They had their reasons for marriage...until unreasonable passions prevailed!

Millionaire Rand Gibson’s proposal shocks Allison Cartwright. He needs a wife to debunk his playboy image, and her fresh-faced look is perfect for the role. Allison insists sex is off the table. Yet she fears their bodies will betray them. Though the Irish-born writer wants to stay in America, is she desperate enough to marry a man who could break her heart in the bargain?

SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, bestselling author. She writes a variety of romance novels for Mills & Boon and is known for incorporating Native American elements into her stories. She has two grown children, who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She lives in California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. Sheri loves to hear from her readers at www.sheriwhitefeather.com.

Also By Sheri WhiteFeather

Waking Up with the Boss

Single Mom, Billionaire Boss

Paper Wedding, Best Friend Bride

Wrangling the Rich Rancher

A Convenient Texas Wedding

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Convenient Texas Wedding

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07626-5

A CONVENIENT TEXAS WEDDING

© 2018 Sheri WhiteFeather

Published in Great Britain 2018

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

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

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

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Extract

One

Allison Cartwright was in a pickle. The dill of all dills, she thought. The big, fat sour kind sold in American delicatessens, known for making one’s face pucker. She might as well be making that expression right now.

Her temporary visa would be expiring soon, and she didn’t want to return to her family’s sheep farm in Kenmare, Ireland, bleating like a lost lamb.

Presently, she sat in the passenger seat of an Uber car. The driver had picked her up at her apartment in Dallas, Texas, and was taking her to the exclusive Bellamy resort in Royal, Texas.

On this hot summer afternoon, she’d donned a sleeveless blouse and a long, pleated skirt with side pockets. Her deep red hair was smooth and straight, and her fair skin was scrubbed clean. Although she’d gotten used to thinking of herself as more plain than pretty, she sometimes wondered what being the sophisticated type would be like. But she had plenty of other things, besides her lack of glamour, to occupy her mind.

As the vehicle advanced on the interstate highway that led to Royal, she glanced down at her cowgirl-style boots with their brown leather, blue stitching and pointed toes. She’d purchased them when she first arrived in Texas, and this was where she wanted to stay. Even as a child, she’d been consumed with America, most specifically Texas, studying about it every chance she got. She’d always dreamed of living here.

During her teenage years, she helped out on her family’s farm and took online writing courses. Once she became an adult, she sold magazine articles to a variety of publications. But she also had a regular job, waiting tables in a popular tourist spot. She worked her tail off, saving practically everything she earned so she could visit the States one day and write an epic novel with a dashing Texas hero.

Then, just this year, she’d had an affair with the worst person imaginable, a handsome rancher and businessman who’d charmed her from the first moment he’d come into the restaurant. She’d followed him here to Texas with romantic notions and had spent three months growing closer to the man she’d known as Will Sanders. But that wasn’t who he was. About a month ago, she’d learned that his real name was Rich Lowell. By then, he was gone, completely out of her life. But that was a complex situation, too. When they were still together, she’d been informed that he’d been killed in a plane crash.

The funeral had been horrific. But the kicker? The real Will Sanders had shown up, walking straight into the service and stunning everyone in attendance. Allison had been shocked beyond belief, particularly when she’d discovered the truth. At the time, she’d thought the man who’d died, the man with whom she’d had an affair, was Will Sanders.

The impostor had even stolen Will’s face, altering his appearance to look just like him. Allison wasn’t privy to the details of where Will had been during the nearly two years that Rich had taken over his life. But she’d been supplied with enough information to know that Will had been recovering from injuries Rich had inflicted upon him.

At this point, Rich was presumed dead. But while the case was still under investigation, the people who’d attended the funeral had been warned to keep what they knew among themselves. For however long it took to fit the pieces altogether, the authorities wanted Will to stay out of sight and “play” dead, as if there had only ever been one Will Sanders all along.

In some ways, Allison felt like a ghost, too, floating around with her pain. Fool that she was, she’d given the impostor her life savings, right along with a piece of her naive heart.

But she was venturing forward, one cautious step at a time. She’d received an anonymous note to meet with someone at 2:00 p.m. today at the statue of Diana in the gardens of The Bellamy. In part the note read: I heard that your visa is set to expire. Do you want a green card? If you do, I have an interesting proposal for you. Yours, Mr. X.

She had no idea who this Mr. X was or where he’d heard about her visa or what made him assume that she might want a green card. He could have come to her home since he obviously knew her address, having sent her the note. But he’d invited her to meet in a public place instead. She hoped that meant he wasn’t a raving lunatic.

However, just in case, she was armed with a can of pepper spray in her right skirt pocket. Also, she figured that in an establishment like The Bellamy with security on staff, she could scream if he tried to accost her. Allison intended to be extra careful. Still, this was a risk, meeting a stranger and making herself vulnerable to him.

But damn it, she wanted a green card more than ever, especially after everything she’d been through. Forging ahead was a means of gaining her independence and restoring her self-worth, of not letting the man who’d broken her heart and stolen her money destroy what was left of her already fractured spirit.

Determined to stay strong, she glanced out the window, preparing for her meeting with Mr. X.

When she arrived at the hotel, she thanked the driver and exited the car. Making haste, she entered the lobby and checked her smartphone for the time. She had twenty minutes to spare.

She went over to the concierge and retrieved a map of the resort so she could make her way to the statue. The Bellamy sat on fifty-plus acres of lavish gardens. She wasn’t going to wander the grounds without direction.

