guessed he thought her agreement was in the bag.
“I need you to tell the world you have complete trust in me,” he said. “And to attend some of my campaign events between now and the primary vote in June. We could start Monday—I’m opening an art exhibition at Wellesley High School. Your dad will probably be there, his firm is one of the sponsors. You could come along. What do you say?”
Sabrina studied her fingernails to avoid the compelling pressure of his gaze. “I say no.”

Chapter Two
JAKE SHOVED HIMSELF off his stool and took a couple of paces away from the island. “No to the high school art show?”
“No to all of it,” Sabrina said. No, I’m not dumb enough to get sucked into helping a guy who knows exactly how to reel me in. She cringed at the thought of how he’d led her to this moment today. Sabrina Merritt is a beautiful person, inside and out. Jake knew her looks were the source of her confidence, and he’d pandered to that. It felt just like the old days, when he’d played on her vulnerability to dissuade her from reporting his father the moment she’d learned of the bribe. What next? Would he try to use the attraction that still shimmered in the air between them, the heat that rose above their enmity?
“Dammit, Sabrina,” he said. “I’m not letting you out of here until you agree to help.”
She pressed her right hand palm down onto the island, slid it toward him. “Is this where you chop off my fingers for the ransom note?”
His gaze dropped to her manicured, Crushed Raspberry nails. “Just tell me why,” he said tightly.
“I have plans for my future, and they don’t involve revisiting the past.”
For long seconds he processed that. “When you say plans, do you mean like your plan to climb Everest?”
That stung. “When I said that, I was back on my feet for the first time after the accident.” She hated thinking about the car crash that had killed her mom and left Sabrina, then still a teenager, unable to walk for eighteen months. She glared at Jake. “Cut me some slack, will you?”
“Like you cut my father some slack?” he retorted.
The animosity between them was a tangible beast, provoked in an instant, snuffling at territory they hadn’t explored in years. Sabrina found herself shaking. Jake touched her hand and said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned the Everest thing.”
It was safest to assume his remorse was prompted by concern for his campaign. She pulled her hand back, rubbing the spot he’d left tingling. “You always were a know-it-all jerk,” she grumbled.
His shoulders eased. “You always were a spoiled brat,” he returned. He sat back down on his stool. “What’s your plan, Sabrina?”
“I don’t have to tell you. I haven’t even told Dad yet.”
“So it’s something he won’t like,” he speculated. He knew how close she was to her father. “Does it involve liposuction?”
“Of course not.” Her hands went involuntarily to her thighs. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”
“A point I made on your behalf today,” he reminded her.
She knew he was manipulating her again, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell him. “I’ve lined up a job with the Injured Kids Education Trust.”
He drained his cup. “Never heard of it.”
“The trust aims to establish a dedicated school for kids who’ve suffered serious injuries. It’ll combine physical rehabilitation with a regular high school education in a social environment. I met one of the directors through Tyler—the foundation funds their operating costs.” Tyler was the president of the charitable Warrington Foundation.
“I approached the trust a couple of months ago to ask if I could get involved. They want me to be their front person, to promote the need for the school and help lobby for funding. I had to get the Miss U.S.A. Pageant out of the way,” she said, “but the trust plans to announce my appointment this week.”
“Why haven’t you told your dad?” Jake cleared their cups away.
“Dad still wants me to work at Merritt, Merritt & Finch with him. Every time I suggest another job, he comes up with ten reasons why I should be somewhere he can look out for me, even though I’m not qualified to do anything in a law firm beyond opening the mail. He’s driving me crazy.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You love being pampered and protected by your father.”
Jake Warrington, The Man Who Knew Too Much. He knew she’d been born with an extra dependency gene that was the perfect match for her father’s extra protectiveness gene.
Jake had neither defect. Sabrina looked at him, at the broad shoulders that could bear the problems of a dozen chunky-thighed beauty queens, then at the uncompromising jaw that warned against leaning on him.
She wished she’d heeded that warning five years ago.
“I don’t love it anymore,” she said.
“You’ve never held down a job longer than six months. How is this different from any of your other one-minute-wonder careers?” Jake leaned back precariously on his stool. “From, say, cordon bleu catering, or your burning ambition to join the police?”
“Neither of those was right for me, but I know this is.”
“Then there was, let me see…” He rubbed his chin. “Dog-grooming school?”
Did he plan to catalog all the career choices she’d embraced and abandoned with equal speed? “That was over summer vacation, and I was trying to make a point to my father.”
The point being that, unlike her sisters, she didn’t want to pursue a law degree. Her father had finally conceded the point, but his latest idea was that she should work at the family firm while she trained to be a paralegal.
“What about your job in Congressman Smith’s office, working for world peace?” A sneer in the words. “At least that used your political science degree.”
“My degree is in international relations.” Didn’t he remember even that much about her?
“You mean, that Swiss guy you dated in your final year?”
She scowled. “Funny.” But since she’d chosen international relations specifically because the course wasn’t as tough as political science, then just scraped by while her social life took off exponentially, she wasn’t on firm ground. “Congressman Smith gave me the job as a favor to Dad, so I’d have something to talk about at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant. It was only ever a part-time, short-term project, not something I wanted to make a career out of. World peace is overrated.” It had been mentioned countless times at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant, the most warlike environment she’d ever encountered.
