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One Night Stand Bride
Kat Cantrell
The Paparazzi Proposal Their one-night stand made the headlines. Now playboy Hendrix Harris decides marrying the lady in question will stop the rumors from derailing his family's political ambitions. Rosalind Carpenter, with her pedigreed background, will make the perfect bride…and she drives him wild.But Roz will only say "I do" if they stay chaste until after the vows. The temptation may be more than he can stand…especially when he starts to fall for his wife.One Night Stand Bride is part of the In Name Only trilogy.


The Paparazzi Proposal
Their one-night stand made the headlines. Now playboy Hendrix Harris decides marrying the lady in question will stop the rumors from derailing his family’s political ambitions. Rosalind Carpenter, with her pedigreed background, will make the perfect bride...and she drives him wild.
But Roz will only say “I do” if they stay chaste until after the vows. The temptation may be more than he can stand...especially when he starts to fall for his wife.
One Night Stand Bride is part of the In Name Only trilogy.
“No sex—with anyone. No scandals. Or no ‘I do.’”
If no sex was important to her, how could he refuse? “Six weeks,” he said hoarsely. “While we’re engaged. Once we’re married, all bets are off.”
“We’ll see. You and I don’t make sense together, Hendrix, so don’t pretend that we do.”
She swallowed that sentence with a squeak as he hauled her out of the chair and into his arms for a lesson on exactly how wrong she was.
* * *
One Night Stand Bride is part of the In Name Only trilogy: “I do” should solve all their problems, but love has other plans…
One Night Stand Bride
Kat Cantrell


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author KAT CANTRELL read her first Mills & Boon novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. She’s a Harlequin So You Think You Can Write winner and a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist. Kat, her husband and their two boys live in north Texas.
Contents
Cover (#ua3537c48-2b8a-58ff-b52f-587a4da208ad)
Back Cover Text (#uc7625553-5236-5d87-9bf7-bb08a3cc1d0e)
Introduction (#udc71fcbe-f01d-591a-a232-295e16dc9321)
Title Page (#u7992bd6d-c74e-5642-abb9-ee17e1196d41)
About the Author (#ua6d344bb-79e0-58c7-ada6-c35ea82d891b)
One (#u63b7580c-67c6-5f3e-ae51-975e567c57aa)
Two (#u4fe376c9-fad7-5e11-8f7b-462e7b391a35)
Three (#uf0ae99b9-ae06-53ca-ae9e-1a4fa474ece6)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u315c2aff-8302-57ec-9717-9d79a7e4753c)
The Las Vegas tourism department needed to change their slogan because what happened in Vegas did not stay there. In fact, what had happened in Vegas followed Hendrix Harris home to North Carolina and landed above the fold on every media outlet known to man.
He wanted his money refunded, a spell to wipe the memories of an entire city and an aspirin.
Though even he had to admit the photographer had perfectly captured the faces of Hendrix and Rosalind Carpenter. The picture was erotic without being pornographic—a trick and a half since it was abundantly clear they were both buck naked, yet somehow, all the naughty bits were strategically covered. A miracle that had allowed the picture to be print-worthy. It was a one-in-a-million shot. You could even see the steam rising from the hot tub.
And thanks to that photographer being in the right place at the wrong time, Hendrix’s luck had run out.
He’d fully expected his mother to have a heart attack when she saw her son naked with the daughter of the wealthiest man in North Carolina. Especially since Hendrix’s mother had warned him to keep his clothes on once she launched her gubernatorial campaign.
Joke was on Hendrix. No heart attacks. Instead, his mother was thrilled. Thrilled that he’d gotten chummy with Paul Carpenter’s daughter. So thrilled that somehow she’d gotten Hendrix to agree that marrying Rosalind would fix everything.
Really, this whole scandal was his fault, and it was on him to make amends, or so he’d been told. The Carpenter family had old money and lots of influence, which provided a nice balance to the Harris new money.
Grumbling in his head because he loved and respected his mother too much to do it out loud, Hendrix threw himself into the task of figuring out how to contact Roz. Their naked Vegas romp had been most definitely of the one-night stand variety. Now he would have to convince her that she loved his mother’s plan.
Hendrix didn’t hate the idea of marriage, per se, not when it solved more than one problem. So it was now his goal to make sure a big fat yes was Roz’s response to the question Will you marry me?
The only problem being that he hadn’t actually spoken to her since that night and they’d expressly agreed they wouldn’t see each other again. Minor detail. When he put his mind to something, rare was the obstacle that didn’t get the hell out of his way.
Luck crept back onto his side. Roz hadn’t blocked all the web crawlers that posted her address to one of those seamy “find anyone for a price” sites. Hendrix had no qualms about throwing money at this problem.
Hendrix drove himself to the building Rosalind Carpenter lived in on Fayetteville Street instead of taking a car. Arriving with fanfare before he’d gotten this done didn’t fit his idea of a good plan. After she said yes, of course there’d be lots of sanctioned pictures of the happy couple. And they’d be dressed.
His mother hadn’t properly appreciated just how hard her son had worked to get his abs to look so centerfold-worthy. It was a shame that such a great shot of what had been a truly spectacular night with the hottest woman he’d ever met had done so much damage to Ms. Harris’s family values campaign.
He charmed his way past the security desk because everyone liked him instantly, a fact of life he traded on frequently. Then he waited patiently until someone with the right access to Roz’s floor who was also willing to listen to his tale of woe got on the elevator. Within fifteen minutes, he knocked on Ms. Carpenter’s door.
To her credit, when she answered, she didn’t even blink.
He did.
Holy hell. How could he have forgotten what she did to him?
Her sensuality leaped from her like a tidal wave, crashing over him until he scarcely knew which way was up, but he didn’t care because surfacing was the last thing on his mind. He gasped for air in the wake of so much sensation as she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. She pursed those lush lips and surveyed him with cool amusement.
“You don’t follow instructions well,” she fairly purred, leaning on the door, kicking one foot to the side and drawing attention to the sexy slice of leg peeking out from her long flowy skirt.
“Your memory is faulty,” he returned easily, a smile sliding across his face in spite of the reason for his visit. “I recall being an instant slave to your instructions. ‘Faster, harder, take me from behind.’ I can’t think of a single thing you told me to do that I didn’t follow to the letter.”
One dark brow rose. “Other than the one where I said Vegas was a onetime thing?” she reminded him with a wry twist of her lips. “That there were reasons we shouldn’t hook up at home and you agreed.”
Hendrix waved that off with a grin. “Well, if you’re going to get into specifics. Sure. That was the only one, though.”
“Then I guess the only thing left to do is ask to what do I owe the pleasure?” That’s when she blinked. “Perhaps I should rephrase the question since I have the distinct impression this is not a social call.”
No point in dragging it out when they were both to blame for the scandal and they both had a vested interest in fixing the problem. But he did take a moment to appreciate how savvy she was. Contrary to what the majority of women in the Raleigh-Durham-Cary area would argue, Hendrix did notice when a woman had assets outside of the obvious ones.
Roz’s brain turned him on. She saw things—layers—that normal people took at face value. It was captivating. He still wasn’t sure why it had taken a trip to Vegas for them to hook up when they’d known each other peripherally for years.
“You saw the picture,” he said.
“Along with half of the eastern seaboard. But it’s been circulating for a week.” She slid a once-over down his body, lingering along the way like she’d found something worth noting. “Not sure why that would suddenly cause you to seek me out now.”