Thankfully, the marble statue was easy to find. As Allison crossed the lawn, she spotted it in the distance. Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, the moon, and nature, proved strong and beautiful, reaching for an arrow from her quiver.

But it wasn’t only Diana that Allison saw. As she moved closer, she noticed a tall, striking man. He stood in front of the statue, with his stylishly messy black hair shining in the sun, and he was dressed in a button-down shirt and business tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and with how powerful his aura was, he could’ve been daring the goddess to hand over one of her prized arrows to him.

Allison’s breaths grew labored. He wasn’t looking her way. His head was turned, his profile thrillingly familiar. Even from this range, she recognized him as Rand Gibson. He was closely associated with the real Will Sanders, and like Allison, he’d been at the funeral when all hell had broken loose.

Rand turned, all too suddenly, and appeared to catch sight of her from across the grass that separated them. She hoped that she didn’t lose her footing and fall flat on her bum. Rand was a local celebrity of sorts, a much-talked-about millionaire playboy with a huge social media following. In her mind, he would make the quintessential book hero, the wild type who made women swoon. Even she had the maddest crush on him, and considering her latest ordeal, she shouldn’t be having crushes on anyone.

In the real world, she barely knew Rand. Over the past month, since Will’s funeral, they’d crossed paths a few times at the Texas Cattleman’s Club here in Royal. Allison wasn’t a member of the club. She’d been invited to go there by Megan Phillips, one of the other women who’d been hurt by Rich Lowell. But for now Allison was immersed in the mystery of Mr. X and how that was going to play out.

Rand couldn’t be Mr. X, could he? No, she thought. It wasn’t even two o’clock yet. Mr. X simply wasn’t there yet. Besides, why would Rand offer to help her get a green card? And why would he send her an anonymous note? It didn’t add up.

Yet, he seemed as if he were waiting for someone. Most likely he was there to rendezvous with one of his many lovers. Any moment now, a pleasure-seeking beauty was going to emerge from the other side of the garden and catwalk straight into his arms.

So what should Allison do? Keep heading toward the statue to wait for Mr. X? It was too late to hide behind a tree until Rand was gone. He’d already seen her.

If he knew she was there to meet a stranger, with a can of pepper spray in her skirt pocket, would he shake his head and tell her to go home? Not to Dallas, but back to Kenmare, where she belonged?

With the stubbornness associated with redheads, Allison lifted her chin and flicked back her hair. She wasn’t going anywhere, except straight over to that damnable statue. When Mr. X arrived, she would have to lead him away from Rand, if Rand was still milling about. Of course Mr. X might stand her up altogether. She could very well be the butt of a joke. But that was a chance she was willing to take.

As she cut a determined path toward the marble goddess, Rand set out, too, striding, it seemed, in Allison’s direction.

He moved at an easy pace, a flicker of a smile forming on his lips. Allison tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, making certain there wasn’t another woman behind her that Rand was smiling at. Nope. She was the only female there. Saints preserve her, but maybe he was Mr. X.

They came face-to-face, and her heart stuttered in her chest. His electric-green eyes bore into hers. She had green eyes, too, the same noticeably bright shade as his. But on him, she thought the color looked far more intense. Everything about him was supernaturally gorgeous. He stood broad-shouldered and regal, with features consisting of darkly arched eyebrows, a straight, strongly formed nose and a prominent jaw peppered with perfectly defined, expertly trimmed beard stubble. But the final dream factor was his supremely kissable mouth. Insane as it was, she actually imagined taking long, luscious, forbidden tastes of him.

He said, “You’re early.”

She replied, “So are you.” And now she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was the person who’d sent her the note.

He pulled a hand through his already ruffled hair. “I can tell you’re surprised it was me.”

She was still trying to comprehend it. She was also trying to stop from fixating on his mouth. She even had the weirdly carnal urge to run her tongue along the chiseled edge of his jawline.

“Why did you call yourself Mr. X?” she asked, wishing she wasn’t having such bizarre thoughts about him.

“I heard that you’re a writer, and I thought you might enjoy a bit of intrigue.”

Allison only nodded. Besides being drawn to intrigue, being a freelance writer meant that she could travel and write from anywhere. Working in the States wasn’t a problem for her.

Rand gestured to a small, ornately designed bench adjacent to the statue. “We can sit, if you’d like. Or we can walk through the garden and talk. I’m good either way, as long as we keep our conversation private.”

“Let’s sit.” She didn’t know if she could walk and talk and breathe at the same time, not while she was in his company, anyway.

They made their way to the bench and sat side by side. His big, muscular arm was just centimeters from hers. But with how cozy the bench was, it couldn’t be helped. She should have chosen to stroll along the grounds instead, but she wasn’t going to suggest that they pop up and start walking now.

“Before we get to the green card business, I want to say that I’m sorry for what Rich Lowell did to you,” he began. “He fooled so many of us. Me included. But I didn’t see Rich all that much when he was impersonating Will. He spent more time in Dallas and abroad than he did in Royal.”

She had to ask, “Do you think Rich is really dead? Or do you think there could be more to this than meets the eye?”

“I don’t have all the facts, but I do know that the body was identified by a reliable source who assumed it was Will. So it sure seems as if he should be dead.” He paused for a second and added, “Will told me that the FBI sent the ashes from the urn out for DNA testing. The results aren’t in yet, but it’s probably just routine. Or I hope it is.”

Allison hoped so, too. “I hate that Rich used me the way he did. My heart still hurts from his betrayal, but giving him my life savings makes me feel like a total eejit.” When Rand gave her a perplexed look, she quickly clarified, “Sorry. Irish slang. It means idiot.”