“And you think you can metamorphose into someone who’s serious about her work?” Jake’s stool scraped on the floor as he stood. “I can see why you’re attracted to this injury-trust idea, but admit it, Sabrina, the chances you’ll stick with it are low to zero.”
He wouldn’t be the last person to say that. Sabrina stood, too, robbing him of the height advantage.
“Your opinion is irrelevant,” she said. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve finally found an opportunity that will let me be more than Jonah Merritt’s pampered youngest daughter, the one who had the accident.” There was a time when she’d thought Jake saw past that label, but she’d been proven wrong. “This is a fresh start for me.”
It might have been a moment’s sympathy that softened Jake’s blue eyes, but more likely it was a trick of the light, because when he spoke, his voice was harsh. “I want a fresh start, too. Warringtons have served this state as governor for generations, until my father screwed up. I can’t wipe the slate clean unless I win this primary. If I can just do that, I’ll be a shoo-in for governor—the party will swing its full support behind me, and it hasn’t lost an election in Georgia in fifty years.”
His hands curled into fists, as if he had to squeeze out his next words. “Please, Sabrina, help me.”
Like her, he wanted to put the past behind him. Despite their mutual dislike, Sabrina sympathized. Don’t let him get to you. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “The days when I fell over my feet in my rush to do whatever you wanted are long gone, Jake.”
What the hell did that mean? Jake paced to the French doors, then turned to face her. “If you fell over your feet, that was your choice. I didn’t ask you to.” He couldn’t suppress his outrage, even though logic told him to stay calm. Back when they were dating, he’d indeed known she would do anything for him, and been careful to ask for nothing. Until the bribe. And look how well that had turned out.
“You didn’t have to ask. I did whatever it took to please you. But I’m stronger now, stronger than you or anyone knows.”
The disconnect between what she was saying and her appearance couldn’t have been greater, Jake thought. Sabrina might not be as skinny as some of her rivals at Miss U.S.A., but there was something about her that suggested fragility. Her wrists were slender, her fingers long and fine. She had a habit of shielding her clear blue eyes with her lashes, so that people—men—worried about her.
Since their breakup, Jake always assumed she was hiding her laughter at the way they made idiots of themselves over her.
The way he almost had. The only good to come out of her betrayal was that it had forced an end to a relationship that teetered on the verge of out of control but that he hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to abandon.
He hauled his mind back to the present, to Sabrina standing hands on hips in front of him. “Okay, I believe you,” he said. “You’re strong. And I accept that you’re dedicated to your new job—in fact, I admire that.”
She didn’t relax one iota.
“But your responsibilities for the trust don’t sound like full-time work. Surely you can help me out with the occasional interview, a couple of public appearances?”
She was shaking her head before he finished talking.
“Dammit, Sabrina, you’re not the one who should be holding a grudge here,” he snapped. She was famous among their friends for her generous willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt, a second chance. Why should he be the exception to the rule? Unless…
“This isn’t about you and me, our personal relationship, is it?” He grasped her shoulders, and the contact with bare flesh, covered only by the thin straps of her dress, shocked him with the power of a lightning strike. He jerked backward, at the same moment as she wrenched herself free. Jake willed his breathing to slow down. “Are you refusing to help me because you’re still mad that I dumped you?”
Damn, damn, damn. What was it about Sabrina that destroyed his rationality? Now he’d made her mad.
She pressed her full lips together as she snatched her purse. “I’m leaving.”
Jake recognized that stubbornness. The last time he’d seen it, she’d been in the hospital, not much more than a kid, fighting to recover from the accident with everything she had.
Years later when he’d been drawn against all good sense to Sabrina the Social Butterfly, he’d concluded that her recovery must have drained the reserves of her strength, her courage. Which explained why she was content to accept, almost welcomed people’s stifling protectiveness and concern. He’d understood, sympathized…though not to the extent that he’d let her pull her helpless act on him.
Now, he realized that teenage obstinacy had just been shelved until she needed it. And he was at a disconcerting loss as to what to do next. No more begging, that was for sure. He would think of something else. Tomorrow. He grabbed his keys. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I’ll call Tyler, have him pick me up.”
If Jake hadn’t felt so bitter, he’d have laughed. She expected him to believe her refusal was about her new start, nothing to do with their personal history. He held out the phone to her. “Here you go, Miss Independence. Summon Tyler to your rescue.”
He watched as she blushed beet red. Wordlessly, she took the phone from him. Her finger hovered over the buttons, then she dialed.
She ordered a cab.
Too little, too late, Jake thought as they waited in silence for the taxi. Which they both knew would take her to her father’s house. Sabrina could claim the independence of a yeti. But she was still the same old Sabrina, relying on her looks and on her family and friends to get her through life’s difficulties.
And if she was the same old Sabrina, one way or another, he would convince her to do what he wanted.

“SABRINA, THANKS FOR rearranging your schedule to meet with us this afternoon.” Richard Ainsley, head of the Injured Kids Education Trust, shook Sabrina’s hand and ushered her into his luxurious penthouse apartment.
“No problem, you know the trust is my top priority.” Sabrina smiled at the man who had sufficient belief in her abilities that he’d offered her the job of her dreams. In her new role, she would do so much to help children and teens with spinal and other serious injuries. To give them hope. Nothing could be more worthwhile.