The region under her hot gaze woke up in a hurry, galvanized into action by the quick, sharp memories of this woman under his mouth as he’d kissed, licked and tasted his way over every inch of her luscious body.
“We’re definitely going to have to do something about your defective memory,” he growled as he returned her heat with a pointed glance of his own. “If you can look at that photograph and not want to immediately repeat the experience.”
She crossed her arms over her filmy top that did little to curb his appetite. “Nothing wrong with my memory and I have no problem admitting that your reputation is well-founded. What’s not going to happen is a repeat. Vegas was my last hurrah. I told you that.”
Yeah, she had. Repeatedly. While they’d been naked in her bed. And maybe once in the shower. It had been an all-night romp that had nearly caused him to miss his friend Jonas’s wedding the next morning. But Hendrix had left behind his delectable companion and made it to the chapel on time, assuming he’d never see her again, as instructed.
His mother, Helene Harris, presumptive future Governor of North Carolina, had reset his thinking. It had taken a week to work through the ramifications and about that long to get him on board with the idea of a wedding as the antidote. But he was all in at this point. And he needed Roz to be all in, too.
“Here’s the thing. The picture never should have happened. But it did. So we need to mitigate the damage. My mother’s people think that’s best accomplished by the two of us getting married. Just until the election. Then her people have agreed that we can get a quiet divorce.”
Roz laughed and the silky sound tightened all the places that she’d affected so easily by sheer virtue of standing there looking lush and gorgeous.
“Your mom’s people, Hendrix? That’s so precious.”
“Like your dad doesn’t have people?” Carpenter Furniture ranked as one of the top-grossing businesses in the world. Her father had been the CEO since its inception thirty years ago. He had people.
The mirth left her face in a snap. “My dad’s people aren’t spewing nonsense like a marriage to fix a nonexistent problem. This conversation is boring me and I have things to do, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Not so fast.” Hendrix stuck a foot in the door before Roz could slam it in his face. Time to change tactics. “Let me buy you a drink so we can discuss this like rational adults.”
“Yeah. You and alcohol creates a rational atmosphere.”
Sarcasm dripped from her tone and it was so cute, he couldn’t help but grin.
“Aww. That was very nearly an admission of how crazy I can make you.”
“And I’m done with this.” She nearly took off his foot with the force of the door closing but he didn’t yank it free, despite the pinch in his arch.
“Wait, Roz.” He dropped his tone into the you can’t resist me even if you try realm. “Please give me five minutes. Then you can sever my toes all you want.”
“Is the word marriage going to come out of your mouth again?”
He hesitated. Without that, there was no reason for him to be here. But he needed her more than she needed him. The trick was to make sure she never realized that.
“Is it really so much of a stretch to contemplate a merger between our families that could benefit us all? Especially in light of the photograph.”
Her face didn’t relax, but he could tell he had her attention. Pushing on their mutual attraction wasn’t the ticket, then. Noted. So he went with logic.
“Can you honestly say you’ve had no fallout from our...liaison?” he asked. “Because I have or I wouldn’t be standing on your doorstep. I know we agreed no contact. I know the reasons why. Things changed.”
But not the reasons why. The reasons for no contact were for pure self-preservation.
He and Roz were like kindling dropped into a forest fire together. They’d gone up in flames and frankly, he’d done more dirty things in one night with Rosalind Carpenter than with the last ten women he’d dated. But by the time the sun rose, they were done. He had a strict one-time-only rule that he never broke and not just because of the pact he’d made his senior year at Duke. He’d vowed to never fall in love—because he’d been rejected enough in life and the best way to avoid all that noise was to avoid intimacy.
Sex he liked. Sex worked for him. But intimacy was off the table. He guaranteed it with no repeats.
Only at his mother’s insistence would he consider making Roz his onetime exception.
“So this marriage idea. That’s supposed to fix the fallout? From where I’m sitting, you’re the reason for the scandal. Where’s the plus for me?”
Like she hadn’t been the one to come on to him on the dance floor of the Calypso Room, with her smoky eyes undressing him, the conclusion of their evening foregone the second their bodies touched.
At least she hadn’t denied that the photograph had caused her some difficulty. If she had, he’d remind her that somewhere around 2:00 a.m. that night, she’d confessed that she was looking to change her reputation as the scandalous Carpenter daughter. The photograph couldn’t have helped. A respectable marriage would.
That fact was still part of his strategy. “Helene’s your plus. You’ll be the daughter-in-law of the next governor of North Carolina. I’m confused why you’re struggling with this.”
“You would be.” She jerked her head toward him. “I’m morbidly curious. What’s in this for you?”
Legitimacy. Something hard to come by in his world. His family’s chain of tobacco shops wasn’t a respected industry and he was the bastard son of a man who had never claimed him.
But what he said was, “Sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a liar. The last thing you need to bargain for is a woman willing to get naked with you.”
“That sounded like a compliment.” He waggled his brows to hide how his insides suddenly felt wobbly and precarious. How had she seen through that flippant answer?
That was what he got with a smart woman, apparently.
“It wasn’t. Seduction is less of an art when you’re already starting out with the deck stacked.”
He had to laugh, though he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to say thank you for the backhanded nod to his skill set. “I’m not leaving here without an answer. Marry me and the scandal goes away.”
She shook her head, a sly smile spreading over her face. “Over my dead body.”
And with that, she pushed his foot from the gap and shut the door with a quiet click.
Dumbfounded, Hendrix stared at the fine-grain wood. Rosalind Carpenter had just rejected his proposal. For deliberately not putting anything emotional on the line, the rejection sure stung.
* * *
Roz leaned on the shut door and closed her eyes.
Marriage. To Hendrix Harris. If she hadn’t understood perfectly why he’d come up with such a ridiculous idea, she’d call the cops to come cart away the crazy man on her doorstep.
But he wasn’t crazy. Just desperate to fix a problem.
She was, too.
The big difference was that her father wasn’t working with his “people” to help her. Instead, he was sitting up in his ivory tower continuing to be disappointed in her. Well, sometimes she screwed up. Vegas had been one of those times. Fixing it lay solely at her feet and she planned to. Just not by marrying the person who had caused the scandal in the first place.
Like marriage was the solution to anything, especially marriage to Hendrix Harris, who indeed had a reputation when it came to his exploits with the opposite sex. Hell, half of her interest back on that wild night had been insatiable curiosity about whether he could be as much trouble as everyone said.
She should have run the moment she recognized him. But no. She’d bought him a drink. She was nothing if not skilled at getting into trouble.
And what trouble she’d found.
He was of the hot, wicked and oh-so-sinful variety—the kind she had a weakness for, the kind she couldn’t resist. The real question was how she’d shut the door in his face a moment ago instead of inviting him in for a repeat.
That would be a bad idea. Vegas had marked the end of an era for her.
She’d jetted off with her friend Lora to let loose in a place famed for allowing such behavior without ramifications. One last hurrah, as Roz had informed him. Make it memorable, she’d insisted. Help me go out with a bang, had been her exact words. Upon her return to the real world, she’d planned to make her father proud for once.
Instead, she’d found exactly the trouble she’d been looking for and then some.
It was a problem she needed to fix. She’d needed to fix it before she’d ever let Hendrix put his beautiful, talented mouth on her. And now memories of his special brand of trouble put a slow burn in her core that she couldn’t shake. Even now, five minutes after telling him to shove off. Still burning. She cursed her weakness for gorgeous bad boys and went to change clothes so she could dig into her “make Dad proud” plan on her terms.