He turned more fully toward her, angling his body on the bench. “I like the way you talk. Your brogue and whatnot.” He playfully added, “Did you know that Irish accents were voted as one of the sexiest in the world?”

Her heart scurried inside her chest. He’d just spun their conversation on its axis, taking it to a flirtatious level. “Who would vote on such a thing?”

“Folks on the internet. I can’t say I disagree. It is rather sexy.”

So was the slightly Southern way in which he talked. Not everyone in Texas sounded that way. He had a naughty twang that sent erotic ripples down her spine. Struggling to maintain her composure, she politely said, “I like your voice, too.”

“That’s good to know.” He furrowed his brow, squinting in the sun. “With what I have in mind, we need to like things about each other.”

Wondering what he meant, she waited for him to expound.

But instead, he asked, “Are you familiar with my position at Spark Energy Solutions?”

“I know that you were the second in command, and that Will was the CEO.” She also knew that it was a highly successful oil and energy company owned by Will’s family. “Initially, you worked under Will’s direction, but you also worked for Rich when you thought he was Will. Then, just recently, you took over as CEO when Will supposedly died. And now you’ll continue being the CEO until he can resume his life.” She tilted her head. “But what does any of that have to do with me getting a green card?”

“I need a wife, Allison. Someone who can help me combat my image and provide what people think is a sense of stability. In the past, the board of directors let my reputation slide. But now that I’m heading up the company, the chairmen are pressuring me to get my act together. They’re even threatening to fire me over it.” He paused for a beat. “There’s already enough uncertainty at work surrounding Will’s stolen identity and how long it’ll be before that gets resolved. The board can’t afford any issues with me.”

Allison could do no more than blink at him. Her mind had gone numb. “Are you suggesting that we marry?”

He nodded. “With the time constraints involved, we should do it as quickly as we can.”

Again, she blinked at him. Rand Gibson was as far from husband material as a man could get. Not only was he a social media sensation, with tons of female followers hanging on his every word and sharing his pictures, his photos were sometimes made into sexy memes, garnering him even more attention.

Allison didn’t follow him on social media because she didn’t want him or anyone else to know that she found him so interesting. But she’d been poking around on his pages for longer than she cared to admit.

He continued, “At first people will be speculating as to whether a country girl like you can keep a playboy like me in line. But we’ll make lots of public appearances and show them that you can.”

She had no idea what keeping a playboy in line was like. She was already paying the price for dallying with a con man, and now she was being propositioned by a drop-dead gorgeous, modern-day Don Juan. The idea of getting close to Rand scared her senseless. He was everything she should be trying to avoid. Hot and seductive, she thought, and oozing with wealth and charm. Just like Rich when she’d first gotten to know him.

“How long would this marriage last?” she asked.

“It takes about three months to get the immigration interview. I have a friend who works for the USCIS, so I can try to pull some strings and get it moved up. He can definitely get your security clearance done faster.”

She wasn’t surprised that someone as well-off and socially connected as Rand would know someone at the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services.

“We’ll have to work out a prenup that’s comfortable for both of us,” he said. “I don’t want things to get sticky later. But either way, after you get your green card and after I prove myself to the board, we can decide when we should split up. We’ll part amicably. Then after the divorce, we can go our separate ways and no one will be the wiser.”

“I’m not interested in a financial settlement, so a prenup wouldn’t be a problem.” Being dependent on Rand to replace what Rich had stolen wasn’t the answer to restoring her self-worth. She would rather make her own way, even if she struggled to do it.

“So what do you think of my idea?” he asked.

She tried not to frown. “Of marrying you? What you’re proposing is considered fraud. If immigration found out that we faked a marriage, there would be penalties involved. I suspect that your friend at the USCIS wouldn’t appreciate you dragging him into a situation like that, either.”

“I know, and that’s why we couldn’t tell anyone the truth, not even our friends or families. In order to make something like this work, we’d have to live the lie.” Rand’s expression turned dark. “The pressure the board of directors is putting on me isn’t just to clean up my act. There’s a company here in Royal that they expect me to bring in as a new client. And if I don’t secure that account, I’ll be ousted for sure. I’ve been trying to set up meetings with the other company, but their CEO hasn’t responded to my calls. From what I’ve been told, he has concerns about my reputation, too.”

“And you think having a wife will help?”

“It’s the only solution I can think of that will improve my image in a quick and noticeable way.” His expression grew even stormier. “You know what makes it worse? My father was always telling me that I was too much of a party animal to be taken seriously, that someday my behavior would come back to bite me in the butt. He criticized me every chance he got, even when I was a kid.”

Allison considered how much information Rand was sharing. Rich used to confide in her, too. But all of his confessions were lies. She hoped Rand wasn’t embellishing his tales to create a false sense of intimacy. Although she didn’t doubt that he needed a wife, just how far would he go to get one?

“Where is your father now?” she asked.

“He died last year, but I’ve been feeling the brunt of his words more than ever now. I swear I can just hear him saying, ‘I told you so,’ along with everyone else who’s convinced I’m not worthy of my job.”

She couldn’t hear anything but the frustration in his voice. “Are you sure that people will even believe that we’re a true couple?”

“Granted, we’ll be an unlikely match, but you know what they say about opposites attracting.” He winked at her. “Especially if we show everyone how desperate we are for each other.”