The tension of yesterday’s conversation with Jake faded with each step she took across the plush, cream-colored carpet.
She just wished she was a little more wide-awake for this meeting. Behind Richard’s back, she stifled a yawn. She shouldn’t have wasted precious sleep time last night tossing and turning, worrying about Jake’s election prospects. She’d bet he hadn’t given her career another thought.
Sleep deprivation must be the reason why it took a while for Richard’s exact words to seep into her brain. “Uh, did you say, to meet with us?” As far as she knew, this get-together was an informal one-on-one meeting to draft an announcement of her appointment.
Over his shoulder he said, “A couple of the other board members are joining us.”
“A couple” meant four, Sabrina discovered when she followed Richard into the dining room. A silver-haired woman, a slightly younger brunette and two middle-aged men were already seated at the antique mahogany table.
Was it her imagination, or did four pairs of eyes drop to her thighs?
Richard introduced her to the board members. Focused on clenching her thigh muscles in an attempt to minimize their bulk, Sabrina struggled to absorb their names.
Richard pulled out a green velvet-upholstered chair for her, the other side of the table from the others. He took his seat at the head, which meant she now had five people staring at her. Outranked by age, number and severity of demeanor, Sabrina felt like a five-year-old who’d flunked Finger Painting 101.
“I’m honored that the announcement of my appointment was important enough to bring you all here.” She laughed nervously.
Richard didn’t offer her coffee, the way he had at previous meetings—Sabrina looked longingly at the pot on the sideboard. Behind the coffee, through glass-fronted cabinet doors, she saw an array of spirits. A stiff whiskey held sudden appeal.
“You’ll remember,” Richard began, “my mentioning that your appointment would need to be ratified by the board.”
“I recall your describing it as a formality,” she said.
His gaze slid away. Sabrina got a hollow feeling behind her ribs.
Maybe because she’d just had her first personal conversation with Jake in five years, a saying of his father’s popped into her head. If you want orchids, don’t plant camellias.
If she wanted this job, she couldn’t afford to joke, or to skirt around the topic.
“Is there a problem with my appointment?” Sabrina asked. “Because I am one hundred percent committed to the trust and to what you’re—we’re—trying to do. As you said, Richard, my past injuries and my public profile make me the ideal candidate.”
Richard’s mouth pulled back in a smile that was more grimace, as if he didn’t appreciate her excellent memory. “The board’s thinking with regard to public profile has, uh, changed. We’re now thinking of a specific kind of profile.” He sent a silent appeal to his colleagues.
The silver-haired woman spoke up. “The Injured Kids Education Trust is at a crucial juncture.”
So is my life.
Silver Hair continued, “With the election coming up, this is our big chance to lobby for funds for the school and to create awareness at the local and national levels. We believe we need a front person with more—” her gazed flicked to the table, as if she could see right through the mahogany to Sabrina’s thighs “—gravitas.”
She raised her eyebrows, perhaps questioning whether Sabrina knew what gravitas meant.
“You think being Miss Georgia means I don’t have gravitas?” Sabrina asked.
One of the men cleared his throat. “It’s more that we wouldn’t expect our spokesperson to be front-page news in the tabloid newspapers.”
The man next to him fingered the knot in his navy-blue silk tie. “The rumors of physical confrontation in Las Vegas…”
“The only confrontation was verbal, when another competitor said she wanted to slap me.” Sabrina shifted on her chair; it was mortifying to have to explain Miss Maine’s sudden conviction that Sabrina’s wealthy father must have bribed the judges for her to win the Miss Georgia contest. Just because nearly every other woman had worked her way up through contests like Miss Save ‘n’ Grow Bank Summer Carnival before making it at state level…
Distaste crossed Richard’s face.
“She said it,” Sabrina said levelly. “I walked away and that was the end of it.”
“Not as far as the media were concerned,” Silver Hair pointed out. “The public perception is of a squabble.”
The temperature in the room seemed to have plunged to arctic levels. Sabrina shivered in her pink silk blouse and tailored knee-length cream skirt, perfect, she’d thought this morning, in their demureness. Maybe something severe and black would have been a better choice. She rubbed her arms. This was how Jake must feel, poised to lose the primary.
But she knew for sure Jake wasn’t about to give up on becoming governor just because she wouldn’t cooperate.
I won’t give up, either. Sabrina drew a steadying breath and willed herself not to react in a way that might shred the board’s paper-thin respect for her.
“My level of public support has actually grown since the incidents you mention,” she said. Jake’s comments had checked out in the online search she’d run last night. She had a lot of new fans since the Miss U.S.A. debacle.
“We’re not looking for someone who can whip up the sympathy of the man in the street,” Silver Hair said. “We need to impress legislators, educators, corporate sponsors. People with serious concerns.”
“I’m pleased you said that.” Sabrina shot her a dazzling smile. “Because people with serious concerns don’t pay much attention to tabloid headlines. The media will soon lose interest in my, uh, deficiencies. What won’t change is that I’m the best fit for this job.” She squared her shoulders as she glanced around the table. “Do you think you’ll find another spokesperson with my public recognition at all levels of society, who knows what it’s like to put an education on hold because of an injury? Someone who truly understands the difference our school will make?”
Richard leafed through the papers in front of him as if he had two dozen such candidates right there in black and white.