Marriage. Rosalind Carpenter. These two things did not go together under any circumstances, especially not as a way to make her father proud of her.
After watching her father cope with Roz’s mother’s extended bout with cancer, no thank you. That kind of pain didn’t appeal to her. Till death do you part wasn’t a joke, nor did she take a vow like that lightly. Best way to avoid testing it was to never make a vow like that in the first place.
Roz shed the flirty, fun outfit she’d worn to brunch with Lora and donned a severe black pencil skirt coupled with a pale blue long-sleeved blouse that screamed “serious banker.” She twisted her long hair into a chignon, fought with the few escaped strands and finally left them because Hendrix had already put her behind for the day. Her afternoon was booked solid with the endless tasks associated with the new charity she’d founded.
She arrived at the small storefront her father’s admin had helped her rent, evaluating the layout for the fourteenth time. There was no sign yet. That was one of the many details she needed to work through this week as she got Clown-Around off the ground. It was an endeavor of the heart. And maybe a form of therapy.
Clowns still scared her, not that she’d admit to having formed a phobia during the long hours she’d sat at her mother’s hospital bedside, and honestly, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone, so she didn’t. The curious only needed to know that Rosalind Carpenter had started a charity that trained clowns to work in children’s hospitals. Period.
The desk she’d had delivered dwarfed her, but she’d taken a page from her father’s book and procured the largest piece she could find in the Carpenter warehouse near the airport. He’d always said to buy furniture for the circumstances you want, not the ones you have. Buy quality so it will last until you make your dreams a reality. It was a philosophy that had served Carpenter Furniture well and she liked the sentiment. So she’d bought a desk that made her feel like the head of a successful charity.
She attacked the mountain of paperwork with gusto, cheerfully filling out forms and ordering supplies. There was an enormous amount of overhead that went along with running a charity and when you had zero income to use in hiring help, there was only one person to do the work—the founder.
Before she’d barely dug into the task, the lady from the first hospital Roz had called her back.
“Ms. Smith, so happy to speak with you,” Roz began smoothly. “I’d like to see what your requirements are for getting Clown-Around on the approved list of organizations available to work with the children at your hospital.”
“I could have saved you some time, Ms. Carpenter,” the liaison replied and her tone could only be described as frosty. “We already have an approved group we work with. No need for any additional ones.”
That threw Roz for a loop. “Oh. Well, we’d be happy to go on the backup list. You know, in case the other group cancels unexpectedly.”
“That’s okay,” she cut in quickly. “That almost never happens and it’s not like we have scheduled times. The clowns come in on a pretty casual basis.”
This was not a good conversation. Unease prickled at the back of Roz’s neck and she did not like the feeling. “I’m having a hard time believing that you can’t use extra cheer in the children’s ward. We’re talking about sick kids who don’t want to be in the hospital. Surely if your current clowns come and go at will, you can add some of mine to the rotation. A clown is a clown, right?”
The long pause boded badly. Roz braced for the next part.
“To be frank, Ms. Carpenter, the hospital board would not appreciate any association with a charity you helm,” Ms. Smith stated bluntly. “We are required to disclose any contact a patient has with outside parties, particularly when the patients are minors. The clowns must have accreditation and thorough vetting to ensure we’re not exposing patients to...unseemly influences.”
Roz went hot and then cold as the woman’s meaning flashed through her. The reputation of the charity’s founder preceded her apparently. “I take it I qualify as an unseemly influence. Then may I be as frank and ask why you bothered to call me back?”
“Strictly in deference to your father. One of his vice presidents is on the board, if you’re not aware,” she replied tightly. “If we’ve reached an understanding...”
“We have. Thank you for your candor.” Roz stabbed the end call button and let her cell phone drop to the desk of a successful charity head. Too bad that wasn’t who was sitting at it.
Wow. Her hands were shaking.
And because her day hadn’t been crappy enough, the door she’d forgotten to lock behind her opened to the street and Hendrix Harris walked into her nightmare.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, too off-kilter to find some manners when she’d already told him to step off once today. “This is private property. How did you find me?”
Not one perfect brown hair out of place, the man waltzed right in and glanced around her bare-bones operation with unabashed curiosity. “I followed you, naturally. But I didn’t want to interrupt your phone call, so I waited.”
“Bless your heart,” she shot back and snatched up her phone to call the cops. “You have two seconds to vacate or I’m going to lodge a trespassing complaint.”
Instead of hightailing it out the door—which was what he should have done—Hendrix didn’t hesitate to round the desk, crowd into her space without even a cursory nod to boundaries and pluck the phone from her hand. “Now, why would you do a thing like that? We’re all friends here.”
Something that felt perilously close to tears pricked beneath her lashes. “We’re not friends.”
Tears. In front of Hendrix. It was inexcusable.
“We could be friends,” he announced quietly, without an ounce of flirt. Somehow that was exactly the right tone to burn off the moisture. “Friends who help each other. You didn’t give me much of a chance to tell you how earlier.”
Help. That was something she needed. Not that he needed to know that, or how grateful she was that he’d found a way to put her back on even footing. She didn’t for an instant believe he’d missed her brief flash of vulnerability and his deft handling of it made all the difference.
The attitude of the hospital lady still chilled her. But she wasn’t in danger of falling apart any longer, thank God.
“Because I have a zone of crazy around me.” She nodded to the floor, near his feet. “There’s the perimeter and you’re four feet over the line.”
Problem being that she liked him where he was—one lean hip cocked against her desk and all his good stuff at eye level. Naked, the man rivaled mythical gods in the perfection department. She could stare at his bare body for hours and never get tired of finding new ways to appreciate his deliciousness.
And dang it, he must have clued in on the direction of her thoughts. He didn’t move. But the temperature of the room rose a few sweat-inducing degrees. Or maybe that was just her body catching fire as he treated her to the full force of his lethal appeal.
His hot perusal did not help matters when it came to the temperature. What was it about his pale hazel eyes that dug into her so deeply? All he had to do was look at her and sharp little tugs danced through her core.
It pissed her off. Why couldn’t he be ugly, with a hunchback and gnarled feet?
Which was a stupid thing to wish for because if that was the case, she wouldn’t be in this position. She’d never have hooked up with him in Vegas because yes, she was that shallow and a naked romp with a man built like Hendrix had righted her world—for a night.
Now she’d pay the price for that moment of hedonism. The final cost had yet to be determined, though.
Hendrix set her phone down on the desk, correctly guessing he had her attention and the threat of expulsion had waned. For now. She could easily send him packing if the need struck. Or she could roll the chair back a few inches and move the man into a better position to negotiate something of the more carnal variety. This was a solid desk. Would be a shame not to fully test its strength.
No. She shook her head. This was the danger of putting herself in the same room with him. She forgot common sense and propriety.
“Since I’m already in the zone of crazy,” he commented in his North Carolina–textured twang, “you should definitely hear me out. For real this time. I don’t know what you think I’m proposing, but odds are good you didn’t get that it starts and ends with a partnership.”
That had not come across. Whatever he had in mind, she’d envisioned a lot of sex taking center stage. And that she’d have to do without because she’d turned over a new leaf.
A partnership, on the other hand, had interesting possibilities.