Allison’s thoughts scrambled. Was their desperate union supposed to include sharing the same bed? Was that part of the plan of them seeming like a genuinely married couple? Just thinking about it was sending her into a tailspin.

She wanted to remain in the States, to defy the odds, to get her green card. But could she marry Rand? A man she didn’t even know if she could trust?

Two

“Are you interested?” Rand asked. “Will you consider marrying me?”

Allison fidgeted in her seat. A Texas heartthrob, a man she’d been crushing on, was offering to make her his wife and help her get the green card she so urgently wanted. To some women, this would be a no-brainer. But it wasn’t that simple. Not to her, anyway. And especially not if he tried to lure her into bed.

She said, “If I agree to do this, there isn’t going to be any intimacy. We can’t...”

He turned more fully toward her, one of his legs nearly bumping hers. “Sleep together?”

Her pulse jumped. “Yes.”

He roamed his gaze over her. “I didn’t think it would be an option.”

“You didn’t?” This was the most uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had. And the way he was checking her out with those wild green eyes was only making it worse. “I assumed that maybe you would...”

“I would what? Try to seduce you? I’m used to having affairs, so, yeah, it crossed my mind. But you’re different from anyone else I’ve ever been with. You just seem so—” he brought his hand to her face, skimming his knuckles along her cheek “—innocent, somehow.”

My goodness, my Guinness. For someone who wasn’t supposed to be seducing her, he was doing a dandy job of it now. She couldn’t think clearly, with the way he was touching her.

She forced herself to say, “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

He lowered his hand. “I shouldn’t?”

“No.” She didn’t want her attraction to him distorting her common sense. “I still need to decide if I’m going to marry you.”

“Well, are you?”

“It scares me, doing something so fraudulent.” Trusting him scared her, too. But was she making too much of that? He wasn’t a sociopath like Rich. He was just a man who needed to reform his image. His womanizing image, she reminded herself. He wasn’t exactly an angel.

She didn’t know what to do. If she married him for her green card, she would be committing a crime. If she didn’t, she would be dragging her sorry arse back to Kenmare.

“I’d rather have an answer sooner than later,” he said, “but you can sleep on it, if you think that’ll help.”

“It won’t.” She didn’t want to think about sleeping on anything—or with anyone, for that matter.

“Then what’s your decision?”

She considered her choices. Stay and regain her confidence? Or retreat and return to Ireland? Given her plight thus far, marrying him was beginning to seem like her only option. And at this point, she would rather take her chances with Rand than go home, lost and bleating, like the poor little lamb she kept comparing herself to.

She squeezed her eyes closed. A second later, she reopened them, just to say that she’d gone into this with her eyes wide-open. “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” He doubled-checked. “For sure?”

“Yes.” She was going to take the plunge and become his newly minted bride, fulfilling her dream of living in the States, of working toward her independent future, of being her own woman. Starting now, she thought. Determined to show him that she wasn’t a pushover, she reiterated, “I meant what I said before. The no-sex clause still applies.”

“I understand. But we’re still going to have to be affectionate with each other. We can’t behave like strangers out there.”

“Don’t worry...” She paused, giving herself a moment to breathe a little deeper. “I’ll play my part to the best of my ability.” She would do what she had to do, short of tumbling into bed with him.

He smiled a bit too sexily. “At least there’s no denying that we have chemistry.”

In lieu of a response, she fought the warm, slippery feeling that came over her. But who wouldn’t be magnetically drawn to Rand? Forbidden as he was, she could only imagine what climbing under the covers with him would be like. Hot and thrilling nights, she surmised, where she could let her inner sex kitten out.

Oh, sure. As if she actually had one of those. Even with as deeply as she’d fallen for Rich and his fake persona, she’d been a bit too restrained in his bed. She’d never thoroughly let loose with anyone, and this wasn’t the time to start. She was absolutely, positively not sleeping with Rand.

“Allison?”

She started at the sound of his voice. “Yes?”

“We need to come up with a cover story about how we fell in love so quickly. But I have an idea about that.”

“You do?” She cleared the erotic thoughts from her mind. “What is it?”

He waited until a passerby was out of earshot before he replied, “I thought we could say that we’ve been seeing each other behind closed doors. That I approached you privately after Will’s funeral and we started to get to know each other then. With everything that’s been going on this past month, I’ve been trying to keep a low profile and stay out of the limelight, so it’s actually the perfect time for me to say that I’ve been in a secret relationship.”

“That should work.” Clearly Rand had a gift for storytelling. So did Allison, of course. Fiction was her forte. “But for the people who know that Will is still alive and that Rich swindled me, we’ll have to tell a more detailed tale. We can still use the secret-dating ruse, but we’ll also have to say that you helped me overcome the pain of what he did to me. Only that I didn’t want to tell anyone that we were together for fear that they would judge me.”

“That sounds believable to me. I can more or less say the same thing, but in reverse. I was worried that if people knew we got together so quickly, they might accuse me of taking advantage of you. But now that we’re bursting at the seams and eager to marry before you’re forced to leave the country, we can’t keep it a secret any longer.”

She marveled at their savvy. “I’m impressed with how easily we came up with an explanation.” Within no time, they’d concocted a believable romantic backstory. “You want to hear something funny? When I was a teenager going to school dances and meeting local boys, I had daydreams about stealing away from Ireland and marrying an American man. I’ve been consumed with your country since I was a girl. I used to write poems to my fantasy husband, spilling my heart out to him.”

He touched her hand, ever so lightly. “Maybe you can incorporate that into the green card interview. The more we reveal about ourselves, the more authenticity it will lend to our case.”