Sabrina knew he didn’t. She breathed a little easier and spread her fingers on the table’s polished surface. It was natural that the board should have questions about the headlines. What mattered was that she could show them she was unique.
“The other possibility,” the man in the blue tie said, “is that we recruit a family member of someone affected by serious injury. Someone who can talk about the effect on the entire family.”
“It lacks the same emotional impact,” Sabrina said with all the authority she could muster.
“Perhaps, but that person might have other qualities that lend themselves to the job. More orthodox qualities.”
Sabrina’s spine tingled. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“One of the reasons I welcomed your approach,” Richard said, “was because your father’s firm has a strong track record fighting legal battles in the education system.”
Okay, maybe she was as stupid as they appeared to think, because it took a full five seconds for Sabrina to see where this was going.
“My family? You’re thinking one of my sisters could front the trust?”
She would rather they gave the job to Miss Maine. To not only have her dream snatched from her, but then to see it handed to one of her fearsomely intelligent, supersuccessful sisters…
I won’t let them do this.
“It’s only a thought,” Richard said.
Sabrina whisked her trembling hands into her lap, and was embarrassed to see her fingertips had left ten smudges on the glossy tabletop. “Neither of my sisters would dream of accepting the position,” she said. “Not when they know how important it is to me.”
She hoped she was right. Her sisters loved her, but they’d thought her winning Miss Georgia and the gusto with which she’d thrown herself into the role was cute, rather than a worthy achievement. They didn’t take her seriously, and she knew darned well they didn’t respect her. Why should they?
She’d spent years letting people do things for her because they’d worried she would overdo it in the aftermath of the accident. Had a string of unlikely, unfulfilled ambitions, culminating in the ignominy of the Miss U.S.A. Pageant. And now the injured children she wanted to help would have to rely on someone else to champion them. To think, she’d even imagined announcing her new role to her family and, yes, impressing them.
She didn’t really believe either of her sisters would snatch the job out from under her if she asked them not to. But she was glad she hadn’t told them about the appointment, glad she didn’t have to witness their lack of surprise when they learned she’d been fired before she started.
Jake wouldn’t be surprised, either. He was about to be proven right—she couldn’t hold down a job.
The only person who believes in me is me. The thought left an unpleasant, metallic taste in her mouth.
If I’m the only person who believes in me, I’m the only person who can fix this.
Okay, she hadn’t expected establishing her independence and earning some respect to be so fraught. But she couldn’t give up now. “The problem with a knee-jerk reaction to the headlines,” she said, interrupting Silver Hair, who’d started pontificating about credibility, “is that it fails to take some important considerations into account.”
“And those are…?” Richard prompted.
At last, someone was giving her a break. She smiled at him, more warmly than he deserved. “You don’t just need someone to recite whatever words you put in their mouth. You need someone who’ll have active input into your strategy.”
Sabrina spread her palms on the table again, not caring if she perspired right through the wood’s high-gloss polish. “For instance, you’re relying on the education department and a few private backers to open their wallets to build the school. That’s not good enough.” Richard’s chin jutted at her temerity, but she didn’t stop. “The school should be fully state funded, so we don’t go through the cycle year after year of begging for donations. We need backing at the highest level of the state legislature.”
Silver Hair let out a condescending laugh. “That’s the dream scenario, but it’s not going to happen. Certainly not because of your involvement.”
The woman’s rudeness was breathtaking.
Spots floated before Sabrina’s eyes. She hadn’t felt this angry since a resident physician had told her she’d likely never walk again.
She needed to say something to shut these people up, once and for all. Something big, no half measures.
Her high profile and her medical history wouldn’t cut it. She needed something that would trump her sisters’ brains, business connections and lobbying capabilities.
What would Jake do? Just yesterday, he’d asked a woman he despised to endorse him. A desperate measure. Jake would do whatever it takes.
Jake.
Desperation.
“You’re probably aware that Jake Warrington, my—” Sabrina drew a shuddery breath “—my fiancé, is running for governor.”
Every person in the room sat up straighter. Including Sabrina, who was fighting the instinct to slink down in her seat.
“You and Jake Warrington are engaged?” Silver Hair asked.
“He asked me to marry him yesterday.” Incredible how easily the lie tripped off her tongue. But then, Jake always said she spoke before she thought.
Richard addressed the board members. “You might have seen Warrington on the TV news, meeting Sabrina at the airport.”
“There hasn’t been anything in the papers about you and Warrington, uh, being involved,” one of the men said.
“We’ve been discreet.” So discreet, Jake doesn’t even know about it. “You may recall that Jake and I have a, er, troubled past.” Heads nodded—anyone who’d been in Georgia during the Warrington bribe scandal knew Ted Warrington’s son’s girlfriend, working as an intern in the governor’s office, had broken the story. “We wanted to be sure of our feelings.”
“So, as Warrington’s fiancée…” Richard prompted, losing interest in the romantic details.
“Jake fully supports the idea of state funding for the school,” she said. “Education is his main campaign platform.” At last, the truth! “So our school will be very much on his agenda.”
“He’s not exactly the fron-trunner in the election,” Silver Hair pointed out.