As coolly as she could under the circumstances, she crossed her arms. Mostly as a way to keep her hands to herself. “Talk fast. You’ve got my attention for about another five minutes.”
Two (#u315c2aff-8302-57ec-9717-9d79a7e4753c)
Hendrix had been right to follow Rosalind. This bare storefront had a story behind it and he had every intention of learning her secrets. Whatever leverage he could dig up might come in handy, especially since he’d botched the first round of this negotiation.
And the hard cross of Roz’s arms told him it was indeed a negotiation, one he shouldn’t expect to win easily. That had been his mistake on the first go-round. He’d thought their chemistry would be good trading currency, but she’d divested him of that notion quickly. So round two would need a completely different approach.
“What is this place?” he asked and his genuine curiosity leaked through. He had a vision in his head of Rosalind Carpenter as a party girl, one who posed for men’s magazines and danced like a fantasy come to life. Instead of tracking her down during an afternoon shopping spree, he’d stumbled over her working.
It didn’t fit his perception of her and he’d like to get the right one before charging ahead.
“I started a charity,” she informed him with a slight catch in her voice that struck him strangely.
She expected him to laugh. Or say something flippant. So he didn’t. “That’s fantastic. And hard. Good for you.”
That bobbled her composure and he wouldn’t apologize for enjoying it. This marriage plan should have been a lot easier to sell and he couldn’t put his finger on why he’d faltered so badly thus far. She’d been easy in Vegas—likable, open, adventurous. All things he’d assumed he’d work with today, but none of those qualities seemed to be a part of her at-home personality. Plus, he wasn’t trying to get her into bed. Well, technically, he was. But semi-permanently, and he didn’t have a lot of experience at persuading a woman to still be there in the morning.
No problem. Winging it was how he did his best work. He hadn’t pushed Harris Family Tobacco Lounge so close to the half-billion mark in revenue without taking a few risks.
“What does your charity do?” he asked, envisioning an evening dress resale shop or Save the Kittens. Might as well know what kind of fundraiser he’d have to attend as her husband.
“Clowns,” she said so succinctly that he did a double take to be sure he hadn’t misheard her. He hadn’t. And it wasn’t a joke, judging by the hard set of her mouth.
“Like finding new homes for orphan clowns?” he guessed cautiously, only half kidding. Clown charity was a new one for him.
“You’re such a moron.” She rolled her eyes, but they had a determined glint now that he liked a lot better than the raw vulnerability she’d let slip a few minutes ago. “My charity trains clowns to work with children at hospitals. Sick kids need to be cheered up, you know?”
“That’s admirable.” And he wasn’t even blowing smoke. It sounded like it meant something to her and thus it meant something to him—as leverage. He glanced around, taking in the bare walls, the massive and oddly masculine dark-stained desk and the rolling leather chair under her very fine backside. Not much to her operation yet, which worked heavily in his favor. “How can I help?”
Suspicion tightened her lush mouth, which only made him want to kiss it away. They were going to have to fix this attraction or he’d spend all his time adjusting her attitude in a very physical way.
On second thought, he couldn’t figure out a downside to that approach.
“I thought you were trying to talk me into marrying you,” she said with a fair amount of sarcasm.
“One and the same, sweetheart.” He gave it a second and the instant his meaning registered, her lips curved into a crafty smile.
“I’m starting to see the light.”
Oh yes, now they were ready to throw down. Juices flowing, he slid a little closer to her and she didn’t roll away, just coolly stared up at him without an ounce of give. What was wrong with him that he was suddenly more turned on in that instant than he had been at any point today?
“Talk to me. What can I do in exchange for your name on a marriage certificate?”
Her smile gained a lot of teeth. “Tell me why it’s so important to you.”
He bit back the curse. Should have seen that one coming. As a testament to her skill in maneuvering him into giving up personal information, he opted to throw her a bone. “I told you. I’ve had some fallout. My mother is pretty unhappy with me and I don’t like her to be unhappy.”
“Mama’s boy?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned. Who didn’t see the value in a man who loved and respected his mama? “There’s no shame in that. We grew up together. I’m sure you’ve heard the story. She was an unwed teenage mother, yadda, yadda?”
“I’ve heard. So this is all one hundred percent about keeping your mom happy, is it?”
Something clued him in that she wasn’t buying it, which called for some serious deflection. The last thing he wanted to have a conversation about was his own reasons for pursuing Roz for the first and only Mrs. Hendrix Harris.
He liked being reminded of his own vulnerabilities even less than he liked being exposed to hers. The less intimate this thing grew, the better. “Yeah. If she wasn’t in the middle of an election cycle, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But she is and I messed up. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get this deal done. Name your price.”
“Get your mom to agree to be a clown for me and I’ll consider it.”
That was what she wanted? His gaze narrowed as they stared at each other. “That’s easy. Too easy. You must not want me to figure out that you’re really panting to get back into my bed.”
Her long silky laugh lodged in his chest and spread south. She could turn that sentiment back on him with no trouble at all.
Which was precisely what she did. “Sounds like a guilty conscience talking to me. Sure you’re not the one using this ploy to get me naked without being forced to let on how bad you want it?”
“I’m offended.” But he let a smile contradict the statement. “I’ll tell you all day long how much I want you if that floats your boat. But this is a business proposition. Strictly for nonsexual benefits.”
Any that came along with this marriage could be considered a bonus.
She snorted. “Are you trying to tell me you’d give up other women while we’re married? I don’t think you’re actually capable of that.”
Now, that was just insulting. What kind of a philanderer did she take him for? He’d never slept with more than one woman at a time and never calling one again made that a hundred percent easier.
“Make no mistake, Roz. I am perfectly capable of forgoing other women as long as you’re the one I’m coming home to at the end of the day.”
All at once, a vision of her greeting him at the door wearing sexy lingerie slammed through his mind and his body reacted with near violent approval. Holy hell. He had no problem going off other women cold turkey if Roz was on offer instead, never mind his stupid rules about never banging the same woman twice. This situation was totally different, with its own set of rules. Or at least it would be as soon as he got his head out of her perfect cleavage and back on how to close this deal.
“Let me get this straight. You’re such a dog that the only way you can stay out of another woman’s bed is if I’m servicing you regularly?” She wrinkled her nose. “Stop me when I get to the part where I’m benefiting from this arrangement.”
Strictly to cover the slight hitch in his lungs that her pointed comment had caused, he slid over until he was perched on the desk directly in front of her. Barely a foot of space separated them and an enormous amount of heat and electricity arced through his groin, draining more of his sense than he would have preferred. All he could think about was yanking her into his arms and reminding her how hot he could get her with nothing more than a well-placed stroke of his tongue.
He let all of that sizzle course through his body as he swept her with a heated once-over. “Sweetheart, you’ll benefit, or have you forgotten how well I know your body?”
“Can you even go without sex?” she mused with a lilt, as if she already knew the answer. “Because I bet you can’t.”
What the hell did that have to do with anything?
“I can do whatever I put my mind to,” he growled. “But to do something as insane as go without sex, I’d need a fair bit of incentive. Which I have none of.”
Her gaze snapped with challenge. “Other than getting my name on a marriage license you mean?”
The recoil jerked through his shoulders before he could catch it, tipping her off that she’d just knocked him for a loop. That was uncool. Both that she’d realized it and that she’d done it. “What are you proposing, that I go celibate for a period of time in some kind of test?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.” She pursed her lips into a provocative pout that told him she was flat-out lying because she’d intended it to be exactly that. “That’s a great deal. You keep it zipped and I’ll show up at the appointed time to say ‘I do.’”