Suddenly she was getting nervous again, overwhelmed that she’d actually agreed to marry him. “You don’t think it will make me sound foolish?”

“No. Not at all. And I’m glad that you’re already sharing personal information about yourself with me. We’re both going to have to do a lot of that. We’ll need to know each other from the inside out before we meet with Immigration and tackle that interview.”

She anxiously admitted, “The most challenging part for me will be lying to my family, calling and telling them that I met the man of my dreams. But the truth would be worse. They would never approve of a ploy like this.”

“My brother is going to be my biggest obstacle. It’s going to take a miracle for him to believe I’ve given up my bachelor ways and am capable of being a loyal husband.”

“I remember seeing him at Will’s funeral.” Although Rand and his brother didn’t look that much alike, they had the same mesmerizing mouth and sculpted jaw, coming from the same handsome genes. “His name is Trey, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Aside from our maternal grandmother, he’s the only family I have left. Our mother died a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He seemed genuinely hurt that his ma was gone. She noticed the pain in his eyes. Had she misjudged him earlier when she suspected he’d been embellishing his confessions?

“How many immediate family members do you have?” he asked.

She concentrated on his question. “I’ve got my parents, one set of grandparents and a brother who owns a media company that’s headquartered in London. He divides his time between England and Ireland. Farming will always be in his blood. The Cartwrights have been in Kenmare for six generations.”

“Is your father a traditional man?”

“Yes, he is. Angus is his name, and he adores me like no other. He fusses over Ma, too. As much as I hate to say this, he’s going to be disappointed if you don’t call him and ask for my hand in marriage. But I would never expect you to actually do it.”

“Maybe I should, if it’ll make things easier.”

She nearly gaped at him. “Really, you’d appease my da?”

He glanced at a giant oak towering nearby. “I’d rather appease him than have him think that you’re marrying a guy who doesn’t respect his values.”

“That’s a good point.” She followed his line of sight to the tree, becoming aware of the tangled shoots creeping up its massive trunk. “He and Ma have specific ideas about marriage. They have opinions about everything. I love them dearly, of course, but sometimes they still treat me like a child. Ma is especially good at meddling.”

“My family rarely sticks their nose in my business. My dad did, but I wouldn’t call what he did meddling. With him, it was more like bullying.”

She felt badly for what he’d endured. Her parents wouldn’t dream of bullying her. Everything they did was out of tenderness and care.

“Does your father Skype?” he asked. “Maybe I can video chat with him to ask for his blessing to marry you.”

“Yes, he uses Skype. Ma does, too. So she will probably nose in on your talk with him and want to meet you, too. But before you contact them, I’ll have to call them and pave the way. They’re going to be stunned by my hasty marriage plans.”

“We’re going to shock everyone.” He paused, seeming reflective for a moment. “Do you still have the poems you wrote to your fantasy husband? Did you keep them?”

“No.” She was feeling reflective, too. “But sometimes I wish I would have. I’ve always been a fanciful girl. Too fanciful, I suppose.”

He searched her gaze, as if he was looking for something in her character that he’d missed, something he hadn’t seen before. Then, in a near whisper, he said, “I think we should kiss.”

She started. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Kiss.” He repeated, his tone a little huskier, a little more seductive. “We’re going to have to get used to kissing. We’ll be expected to do it at the wedding, at the very least.”

He was right. But with the penetrating look he was giving her, she was getting downright dizzy. She even gripped the underside of the bench, latching on to it with all her might. “You want to do it right now?”

He moved closer. “Now is as good a time as any.”

She filled her lungs with as much oxygen as she could get, preparing herself, trying to stay calm. He leaned into her, and her heart boomeranged to her throat, before it zoomed back to her chest.

Staying calm wasn’t possible.

As soon as his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and asked the heavens to protect her. He invoked a carnal yearning in her, a spell he obviously knew how to cast.

He was good at this.

So very good.

An expert in every way.

The tip of his tongue teased hers, and she moaned like the sinner, the soon-to-be fake bride she’d agreed to become.

He cupped the back of her head and drew her even closer. He played with her hair, splaying his big masculine fingers through it, and she imagined making down and dirty love with him. The sex she refused to have.

Allison knew she was in for a rocky awakening, being tied to this wickedly delicious man. She tightened her hold on the bench. Only now she was using it to stop herself from putting her hands where they didn’t belong. If one little kiss could affect her this way, she was going to have to fight to keep from mauling him—every desperate day that she was his wife.

* * *

Rand wanted to push his tongue deeper into her mouth, to nibble, to bite, gobble Allison right up, but he was holding back, trying to keep their arrangement in perspective. She tasted wholesomely, sensuously sweet, like honey straight from the jar. In his hungry mind, it could’ve been oozing down their bodies in warm, sticky rivulets.

Before his zipper turned tight and he got unbearably hard, he opened his eyes and eased away from her. It was going to be hell restraining his libido around her. But she’d implemented that no-sex clause, and he had no choice except to abide by it. Rand needed a wife to clean up his image and try to save his job, but he knew better than to take advantage of Allison. He probably could’ve gotten one of his high-society lovers to agree to marry him, but he’d chosen Allison instead. And not just because he assumed that she might want a green card. Her sweet nature was part of it, too. He thought that marrying a good girl would help his cause.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he stared at her. Even with the way she’d moaned, with the soft murmurs she’d made, she still struck him as innocent. One tantalizing lip-lock wasn’t going to change his opinion of her.