“Jake’s commitment to education will put pressure on the other candidates throughout the campaign.” That sounded convincing, to Sabrina’s ears, at least. “Special-needs education will be on the political agenda whether the others like it or not. If they won’t make the same commitment as Jake, they’ll look hard-hearted. Kids with severe injuries are an emotional issue—every parent dreads their child being in an accident.”
“Good point,” Richard said.
“As his fiancée,” Sabrina continued, “I’ll be on the campaign trail with him. That is, as far as my commitments to the Injured Kids Education Trust allow.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll be meeting people who are in a position to support the school, and I’ll be doing my utmost to convince them.”
Any more and she risked betraying her ignorance of Jake’s campaign. Sabrina sat back and waited.
Significant glances fired across the room. Richard picked up his pen, made a few notes. He cleared his throat. “The board would like to—”
Yes!
“—congratulate you on your engagement,” he said.
Sabrina held her breath as the earlier contempt evolved into congratulatory murmurs.
“I think we’re all in agreement—” Richard looked around, received emphatic nods in reply “—that this news changes our perspective.”
Sabrina tried not to feel insulted. It didn’t matter if they were impressed because she was engaged to Jake. What mattered was that she could do this job.
“We would be delighted if you would come on board as spokesperson for the trust,” Richard said.
Her exultant whoop took the directors aback. She toned it down to an emphatic nod. “I would be delighted to accept.”
Smiles and handshakes followed, with the men taking the opportunity to kiss a beauty queen.
“This calls for a drink.” Richard crossed to the sideboard. “I have a rather fine single malt here.” He tilted the bottle in her direction.
Now he brings out the whiskey.
“Not for me.” The enormity of what she’d done was starting to sink in, and Sabrina’s knees began to shake. One sip of single malt and she’d be laid out on the floor.
The oblivion was tempting. But she was responsible for her own future now. She stretched her mouth into a smile. “I need to tell Jake the good news.”

Chapter Three
THE BEAUTY QUEEN’S instruction manual was conspicuously silent on the protocol for telling a man who hates you that he’s now your fiancé.
Which meant Sabrina had to figure out her own way to tell Jake, and to enlist his support. Soon. The trust planned to announce her appointment tomorrow, and although she’d emphasized to the directors that her engagement wasn’t yet public, was in fact totally secret, one of them was bound to let slip what was apparently her highest qualification for the job.
As soon as she left Richard’s penthouse, she called Jake’s campaign office from the sanctuary of her lime-green VW Beetle. A staff member told her Jake had a couple of media interviews this afternoon, after which he would go directly to the senior art exhibition at Wellesley High, a private school in Buckhead.
The staffer gave her Jake’s cell-phone number, but his phone was switched off. Sabrina left a couple of urgent but non-specific messages. Though she kept her phone close as she ran errands around town, he didn’t call back. You’d think he’d return calls from the woman who held his political future in her hands…The thought of wielding so much power cheered Sabrina as she walked into Happy Hands for her five-o’clock manicure appointment.
“You poor sweetie.” Tina, the manicurist, hugged Sabrina. “Vile reporters, saying those things about you.”
“I’m over it,” Sabrina told her as she settled into the chair and immersed her hands in a steaming bowl of scented water. “I’m moving on.”
“Good girl.” Tina chatted for a minute about the evening dresses worn at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant, then patted Sabrina’s hands dry with a soft towel. She pumped some moisturizer into her palms, and began massaging it into Sabrina’s skin. “What color today? Scarlet Woman?”
Sabrina flinched. “Make it Lilac Surprise.”
Surprise was perhaps an understatement for how Jake would feel about her announcement. But he couldn’t get too mad, not when their engagement would help him.
She just needed to tell him about it before anyone else did. He’d invited her to attend the high school exhibition, and that was what she would do.
Sabrina tipped her head back, closed her eyes and tried to plan what she would say.
Despite Tina’s relaxing ministrations, the forty-five minutes Sabrina spent at Happy Hands weren’t as productive as she’d have liked. Her mind persisted in playing out scenarios that left her…nervous.
She could see herself telling Jake about the engagement, burying the E word discreetly within the wonderful news that she was willing to support him for governor. Unfortunately, she couldn’t envisage Jake’s gratitude. It seemed more probable that his laser mind would zoom in on the fiancé thing and…mostly, the scenarios ended with him strangling her and burying her in a shallow grave. Yikes.
THE WELLESLEY HIGH art exhibition and auction was an annual event that attracted a strong turnout from the Buckhead locals, many of whose children were current or former students at the school. Several professional artists, some of them quite well-known, had donated works that hung alongside the teenagers’. The school probably hoped to raise tens of thousands of dollars from tonight’s soiree.
Sabrina still hadn’t heard from Jake as she wandered through the growing crowd. The official opening was at seven-thirty. It was seven now, and there was no sign of the guest of honor.
Maybe he was picking up his date. Sabrina almost dropped her smoked-salmon canapé. Did Jake have a girlfriend? She popped the canapé into her mouth, where it promptly turned to cardboard. A girlfriend would complicate matters, to put it mildly.
Tyler would have told her if Jake was seeing someone, he always did. As if he worried she might be hurt at the unexpected sight of Jake with another woman.
Sabrina tugged at her dress to make sure it hadn’t ridden up on her hips. She’d dressed for tonight with expert attention to her appearance—the one thing she was invariably good at. Her knee-length white silk shift dress, its high collar threaded with gold and silver, was very classy. Lots of gravitas.