His throat went dry. “Really? That’s what it’s going to take?”
“Yep. Well, that and Helene Harris for Governor in a clown suit. Can’t forget the children.”
Her smug tone raked at something inside him. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, my mom would be happy to do the clown thing. It’s great publicity for her, too. But no sex? Not even with you? There is literally no reason for you to lay down such a thing except as cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Careful, Hendrix,” she crooned. “It’s starting to sound like you might have a problem keeping it in your pants. I mean, how long are we talking? A couple of months?”
A couple of months? He’d been slightly panicked at the thought of a week or two. It wasn’t that he was some kind of pervert like she was making it sound. Sex was a necessary avoidance tactic in his arsenal. A shield against the intimacy that happened in the small moments, when you weren’t guarded against it. He kept himself out of such situations on purpose.
If he wasn’t having sex with Roz, what would they do with each other?
“I think the better question is whether you can do it,” he countered smoothly. “You’re the same woman who was all in for every wicked, dirty escapade I could dream up in Vegas. You’re buckling yourself into that chastity belt too, honey.”
“Yeah, for a reason.” Her eyes glittered with conviction. “The whole point of this is to fix the problems the photograph caused. Do you really think you and I can keep ourselves out of Scandalville if we’re sleeping together?” His face must have registered his opinion on that because she nodded. “Exactly. It’s a failsafe. No sex—with anyone. No scandals. Or no ‘I do.’”
The firm press of a rock and a hard place nearly stole his breath. If no sex was important to her, how could he refuse?
“Six weeks,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll be engaged for six weeks. Once we’re married, all bets are off.”
“We’ll see. I might keep the no sex moratorium. You and I don’t make sense together, Hendrix, so don’t pretend that we do.”
She swallowed that sentence with a squeak as he hauled her out of that chair and into his arms for a lesson on exactly how wrong she was. God, she fit the contours of his body like the ocean against the sand, seeping into him with a rush and shush, dragging pieces of him into her as her lips crashed against his.
Her taste exploded under his mouth as he kissed her senseless. But then it was his own senses sliding through the soles of his feet as Roz sucked him dry with her own sensual onslaught. For a woman who’d just told him they didn’t work, she jumped into the kiss with enthusiasm that had him groaning.
The hot, slick slide of her tongue against his dissolved his knees. Only the firm press of that heavy desk against his backside kept him upright. The woman was a wicked kisser, not that he’d forgotten. But just as he slid his hand south to fill his palms with her luscious rear, she wrenched away, taking his composure with her.
“Where are you going?” he growled.
“The other side of the room.” Her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a marathon as she backed away. Frankly, his own lungs heaved with the effort to fill with air. “What the hell was that for?”
“You wanted that kiss as much as I did.”
“So it was strictly to throw it back in my face that I can’t resist you?”
Well, now. That was a tasty admission that she looked like she wished to take back. He surveyed her with renewed interest. Her kiss-reddened lips beckoned him but he didn’t chase her down. He wanted to understand this new dynamic before he pressed on. “You said we didn’t work. I was simply helping you see the error in that statement.”
“I said no such thing. I said we don’t make sense together. And that’s why. Because we work far too well.”
“I’m struggling to see the problem with that.” They’d definitely worked in Vegas, that was for sure. Now that he’d gotten a second taste, he was not satisfied with having it cut short.
“Because I need to stay off the front page,” she reminded him with that funny hitch in her voice that shouldn’t be more affecting than her heated once-overs. “There are people walking by the window as we speak, Hendrix. You make me forget all of that. No more kissing until the wedding. Consider it an act of good faith.”
The point was painfully clear. She wanted him to prove he could do it.
“So we’re doing this. Getting married,” he clarified.
“As a partnership. When it stops being beneficial, we get a divorce. No ifs, ands or buts.” She caught him in her hot gaze that still screamed her desire. “Right? Do we need to spell it out legally?”
“You can trust me,” he grumbled. She was the one who’d thrown down the no-sex rule. What did she think he was going to do, force her to stay married so he could keep being celibate for the rest of his life? “As long as I can trust you.”
“I’m good.”
He thought about shaking on it but the slightly panicked flair to her expression made him think twice. It didn’t matter. The deal was done, as painful as it would ultimately end up being.
It was worth it. He had to make it up to his mom for causing her grief, and this was what she’d asked him to do. And if deep inside, he craved the idea of belonging to such an old-guard, old-money family as the Carpenters, no one would be the wiser.
All he had to do was figure out how to be engaged to Roz without trying to seduce her again and without getting too chummy. Should be a walk in the park.
* * *
Being engaged was nothing like Roz imagined. Of course she’d spent zero time daydreaming about such a thing happening to her. But her friend Lora had been engaged for about six months, which had been a whirlwind of invitations and dress fittings. Until the day she’d walked in on her fiancé and a naked barista who was foaming the jackass’s latte in Lora’s bed. Roz and Lora still didn’t hit a coffee place within four blocks of the one where the wedding-wrecker worked.
Roz’s own engagement had a lot fewer highs and lows in the emotion department and a lot less chaos. For about three days. The morning of the fourth day, Hendrix texted her that he was coming by, and since there’d been no question in that statement, she sighed and put on clothes, wishing in vain for a do-over that included not flying to Vegas in the first place. Or maybe she should wish that she and Lora had gone to any other club besides the Calypso Room that night.
Oh, better yet, she could pretend Hendrix didn’t do it for her in a hundred scandalous ways.
That was the real reason this engagement/marriage/partnership shouldn’t have happened. But how could she turn down Helene Harris in a clown outfit? No hospital would bar the woman from the door and thus Clown-Around would get a much-needed lift, Roz’s reputation notwithstanding. It was instant publicity for the gubernatorial candidate and the fledgling charity in one shot, which was a huge win. And she didn’t have to actually ask her father to use his influence, which he probably wouldn’t do anyway.
Plus, and she’d die before she’d admit this to Hendrix, there had to be something about being in the sphere of Helene Harris that Roz’s father would find satisfactory. He was so disappointed about the photographs. If nothing else, marrying the man in them lent a bit of respectability to the situation, right? Now Roz just had to tell her father about the getting married part. But first she had to admit to herself that she’d actually agreed to this insanity.
Thus far it had been easy to stick her head in the sand. But when Hendrix buzzed her to gain access to the elevator, she couldn’t play ostrich any longer.
“Well, if it isn’t my beloved,” he drawled when she opened the door.
God, could the man look like a slouch in something? He wore the hell out of a suit regardless of the color or cut. But today he’d opted for a pair of worn jeans that hugged his hips and a soft T-shirt that brazenly advertised the drool-worthy build underneath. He might as well be naked for all that ensemble left to the imagination.
“Your beloved doesn’t sit around and wait for you to show up on a Saturday,” she informed him grumpily. “What if I had plans?”
“You do have plans,” he returned, his grin far too easy. “With me. All of your plans are with me for the next six weeks, because weddings do not magically throw themselves together.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb in a blatant message—you’re not coming in and I’m not budging, so... “They do if you hire a wedding planner. Which you should. I have absolutely no opinion about flowers or venues.”