She was still the same woman who’d been hurt by Rich Lowell, who’d been heartlessly used by him. He didn’t know what that bastard had said or done to con her out of her life savings. To Rand, those circumstances weren’t clear. But this wasn’t the time to ask.

She peeled her fingers away from the underside of the bench, and he realized that she’d been holding on to it the entire time their mouths had been fused together.

“We did it,” he said. “Our first kiss.” He figured that talking about it was better than sitting there in awkward silence.

She seemed to agree. She quickly replied, “Where I come from, kissing is sometimes called shifting. We also say ‘the shift’ or ‘to get the shift.’”

“So I just got the shift?” he quipped, without really expecting her to answer. His gaze was still locked on to hers. He knew other green-eyed people, but he’d never met anyone whose eyes mirrored his in the way hers did. He sometimes got accused of wearing colored contact lenses to enhance his appearance. He doubted anyone would accuse her of that. Everything about her seemed genuine.

She blushed. “In some countries getting the shift refers to sex, but that’s not how we Irish use it. To us, it’s open-mouthed kissing, sort of like getting to first base.”

“Where’d you learn about getting to first base?” Surely, Irish boys didn’t say that when they scored with a girl.

“I picked up most of your slang from watching American movies. The romantic ones are my favorite.”

“Chick flicks.” He should have guessed as much. “You definitely seem like that type.”

She studied him with those matching green eyes. “What inspired you to hatch this plan of yours? When did it occur to you that I might agree to marry you?”

“It was during the last Cattleman’s Club event. I was standing off by myself, stewing about my job. You were there, too, and I overheard you talking to some friends of mine, saying that your visa was getting ready to expire. So later, I looked up your address online and sent you the Mr. X note.”

“I was terribly nervous coming here to meet you,” she confessed, reaching into her skirt pocket and removing a small black object.

He took a closer look and saw that it was a can of pepper spray with a key chain attached. “Was that to use on me?”

She nodded. “In case Mr. X was a nutcase, and he tried to accost me.”

“Maybe I am a nutcase.” Who else, besides a crazy man, would get married to reinvent himself?

“I think I’m one, too.” She returned the pepper spray to her skirt. “So I guess we can be daft together.” She referenced her other pocket, the one that didn’t have the Mace. “I’ve got my ID, my money and a few other essentials tucked away in here. I didn’t bring a purse because I wanted to keep my hands free to fight off Mr. X. I was prepared to scream, too, and alert security if need be.”

“I’m sorry.” He should have known better than to put her in a position that sparked fear. “I should have considered how meeting a stranger might affect you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you acknowledging that.” She dug into her essentials pocket and produced a small tube, which turned out to be lip balm.

When she uncapped it and ran it across her lips, she did it so quickly and efficiently, he suspected that adding moisture to her mouth was a habit. Much too mesmerized, he watched her.

“This is probably going to sound strange,” he said, “but is that honey flavored, by any chance?”

She snapped the cap back on, suddenly aware, it seemed, that his gaze was riveted to her newly waxed lips. “Yes, it is. But why do you ask?”

“Because I tasted it when we were kissing.”

Her skin flushed, her rosy cheeks going rosier. “Should I stop using it?”

“Absolutely not. Use it as much as you want.” He enjoyed knowing where the flavor had come from. “I liked it.” Probably too much, he thought.

She put the lip balm away. “It’s going to be difficult for me to kiss you in front of other people. I don’t normally do things like that.”

“I do it all the time. And if I don’t get romantic with my wife when we’re out and about, the gossipmongers are going to say that I’m not as passionate about you as I’ve been about my other women. And we need to show them that I’m totally enamored with you.”

She looked undecidedly at him. Clearly she didn’t understand him any more than he understood her. They couldn’t be more different from each other.

“Why have you been so public with your private life?” she asked.

“It started as a rebellion, my way of toying with society and thumbing my nose at my dad. And then, later, I just got used to doing socially unacceptable things and giving people something to gossip about. Of course, once social media hit the scene, I used that as my outlet. But at least I never made a sex tape or anything like that.”

She all but blinked at him. “I should hope not.”

With how primly she reacted, he got the sudden urge to tease her, to make things sound bawdier than they were. “Actually, it’s possible I made a tape. There are a few blank periods of my life that I can’t remember. But as far as I know, no tapes have surfaced. You haven’t seen one with me in it, have you?”

“Goodness, no! I don’t watch those.” She crossed her arms over her ample breasts.

If she was trying to hide the fullness of her figure, it wasn’t working. It only made him notice her delectable curves even more. Even in her loose-fitting outfit, a guy could tell what she had going on under there.

He continued his charade. “Are you sure you’re not a sex tape connoisseur?”

“Yes, I—” She stopped and leveled him with an admonishing glare. “Are you mocking me? Is this a prank?”

He nearly cringed at the look she was giving him. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. With all the sordid stuff on the internet about me, I thought a sex tape seemed believable. But I guess I better not tick you off like this when we’re married.”

She sized him up again. “As long as you don’t start talking like a cereal-box leprechaun or spout ‘top of the morning’ to me, I might be able to tolerate you.”

Was she making a joke? He couldn’t tell. Playing it safe, he said, “I’d never do anything that stupid.” A second later, he saw her smile, and he knew he’d been had. He smiled, too, and they both laughed. He enjoyed the rapport they were building, strange as it was. Curious about her creative side, he asked, “What sorts of things do you write?”