Perfect for the spokesperson of a charitable trust. Or for a governor’s fiancée.
She abandoned her mineral water and accepted a glass of chardonnay from one of the school’s senior students acting as servers.
Several people greeted her, mostly friends of her father’s. Her dad should be here, too. He’d gone straight to his office when he flew in from Dallas this morning, which meant so far, she’d been spared a rehashing of the chunky-thighs fiasco.
Sabrina made the requisite small talk, but with more difficulty than usual. With every passing minute her sense of urgency grew.
She sipped her wine, but the excellent vintage, which she knew should taste peachy with a hint of oak, might as well have been antifreeze. She paid scant attention to the artworks people pointed out to her. The exhibition was titled Climb; students had been asked to create paintings or sculptures on the theme of upward movement. Maybe it was a good omen, she thought in an attempt to be positive, of the direction her career and Jake’s were about to go.
She was talking to Duncan Frith, the school principal, when she saw Jake shouldering his way through the throng. At first glance he looked ultracivilized—not to mention gorgeous—in his dark custom-made suit and white shirt. Every woman in the place followed him with her eyes. As he neared her, Sabrina realized his expression was thunderous, his mouth set in a grim line that promised zero tolerance for accidental announcements of impending nuptials.
He knows.
His eyes found her, and she had the sense of being lined up in a rifle’s sights. Even as her brain reminded her she needed to speak to him, the instincts honed by a lifetime of pampering told her to run. She would grow up and take responsibility next week.
She’d barely managed to maneuver around Duncan’s considerable girth, when her elbow was clamped in a viselike grip and Jake muttered, “Oh no you don’t.”
“Jake!” She pinned a bright, sociable smile to her lips, while her eyes clung to her destination, the red fire-exit sign gleaming at the back of the room. No longer an option, she conceded reluctantly.
“Jake, glad you could make it.” Duncan Frith shook Jake’s free hand then consulted his watch. “We have ten minutes until the official speeches—let me get you a drink.”
“I need a word with Sabrina first.” Jake tugged her arm.
She could almost smell the damp earth of the shallow grave. She would be insane to go anywhere with him. “Duncan was just telling me how about the senior history curriculum, and it reminded me of your encyclopedic knowledge of Georgia state history.” Under the circumstances, a touch of flattery could do no harm.
“Geography,” Duncan corrected her tolerantly. “We were talking about geography.”
Jake growled. “Excuse us, Duncan.”
Without waiting for a reply, he dragged Sabrina toward the far end of the room, where a cordon marked the end of the exhibition.
She glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t see any gorgeous, sophisticated woman in their wake. “Did you bring a date?” she asked.
He paused in his Neanderthal dragging. “Why do you ask?”
“Neither did I. Rather a coincidence,” she chirped, “that you and I should be single at the same time. Usually one of us is dating and the other…” She trailed off. Not only was she babbling, a habit Jake despised, but she was also revealing that she paid attention to his love life.
He unclipped the cordon, pushed her through and clipped the velvet rope behind them again. As barriers went, it did little to separate them from the masses…So why did Sabrina feel as if Jake had her alone on a precipice?
“Why did a Richard Ainsley call my campaign office and ask Susan when I plan to announce my support for his school for injured kids?” he demanded. “I assume that’s the school you work for.”
Sabrina’s mind raced. “Er…was that all Richard said?”
“What else might he have said?” Jake asked silkily.
She took a slug of wine. “Did he mention my, uh, relationship with you?”
“Relationship?” Jake frowned. “No.” Then, just as Sabrina relaxed, he snapped, “Unless you mean our engagement!”
Sabrina took a step backward. “I can explain.”
“Tell it to my campaign manager,” he said grimly. “I’ve spent the past half hour convincing an ecstatic Susan there’s no engagement. I think she finally accepted it, but your explanation as to how the confusion arose would help.”
Hmm, some backpedaling required with Susan Warrington tomorrow, Sabrina feared. “Susan will be pleased to hear,” she said, “that I’m willing to support you publicly in the race for governor.”
He stilled. “Is this in exchange for me supporting your school?” His hand went to his back pocket, as if he might write a check this instant.
“That…and more.” She finished the glass of wine. “You have to be my fiancé. Not my real fiancé,” she hastened to add. “And not forever. Just until I’m settled in my new job.”
Something dawned in his eyes, and it wasn’t gratitude. “The new job you got all by yourself, the one that proves you’re finally grown-up and independent?”
She swallowed, and wished someone would hurry up and invent the self-replenishing wineglass. “There’s been a glitch. A temporary one. My recent media exposure damaged my credibility as a spokesperson for the trust.”
He snorted. “The Miss U.S.A. garbage?”
“The trust—the directors—said I lack gravitas.”
“Well, you do.”
“Thank you so much,” she hissed, seeing a chance to reclaim the moral high ground. For good measure, she let her lower lip quiver, a tactic she’d been known to employ in her younger days, but one she wouldn’t have resorted to now in anything but the direst emergency.
The quivering bypassed Jake. “Sabrina, you’ve never been serious in your life.” He paused. “Except when you were learning to walk again. You were damn serious about that.”