That was no lie. But she wanted to spend time with Hendrix even less than she wanted to pick out flowers. She could literally feel her will dissolving as she stood there soaking in the carnal vibe wafting from him like an invisible aphrodisiac.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”
The way his hazel eyes lit up as he coaxed her should be illegal. Or maybe her reaction should be. How did he put such a warm little curl in her core with nothing more than a glance? It was ridiculous. “Your idea of fun and mine are worlds apart.”
A slow, lethal smile joined his vibrant gaze and it pretty much reduced her to a quivering mess of girl parts inside. All the more reason to stay far away from him until the wedding.
“Seems like we had a pretty similar idea of fun one night not too long ago.”
Memories crashed through her mind, her body, her soul. The way he’d made her feel, the wicked press of his mouth against every intimate hollow an unprecedented experience. It was too much for a Saturday morning after she’d signed up to become Mrs. Hendrix Harris.
“I asked you not to kiss me again,” she reminded him primly but it probably sounded as desperate to him as it did to her.
She could not get sucked into his orbit. As it was, she fantasized about that kiss against her desk at odd times—while in the shower, brushing her teeth, eating breakfast, watching TV, walking, breathing. Sure it was prudent to avoid any more scandals but that was just window dressing. This was a partnership she needed to take seriously, and she had no good defenses against Hendrix Harris.
He was temporary. Like all things. She couldn’t get invested, emotionally or physically, and one would surely lead to the other. The pain of losing someone she cared about was too much and she would never let that happen again—which was the sole reason she liked sex of the one-night stand variety. What she’d do when that wasn’t an option, like after she said I do, she had no clue.
“Wow. Who said anything about kissing?” He waggled his brows. “We were talking about the definition of fun. That kiss must have gotten you going something fierce if you’re still hung up on it.”
She rolled her eyes to hide the guilt that might or might not be shuffling through her expression. “Why are you here?”
“We’re engaged. Engaged people hang out, or didn’t you get the memo?”
“We’re not people. Nor is our engagement typical. No memos required to get us to the...insert whatever venue we’re using to get hitched here. Until then, I don’t really feel the need to spend time together.” She accompanied that pitiful excuse of his with crooked fingers in air quotes.
“Well, I beg to differ,” he drawled, the North Carolina in his voice sliding through her veins like fine brandy. “This partnership needs publicity or there’s no point to it. We need to be seen together. A lot. When people think of you, they need to think of me. We’re like the peanut butter and jelly of the Raleigh social scene.”
“That’s a nice analogy,” she said with a snort so she didn’t laugh or smile. That would only encourage him to keep being adorable. “Which one am I?”
“You choose,” he suggested magnanimously and that’s when she realized she was having fun. How dare he charm her out of her bad mood?
But it was too late, dang it. That was the problem. She genuinely liked Hendrix or she wouldn’t have left the Calypso Room with him.
“I suppose you want to come in.” She jerked her head toward the interior of her loft that had been two condos until she bought both and hired a crew of hard hats to meld the space into one. They should probably discuss living arrangements at some point because she was not giving up this condo under any circumstances.
“I want you to come out,” he countered and caught her hand, tugging on it until she cleared the threshold on the wrong side of the door. “We can’t be seen together in your condo and besides, there are no people walking past the window. No photographers in the bushes. I could slip a couple of buttons free on this shirt of yours and explore what I uncover with my tongue and no one would know.”
He accompanied that suggestion with a slow slide of his fingertip along the ridge of buttons in question, oh so casually, as if the skin under it hadn’t just exploded with goose bumps.
“But you won’t,” she said breathlessly, cursing her body’s reaction even as she cursed him for knowing exactly how to get her hot and ready to burst with so little effort. “Because you promised.”
“I did.” He nodded with a wink. “And I’m a man of my word.”
She’d only reminded him of his promise as a shield against her own weaknesses, but he’d taken it as an affirmation. He would keep his promise because it meant something to him. And his sense of honor was doing funny things to her insides that had nothing to do with desire. Hendrix Harris was a bad boy hedonist of the highest order. Nothing but wicked through and through. Or at least that was the box she’d put him in and she did not like the way he’d just climbed out of it.
She shook her head, but it didn’t clear her sudden confusion. Definitely they should not go into her condo and shut the door. Not now or any day. But at that moment, she couldn’t recall what bad things might happen as a result. She could only think of many, many very good things that could and would occur if she invited him in for a private rendezvous.
“I think we should visit a florist,” he commented casually, completely oblivious to the direction of her thoughts, thank God.
“Yes. We should.” That was exactly what she needed. A distraction in the form of flowers.
“Grab your handbag.” The instruction made her blink for a second until he laughed. “Or is it a purse? I have no clue what to call the thing you women put your lives into.”
Gah, she should have her head examined if a simple conversation with a man had her so flipped upside down. Nodding, she ducked back into the condo, snagged her Marc Jacobs bag from the counter in the kitchen and rejoined Hendrix in the hall before he got any bright ideas about testing his will behind closed doors. Hers sucked. The longer she kept that fact from him, the better.
He ushered her to a low-slung Aston Martin that shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. At best, it should have screamed I’m trying too hard to be cool. But when Hendrix slid behind the wheel, he owned the beast under the hood and it purred beneath his masterful hands.
She could watch him drive for hours. Which worked out well since she’d apparently just volunteered to spend the day planning flowers for her wedding with her fiancé. Bizarre. But there it was.
Even she had heard of the florist he drove to. Expensive, exclusive and very visible, Maestro of the Bloom lay in the Roundtree shopping district near downtown. Hendrix drove around the block two times, apparently searching for a parking place, and she opened her mouth to remind him of the lot across the street when he braked at the front row to wait for a mother and daughter to get into their car. Of course he wanted the parking place directly in front of the door, where everyone could see them emerge from his noteworthy car.
It was a testament to his strategic mind that she appreciated. As was the gallant way he sped around to her side of the car to open the door, then extended his hand to help her from the bucket seat that was so low it nearly scraped the ground. But he didn’t let go of her hand, instead lacing their fingers together in a way that shouldn’t have felt so natural. Hands nested to his satisfaction, he led her to the door and ushered her inside.
A low hum of conversation cut off abruptly and something like a dozen pairs of eyes swung toward them with varying degrees of recognition—some of which held distaste. These were the people whose approval they both sought. The society who had deemed their Vegas tryst shocking, inappropriate, scandalous, and here the two of them were daring to tread among more decent company.
Roz’s fingers tightened involuntarily and dang it, Hendrix squeezed back in a surprising show of solidarity. That shouldn’t have felt as natural as it did either, like the two of them were a unit already. Peanut butter and jelly against the world.
Her knees got a little wobbly. She’d never had anything like that. Never wanted to feel like a duo with a man. Why did it mean so much as they braved the social scene together? Especially given that she’d only just realized that turning over a new leaf meant more than fixing her relationship with her father. It was about shifting the tide of public opinion too, or her charity wouldn’t benefit much from Helene’s participation. Roz would go back to being shunned in polite society the moment she signed the divorce papers.
Against all odds, he’d transformed Roz into a righteous convert to the idea of marriage with one small step inside the florist. What else would he succeed in convincing her of?
With that sobering thought, Roz glanced at Hendrix and murmured, “Let’s do this.”
Three (#u315c2aff-8302-57ec-9717-9d79a7e4753c)
As practice for the bigger, splashier engagement party to come, Hendrix talked Roz into an intimate gathering at his house. Just family and close friends. It would be an opportunity to gauge how this marriage would fly. And it was a chance to spend time together as a couple with low pressure.