“Magazine articles, lifestyle pieces, mostly for women’s publications. But I’ve also been plotting a novel. It’s about an Irish woman who goes to Texas and falls in love. I used to think that it should be a historical tale with the flavor of the Old West. But now that I’m here, seeing everything firsthand, I think a contemporary story might be the way to go. But no matter what time period I use, I want the hero to be the sort of fellow the heroine has to tame.”

The way she was supposed to be taming him in this phony marriage? “That would never work on me, not for real.”

“I know, but I think it does on some men, if they fall truly, madly in love. I’m a firm believer in destiny. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.” She rocked in her seat. “And I’m still trying to be. I don’t want to lose that part of myself. Or miss the opportunity if the right man comes along.”

Even after everything she’d been through with Rich, she still believed in love? He couldn’t fathom it. Nonetheless, he said, “That’s good, because I need a wife who projects that kind of image.” Even if he didn’t understand her propensity for love, he was glad it was going to play out in their favor. “Are you working on any projects now? Besides plotting the novel?”

“One of the publications I write for asked me to do a series of featured articles for them. I’m just waiting for the contracts to come through.” Her expression turned taut. “I had to borrow from my parents to cover my expenses this month because of what Rich took from me.”

He thought about the prenup she’d readily agreed to sign. “You made it clear that you’re not interested in a financial settlement when this is over, but if you change your mind, we can still implement that.”

“I won’t change my mind. Being independent is important to me. It’s everything, in fact. I don’t want to be beholden to you, Rand. Not for money or anything else.”

“Okay, but I’d still like to set you up with some credit cards while we’re married. You can use them to shop or have lunch with other Texas Cattleman’s Club wives or whatever society women typically do. But mostly you’ll be with me. We’ll need to be seen together as much as possible.” He glanced down at her hands and how simply manicured her nails were. “I’ll be getting you a big-ass diamond to wear, too.”

She widened her eyes. “A big-arse diamond? I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.”

“What can I say? I’m new at this fiancé stuff. But I think you should come home with me.” Clarifying his intention, he added, “For us to get better acquainted and figure out the details of the wedding. If you’re getting hungry, I can order some takeout and have it delivered.”

“Thank you. That’s a nice offer. I’m famished actually. I was too nervous to eat before I came here.”

“Do you need a ride to my place? Or do you have a rental car with you?”

“I need a ride. I haven’t driven in America yet. Being on the other side of the road confuses me. I’ve been taking Uber.”

He stood and offered her his hand. “Ready to go?”

She allowed him to help her up. “Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He escorted her to valet parking so he could pick up his shiny red Porsche. To keep things fresh, Rand leased a different sports car every couple years. He went through women in a lot less time. In fact, he’d never stayed with anyone longer than a few restless months.

He glanced over at Allison. She seemed so foreign standing next to him. Not just the country she was from, but the knowledge, the hard-hitting reality of making her his wife. But if it worked out like it was supposed to, she would be reforming him in the public eye and on social media, too.

Of course he still had to be careful not to corrupt her with his man-whore ways. Even with the no-sex clause, he was pretty damned sure he could seduce her. Not that he was going to. As tantalizing as she was, he needed to keep his head on straight, to follow the rules. Trouble was, Rand was a rule breaker by nature. Restricting himself from the lust-driven pleasure of a woman’s company wasn’t something he’d ever had to do until now.

A young valet brought the car around, and Rand slipped the kid a generous tip. Once he and Allison were settled into their seats, he put the Porsche in gear and peeled out of the driveway.

As he headed for Pine Valley, the area where he lived, he asked her, “What should we order? What sort of food do you like?”

“I’m partial to the deep-dish pepperoni pizza you have here. I’m a hearty eater, just so you know. A bit of a pig, actually. I don’t mess around where my meals are concerned.”

Her candor amused him. She had a knack for admitting what some people would consider faults. “Your enthusiasm for food is refreshing.”

“I’m glad you think so. Because it’s something you’re going to have to get used to.”

He stole a glance at her lusciously curved body. “You can eat as much as you want around me.” Trying to keep his errant thoughts off her voluptuous figure, he focused on the road.

A moment later, they engaged in chitchat. They revealed how old they were and when they were born. She was thirty-one, and he was thirty-seven. Interestingly enough, their birthdays were only a few days apart. They were both Aries. Normally he didn’t follow that stuff. But she did, apparently, referring to their astrological sign as “hard-headed rams.” He supposed that part was true, with as determined as they were to make this marriage situation work.

When he reached the entrance of Pine Valley, he stopped at the gate. He had a key code, but a live guard was on duty, too.

Once he moved forward, Allison glanced out her window. “Wow! This is a grand area. Look at all the mansions. You live in one of these all by yourself?”

“Yep. Just me.” Pine Valley was a private, upscale community with million-dollar homes, an 18-hole golf course, a fancy clubhouse and other exclusive amenities.

“You don’t have a household staff?”

“I use a chef delivery service that comes by a few times a week and leaves my meals in the fridge or the freezer, based on the menus I choose. I use a cleaning service, too. I’d never have anyone live with me. I don’t like having people under foot.” He turned down his street and approached his home. The Tudor-style architecture featured heavy brick chimneys, decorative stonework, casement windows and a steeply pitched roof. An immaculate lawn dressed out the yard, with summer flowers garnishing the walkway.

He pulled the Porsche into his garage. His other car was a luxury sedan, another leased vehicle. Nothing was ever permanent in Rand’s mind.

He gestured to the pearly white sedan. “You can drive that one when we’re married.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather not.”