“That’s how I feel about this job,” she said urgently. “It’s that important. All I need to convince these people I’m more than a pretty face is you as my fiancé—”
“Let’s get this straight,” he interrupted. “You actually told this Richard Ainsley we’re engaged? It’s not some wrong conclusion he jumped to?”
This was it. She closed her eyes, and jumped. “Yes.”
She peeked through her lashes as he flung a wild glance around the room. When he turned back, his eyebrows were a dark, angry slash. “But it’s a lie. A crazy lie.”
“I only told Richard. And the other members of the Trust’s board. I said it’s a secret, but obviously—”
“You lied.”
Did he have to keep stating the obvious? Several people were looking at them. Sabrina leaned into Jake, trying to signal the need for discretion.
“Think about it, Jake, this could be good for both of us. Getting engaged is far better than my endorsement of your campaign. You said yourself I’m more popular than ever thanks to my legs.”
“You would marry me to get this job,” he said, dazed.
“Technically, no. But it will appear that we’re getting married.”
He clutched his head. “You’re sabotaging my campaign.”
“I’m saving your campaign. In the past few weeks, the newspapers have speculated that you’re having an affair with a married woman, that you’re dating a coed, that you’re secretly engaged to the daughter of a former Indian prime minister.”
“None of that’s true,” he snapped.
“Now people will know for sure.”
There was a charged silence while he absorbed her logic.
“All you have to do is say yes to my proposal.” Bad choice of words; Sabrina winced. “Proposition,” she amended.
He rubbed his temples. “This is the kind of idea only you could come up with. Breaking up with you was like breaking out of Fairyland.”
Her eyes smarted, but she said airily, “And I’ll bet you miss the magic.”
He held her gaze, staring her down for several long seconds. Long enough for Sabrina to regroup. She grabbed his arm, determined to make her point before he stormed out and denounced her to Richard Ainsley. “I’m sure you have interns hitting on you all the time—” she swallowed her pride “—just like I used to.”
He scowled as he looked down at her hand on his arm. “I hit on you.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he’d been so lacking in discrimination. “What’s it to you if I encounter the occasional pushy intern?”
She stored away his admission that he’d pursued her, and the precious shred of dignity it afforded. “An engagement will protect you from the single women who could wreck your campaign by misreading something you say or do.”
“And all I have to do is change my education policy for the sake of your job,” he said calmly. He’d never sounded more dangerous.
Sabrina lifted her empty wineglass to her lips, a fragile barrier. “It’s not a change,” she said. “It’s a detail. You put special-needs education on the agenda, I’ll do the rest.”
“You’re overlooking one small fact,” he said. “Namely, you’re the last woman on earth I would marry.”
Ouch! Sabrina pressed a hand to her chest, stared at him. Desperation demanded she get over the insult. “Jake, your campaign is all about educational opportunities for everyone. You’re deeply committed to young people and their learning, I saw it on your Web site.”
“You visited my Web site?” Beneath his anger she discerned satisfaction that the last woman on earth that he would marry was interested enough to check him out online.
“By accident,” she said. “I was running a Google search for jerks.”
Before he could stop himself, Jake barked a laugh. Naturally, Sabrina pounced on the brief cessation of hostilities. “Supporting my school isn’t a big stretch, Jake.” She turned cajoling, the way she used to when they were dating. Using that voice, she’d talked him into drinking the vile blue cocktail she favored at the time. And skinny-dipping in the pool at the governor’s mansion.
Silly things. Games. Nothing like this.
“You’re insane,” he said.
Or was he? Because much as he tried to fight it, she was starting to make sense. It was difficult to campaign as a bachelor—there was always the risk that a kiss on the cheek, an inadvertent touch, would be taken the wrong way. Susan often said her job would be easier if he had a girlfriend.
“Why does it have to be an engagement?” he asked. “Why can’t we tell people we’re dating?”
Her eyes widened, brightened. But when she spoke she was calm, pragmatic. Qualities Jake admired. Qualities about as far from Sabrina’s nature as Mars was from Venus.
“We’ve been there, done that, five years ago,” she said. “To be taken seriously, we need a commitment this time around. Anyway, I’ve already said we’re engaged.”
He tried to corral more arguments, but they eluded him.
“I’ll let you think about it.” She turned her back on him to study one of the paintings on the wall just beyond the cordon.
The square canvas was painted almost entirely black, with a thin gold line down the middle. Jake read the caption over her shoulder: Inside The Elevator During a Power Cut.
Sabrina started to giggle; there was an edge of hysteria to it.
“This picture sums up how I feel,” Jake said grimly.
“In the dark?” Her voice wobbled.
“Trapped.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t funny, Sabrina.” Because no matter that she was letting him think about it, he didn’t have a choice. She’d told people they were engaged, there was no way such juicy news wouldn’t spread, even if she rescinded it. The press would be onto it; Jake would have to publicly contradict a woman often described as “Georgia’s darling.” More damage to his reputation, his campaign.
She must have read his thoughts. “It’s really not that complicated. We’ll say we’re engaged, my appointment will be confirmed, then I’ll endorse your campaign and attend a few events with you. As many as you want. Jake, this is exactly what you wanted, only…different.”
Sabrina, the ultimate optimist—it must have taken a lunatic sense of optimism to persevere the way she had after the accident.
“This is the only way you’ll get my support,” she said.
The only way he could win.