The scene at the florist had shaken Roz, with the murmurs and dirty looks she’d collected from the patrons. That was not okay. Academically, he knew this marriage deal was important to his mother and her campaign. In reality, he didn’t personally have a lot of societal fallout from that photo. No one’s gaze cut away from him on the street, but he was a guy. Roz wasn’t. It was a double standard that shouldn’t exist but it did.
Who would have ever thought he’d be hot to ease Roz’s discomfort in social situations? It had not been on his list of considerations, but it was now. If this party helped, great. If it didn’t, he’d find something else. The fragile glint in her eye while they’d worked with the florist to pick out some outrageously priced flowers had hooked something inside and he’d spent a considerable amount of time trying to unpierce his tender flesh, to no avail. So he did what he always did. Rolled with it.
The catering company had done a great job getting his house in order to host a shindig of this magnitude. While the party had been floated as casual, Hendrix had never entertained before. Unless you counted a handful of buddies sprawled around his dining room table with beer and poker chips.
Roz arrived in the car he’d sent for her and he ignored the little voice inside taunting him for hovering at the front window to watch for her. But it was a sight to see. Roz spilled from the back of the car, sky-high stilettos first, then miles of legs and finally the woman herself in a figure-hugging black cocktail dress designed to drive a man insane.
She’d even swept up her wavy dark hair into a chignon that let a few strands drip down around her face. It was the sexiest hairstyle he’d ever seen on a woman, bar none.
He opened the door before she could knock and his tongue might have gone numb because he couldn’t even speak as she coolly surveyed him from under thick black eyelashes.
“Thanks for the car. Hard to drive in heels,” she commented, apparently not afflicted by the stupid that was going around.
He shouldn’t be, either. He cleared his throat. “You look delicious.”
Amazing might have been a better term. It would make it seem more like he’d seen a beautiful woman before and it was no big thing. But she was his beautiful woman. For as long as they both deemed it beneficial.
That seemed like a pretty cold agreement all at once for two people who’d burned so very hot not so long ago.
She smiled with a long slow lift of her pink-stained lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment, as weird as it is.”
“Really? It’s weird to tell my beautiful fiancée that she looks good enough to eat?” he questioned with a heated once-over that she didn’t miss.
“You can’t say stuff like that,” she murmured and glanced away from the sizzling electricity that had just arced between them right there on his doorstep.
“The hell I can’t. You said no kissing. At no point did I agree to keep my carnal thoughts to myself, nor will I ever agree to that. If I want to tell you that I’m salivating to slide that dress off your shoulders and watch it fall to the ground as it bares your naked body, I will. I might even tell you that I taste you in my sleep sometimes and I wake up with a boner that I can’t get rid of until I fantasize about you in the shower.” Her cheeks flushed. From embarrassment at his dirty talk or guilt because she liked it? He couldn’t tell. He leaned closer and whispered, “Believe it or not, I can tell you what I want to do to you without acting on it.”
A car door slammed behind her and she recoiled as if it had been a gunshot to her torso.
“Invite me in,” she muttered with a glance over her shoulder. “This is a party, isn’t it?”
Should have been a party for two with a strict dress code—birthday suits only. Why had he agreed to her insane stipulation that they abstain from any kind of physical contact until the wedding? It was a dumb rule that made no sense and if Jonas and his wife, Viv, weren’t waltzing up the front walk at that precise moment, Hendrix would be having a completely different conversation about it with his fiancée.
He stepped back and allowed Roz to enter, slipping an arm around her waist as she tried to flounce past him into the living room. “Oh, no you don’t, sweetheart. Flip around and greet the guests. We’re a couple.”
Her smile grew pained as he drew her close. “How could I forget?”
Jonas and Viv hit the welcome mat holding hands. Funny how things worked. Jonas and Viv had gotten married in Vegas during the same trip where Hendrix had hooked up with Roz.
“Hey, guys. This is Roz,” Hendrix announced unnecessarily, as he was pretty sure both Jonas and Viv knew who she was. If not from the photo flying around the internet, strictly by virtue of the fact that she was glued to his side.
Viv, bless her, smiled at Roz and shook her hand. “I’m Viv Kim. It’s nice to meet you, and not just because I love any opportunity to use my new name.”
With an intrigued expression, Roz glanced at the male half of the couple. “Are you newly married?”
Jonas stuck his hand out. “Brand-new. I’m Jonas Kim. My name is still the same.”
Hendrix nearly rolled his eyes but checked it in deference to one of his oldest friends. “Thanks for coming. Roz and I are glad you’re here to celebrate our engagement. Come in, please.”
He guided them all to the cavernous living area that had been designed with this type of gathering in mind. The ten-thousand-square-foot house in Oakwood had been a purchase born out of a desire to stake his claim. There was a pride in ownership that this house delivered. It was a monument of a previous age, restored lovingly by someone with an eye for detail, and he appreciated the history wafting from its bones.
The house was a legitimate home and it was his.
Curiously, Viv’s gaze cut between the two of them as she took a seat next to Jonas on the couch. “Have you set a wedding date?”
“Not yet,” Roz answered and at the same time, Hendrix said, “Five weeks.”
She shot him a withering look. “We’re waiting until we pick a venue, which might dictate the date.”
The doorbell rang and his mother arrived with Paul Carpenter right on her heels. Introductions all around went smoothly as nearly everyone knew each other. As the CEO of Kim Electronics, Jonas had met Mr. Carpenter several times at trade shows and various retail functions. Helene frequented Viv’s cupcake shop on Jones Street apparently and exclaimed over the baker’s wares at length. It was Paul and Helene’s first meeting, however.
Hendrix raised a brow at the extra beat included in their hand shake, but forgot about it as Roz’s friend Lora showed up with a date. Hendrix’s other best friend, Warren Garinger, was flying solo tonight, which was lately his default. He arrived a pointed thirty minutes late.
It wasn’t until later that evening that Hendrix had a chance to corner his friend on his tardiness.
“Just the man I was looking for,” he said easily as he found Warren in the study examining one of the many watercolors the decorator had insisted went with the spirit of the house.
Warren pocketed his phone, which should have melted from overuse a long time ago. He worked ninety hours a week running the energy drink company his family had founded, but Hendrix didn’t think that was what had put the frown on his friend’s face. “I had to take a call. Sorry.”
“The CEO never gets a day off,” Hendrix acknowledged with a nod. “It’s cool. I was just making sure you weren’t hiding out in protest.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Warren smoothed out his expression before it turned into a full-bore scowl. “You’ve obviously made your decision to get married despite the pact.”
Hendrix bit back a sigh. They’d been over this. Looked like they were going over it again. “The pact means something to me. And to Jonas. We’re still tight, no matter what.”
Jonas, Warren and Hendrix had met at Duke University, forming a friendship during a group project along with a fourth student, Marcus Powell. They’d had a lot of fun, raised a lot of hell together in the quintessential college experience—until Marcus had gotten his heart tangled up over a woman who didn’t deserve his devotion. She’d been a traitorous witch of a cheerleader who liked toying with a man’s affections more than she’d liked Marcus. Everyone had seen she was trouble. Except their friend.
He’d grown paler and more wasted away the longer she didn’t give him the time of day and eventually, his broken heart had overruled his brain and somehow suicide had become his answer. Shell-shocked and embittered, the three surviving friends had vowed to never let a woman drive them to such lows. They’d formed a pact, refusing to fall in love under any circumstances.
Hell, that had been a given for Hendrix, pact or not. Love wasn’t something he even thought much about because he never got close enough to a woman to develop any kind of tender feelings, let alone anything deeper.
But the pact—that was sacred. He’d had little in his life that made him feel like he belonged and his friendship with Jonas and Warren meant everything to him. He’d die before violating the terms of their agreement.
“If the pact is so important, then I don’t understand why you’d risk breaking it with marriage,” Warren countered and the bitterness lacing his tone sliced at Hendrix far more severely than he’d have expected.
They both glanced up as Jonas joined them, beers in hand. “Thought I’d find you two going at it if I looked hard enough. I’m the one you want to yell at, Warren. Not this joker.”
Hendrix took the longneck from his friend’s hand and gave Warren a pointed look until the other man sighed, accepting his own beer. No one was confused about the significance. It was a peace offering because Jonas had already broken the pact by falling in love with Viv. Warren had not taken it well. The three of them were still figuring out how to not be bachelor pals any longer, and how to not be at odds over what Warren viewed as Jonas’s betrayal.
Hendrix just wanted everything to be on an even keel again so he didn’t get a panicky feeling at the back of his throat when he thought of losing the one place where he felt fully accepted no matter what—inside the circle of his friends.
“If it makes you feel better,” Hendrix said after a long swallow of his brew, “the odds of me falling in love with Roz are zero. We’re not even sleeping together.”
Jonas choked on his own beer. “Please. Is this April Fools’ Day and I missed it?”
“No, really.” Hendrix scowled as both his friends started laughing. “Why is that funny?”
“You’ve finally met the one woman you can’t seduce and you’re marrying her?” Warren clapped Hendrix on the back, still snickering.
“Shut up,” he growled. Why did that have to be the one thing that got his buddy out of his snit? “Besides, I can go without sex.”
“Right.” Jonas drew the word out to about fourteen syllables, every one of them laden with sarcasm. “And I can pass as Norwegian.”
Since Jonas was half-Korean, his point was clear. And Hendrix didn’t appreciate his friend’s doubt, never mind that he’d been angling for a way to kibosh the no-sex part of his agreement with Roz. “I don’t have to explain myself to you guys.”
Jonas sipped his beer thoughtfully. “Well, I guess it’s a fair point that this is a fake marriage, so maybe you’re pretty smart to skip sex in order to avoid confusion. I of all people can understand that.”
“This marriage is not fake,” Hendrix corrected. “Your marriage was fake because you’re a moron who thought it was better to live together and just pretend you’re hot and heavy. I’m not a moron. Roz and I will have a real marriage, with plenty of unfake hot and heavy.”
Especially the honeymoon part. He was already glancing at travel websites for ideas on places he could take his bride where they’d have no interruptions during a weeklong smorgasbord where Roz was the only thing on the menu.
Jonas raised his eyebrows. “You’re trying to tell me you’re waiting until marriage before you sleep together? That’s highly unconventional for anyone, let alone you.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Jonas how late Hendrix had been to his wedding. Roz had been the reason, and these yokels were lucky he’d showed up at all. It had been sheer hell to peel himself out of Roz’s bed to make it to the chapel before the nuptials were over.
But something held him back from flinging his escapades in his friends’ faces. Maybe it had something to do with their assumption that he was a horndog who couldn’t keep it in his pants, which had frankly been Roz’s assumption, too. Was that all there was to him in everyone’s mind? Always on the lookout for the next woman to nail? There was a lot more complexity to his personality than that and he was suddenly not thrilled to learn he’d overshadowed his better qualities with his well-deserved reputation.
“That’s me. Unconventional,” he agreed easily.
And now he had an ironclad reason to stick to his agreement...to prove to himself that he could stay out of a woman’s bed.
* * *
Roz’s father had smiled at her tonight more times than he had in the past five years. As much as she’d craved his approval, all this cheer made her nervous. Paul Carpenter ran a billion-dollar furniture enterprise, with manufacturing outlets and retail stores under his command as far away as the Philippines and as close as within walking distance. He rarely smiled, especially not at Roz.
“I’ve always liked this house,” her father commented to her out of the blue as they found themselves at the small minibar at the same time.
“I think Hendrix mentioned it’s on the Raleigh Historical Society’s list as one of the oldest homes in Oakwood. It’s really beautiful.”
Small talk with her father about her fiancé’s house. It was nearly surreal. They didn’t chat often, though that could be because she rarely gave him a chance. After years of conversations laden with her father’s heavy sighs and pointed suggestions, she preferred their communication to be on a need-only basis.
Maybe that tide had turned. Hendrix, Jonas and Warren had disappeared, likely having a private no-girls-allowed toast somewhere away from the crowd, so there was no one to interrupt this nice moment.
“You haven’t mentioned it, but I’d really like it if you allowed me to walk you down the aisle,” her father suggested casually.
Something bright and beautiful bloomed in her chest as she stared at his aged but still handsome face. She’d never even considered having the kind of wedding where such a thing happened, largely because it had never occurred to her that he’d be open to the idea. They’d never been close, not even after her mother died. The experience of witnessing someone they both loved being eaten alive by cancer should have bonded them. For a long time, she let herself be angry that it hadn’t. Then she’d started to wonder if he’d gotten so lost in his grief that he’d forgotten he had a daughter dealing with her own painful sense of loss.
Eventually, she sought to cauterize her grief in other ways, which had led to even further estrangement. Was it possible that she’d erased years of disappointment with the one simple act of agreeing to Hendrix’s outrageous proposal?
“Of course.” She swallowed a brief and unexpected tide of emotion. “That would be lovely.”
Thankfully, her fiancé was already on board with planning an honest-to-God wedding with all the trimmings. She’d have to talk him into a longer engagement if they were going to have the type of wedding with an aisle, because she’d envisioned showing up at the justice of the peace in a Betsey Johnson dress that could support a corsage. The simpler the better.
But that was out the window. She had another agenda to achieve with her wedding now, and it included walking down an aisle on her father’s arm. Dare she hope this could be a new beginning to their relationship?
“I wasn’t sure you’d like the idea of me marrying Hendrix Harris,” she said cautiously, trying to gauge how this new dynamic was supposed to work. She’d left a message to tell him about the party and its purpose, effectively announcing her engagement to her father via voice mail so he couldn’t express yet more disappointment in her choices.
“I think it’s great,” he said with enthusiasm she’d rarely heard in his voice. “I’m happy that you’re settling down. It will be good for you.”
Keep her out of trouble, more like. It was in the undertone of his words and she chose not to let it sour the moment. She did have some questionable decisions in her rearview mirror or she wouldn’t have needed to marry Hendrix in the first place. The fact that her dad liked the move was a plus she hadn’t dared put on the list of pros, especially given that she was marrying a man her father and everyone else had seen in the buff.
“I think it will be good for me, too,” she said, though her reasons were different than his.
“I did wonder if this wedding wasn’t designed to eliminate the negative effects of that unfortunate photograph on Helene Harris’s campaign.” Her father sipped the scotch in a highball, deliberately creating a pregnant pause that prickled across the back of Roz’s neck. “If so, that’s a good move. Additionally, there are a lot of benefits to being the governor’s daughter-in-law, and I like the idea of being tied to the Harris family through marriage.”

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