“If you win the primary,” she continued, “I’ll stick with the engagement until the election in November.”
Hell, it was bad enough pretending to be her fiancé for the six weeks until the primary. November was seven months away. “Why should I trust you, when you’ve never stuck with anything else?”
“Because this time,” she said, “I’m claiming dumping rights.”
“You’re claiming what?”
She flashed a smile at the wait-kid who offered a tray of cheese puffs over the cordon and waved him away.
“One of us has to dump the other,” she told Jake. “As soon we’re through the election, I’ll dump you.”
He wished he’d accepted that drink the principal had offered. “Why wouldn’t we announce we separated by mutual agreement?”
“Everyone knows that’s a line put out to save face, and that someone did the dumping.”
“Why should it be you?”
“It’s my turn,” she said reasonably.
“Fine,” he said. “You get to dump me.” The trapped-in-the-elevator painting loomed in his peripheral vision. “Just so long as you do get around to it. I don’t care if you could make me president of the United States, I am not going to marry you. Got it?”
“Loud and clear.” She tossed her blond hair, but somehow it didn’t muss. “And don’t you get any ideas about groping me when we have to kiss in public.”
Kiss in public? His lips tightened. “There isn’t a chance in hell that I’ll grope you.”
“Really? Because you used to have trouble keeping your hands to yourself.”
She was right, dammit. Back then, she could shred his self-control with just a wiggle of her hips.
“Trust me, it won’t be a problem.” He meant it…and yet he couldn’t help looking at Sabrina’s mouth, thinking about those public kisses they’d be expected to share. Her lips were a perfect pink bow, temptingly plump at the bottom. What the hell was he thinking, buying into her scheme?
Jake looked at her with such loathing, Sabrina flinched. She was used to getting her way through coaxing and flirting. Here, she was an amateur trying to play hardball with a professional. She needed to stop antagonizing him, or he would never agree, she would lose her job and she’d be back at square one.
“Sabrina, Baby.” Her father’s hearty voice, booming the childhood nickname, reached her before he did, giving her a chance to compose a relaxed smile. Jonah Merritt removed the cordon so he could pull her into a bear hug, squashing her against the plaid sports jacket that for him counted as casual clothing. “Sweetheart, I figured out how we’re going to sue those guys.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the art critic from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, whose ultrahighbrow reputation meant he refused to take an interest in a beauty queen. “They don’t get to say your thighs are chunky without paying you a lot of money.”
“Dad, stop,” she said, alarmed. Who would believe her father was one of Atlanta’s top lawyers, when he sounded like an ambulance chaser? “I don’t want to sue them.”
“It’s libel, and we can prove it.”
She folded her arms and glared at him, relieved to have an excuse to ignore Jake’s glower. “Will proving it involve close-up shots of my thighs, measurement of my body-fat content and expert testimony?” She might not have attended law school, but she knew how lawsuits worked.
Her father must have picked up on the warning in her tone, because he said with uncharacteristic vagueness, “Well, uh, that sort of technical evidence is generally welcome in cases of this nature.”
“Dad, my legs are not technical evidence. I’m not suing anyone, I just want to get on with my life.”
Unaware he was first on the list of people who would soon have to butt out of her affairs, her father beamed. “That’s very generous of you, sweetheart.”
Jake made a gagging sound.
“Jake, good to see you.” Jonah clapped him on the shoulder. Sabrina’s father thought Jake was the best thing since the First Amendment. The two men shook hands, both strong, tough and self-controlled. For both, reputation meant everything. It occurred to Sabrina belatedly that her father would be horrified at her faking an engagement. Jake was right, this was a bad idea. She could tell the trust they were dating, as he’d suggested, and that in her excitement she’d jumped the gun on the engagement…
“Glad you’re running for governor,” Jonah said. “That takes guts in your situation. You’ve got my vote.”
“Pleased to hear it.” Jake’s voice was strained. “There’s something else I’d like from you, Jonah.”
“I told Susan I’d be happy to donate. My checkbook’s at home, but I can—”
“No.” Jake spoke sharply. Then he smiled. A tighter effort than his vote-winning smile, one that didn’t engage his eyes. “I want to ask for Sabrina’s hand in marriage.”

Chapter Four
“I SHOULD SLAP YOU both silly for not telling me this was going on.” Susan Warrington tried to sound severe, but wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted for Jake? For him to find the happiness he sorely needed? She couldn’t keep the smile from her voice.
She couldn’t let them off scot-free, either. This campaign had enough problems to turn the rest of her hair gray, without secrets popping up out of the woodwork. She eyed Jake and Sabrina across the battered, lacquered table that took up most of the meeting room at Jake’s campaign headquarters and drummed her fingers, waiting.
“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” Sabrina said, immediately contrite. The poor girl looked half-asleep; she’d had a horrible few days. But now she had Jake to look after her.
“Sorry, Aunt Sue.” Jake usually called her Susan; she read his reminder of the family connection as an attempt to butter her up.
Ah, well, it was working. She loved Jake almost like a son, and the news that he and Sabrina were getting married was…simply wonderful. And not just from a political perspective.
“We weren’t planning to tell anyone other than Sabrina’s dad just yet,” Jake continued. “But Jonah made a public announcement in the middle of the Wellesley art show.”
“Who would have thought the Journal-Constitution’s

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