“Because of your discomfort about being on the opposite side of the road?” He didn’t see why that should hold her back. “You plan on driving in the States eventually, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I can wait until I’m ready.”

Had she waited to have sex the first time, too? He suspected that she’d most likely lost her virginity when she was well into her twenties. He doubted that she’d given it up when she was a doe-eyed teen, writing poetry to her make-believe husband.

He escorted her into his house by way of the garage. They entered through the laundry room, with its high-efficiency washer and dryer, bright white counters and stainless steel sink.

Going from one spacious room to the next, he gave her a tour of the first floor, familiarizing her with the custom-built layout.

“Everything about your home is magnificent,” she said.

“Thanks.” He’d chosen furnishings that reflected his eclectic taste, mixing the old with the new, traditional with modern. “Let me get the pizza ordered, then I’ll show you the rest of it.” He called in the food and notified the guard at the gate, too.

While they waited for the delivery, he took her upstairs to where the bedrooms were.

They entered a room with an impressive view of the backyard. “When you move in, you can use this suite. It’s the one my lovers use when they stay over. There’s an adjoining bathroom with a shower and a claw-foot tub. Women seem to like that.”

“It’s all very elegant.” She studied a gold-leafed dresser, tracing her hand along the wood. She turned and said, “But I hope you don’t mind me asking, why do you have a separate suite for your lovers?”

He motioned to a set of ornate wooden doors. “This suite connects to mine, so when I have a woman over, we can open those doors and share both spaces. But we can close them when we want privacy, too. In the old days, ladies had their own boudoirs, and I wanted to create that effect here, too. I think it’s sexy, waiting on the other side for my lovers to be ready for me.” He walked over to the canopy bed that would become hers. “Sometimes they come to my suite, and sometimes they invite me to sleep in this one with them.”

She glanced at the pale beige material that draped the top and sides of the bed, then took a breath-stealing moment to look at him. He returned her gaze, steeped in his odd fascination with her. By now, she was standing in front of a Queen Anne–style vanity table, with her back to the beveled mirror. The wood was a deep, dark cherry, and the seat was upholstered in a light floral print.

Rand imagined her using the vanity on their wedding day. “Do you want to get married here?”

She widened her eyes. “In this suite?”

“No. In the house itself.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She seemed embarrassed by her blunder. “That was silly of me.”

“That’s okay.” He liked how unpretentious she was, how she didn’t always behave accordingly. “Since we need to do this quickly, I think we should have a small, private civil ceremony. But it can still be traditional, if that’s your preference.”

“Something customary would be nice. I wish my family could be here, but they’d never be able to leave the farm on such short notice. Of course, they’ll probably want us to have a second ceremony in Kenmare, in the church where I was baptized.” She spoke softly, shakily, her voice hitching. “The second one would be called a convalidation, where our vows would be blessed and recognized by the church. But our marriage isn’t going to last long enough for that. I would never do it, anyway. It be would be too sacred for a deception like ours.”

“I know what a convalidation is. But to be honest, I haven’t been to church in a really long time.” It reminded him too much of his mother’s funeral and how painful it had been to lose her. But he didn’t want to talk about that. “I totally agree with you that a second ceremony is never going to happen. We just need to get through the first one.”

“Yes, but don’t be surprised if Da mentions us getting remarried in Ireland when you video chat with him.”

“How about if I just go along with whatever he says for now?” Rand didn’t want to upset her father. He’d been through enough turmoil with his own dad.

She remained with her back to the mirror. “That’ll work. Just pretend you’re on board with all of his ideas.”

“How do you think your mother is going to react?”

“She cries easily, and me marrying my dream man is going to make her weepy.”

“Right. The dream man thing.” Never in a million years did he expect to be cast in that role. But here he was, trying to wear that mantle. “So I should prepare for tears when I meet her on Skype?”

“Most definitely. She’s going to cry on the phone to me, too, when I first tell her about you. She’s also going to offer to alter her wedding dress and send it to me. She always wanted me to get married in the same dress she wore when she married Da, and since she’s a seamstress, she’ll be able to do it right quick.”

Rand winced. He didn’t know anything about the process of handing down a dress, but it was obvious how important all this was going to be to her parents. “If you want, I can arrange to have your family attend the ceremony on Skype. We might as well make the most of that medium. Not just for me to meet them and ask for your hand in marriage, but for them to watch you become a bride.”

“That would be wonderful. They would love that.” She rewarded him with a wobbly smile. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

“No problem.” As he met her gaze, a stream of silence ensued. A soft, sweet, quiet heat, he thought, with his heady vibes mingling with hers. “We better go back downstairs for now. The food should be here soon. We can figure out the rest of the details while we eat.”

She left her post at the vanity. “Yes, we should go.”

When he moved away from the bed and turned to leave, she quickly followed. She even shut the door behind her a little too soundly, as if she was eager to close off the room.

And everything that went with it.

Three

Allison ate more than her fair share of the pizza. She drank the soda Rand had ordered, too. But in the center of her bride-to-be mind, her thoughts were racing.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the boudoir Rand had built for his lovers—the sexy, dreamy, lavish suite where she would be staying. How she was going to survive sleeping there, she didn’t know. Her crush on Rand was elevating to dangerous levels. Ever since she’d met him at The Bellamy, since he’d proposed this arrangement, since he’d kissed her with that scrumptious mouth of his, her pulse hadn’t quit pounding. And now she was going to have to contend with his bedroom being intimately connected to hers, with two big, easy-to-open, elaborately carved doors between them.

“When are you going to call your parents?” he asked.

She glanced up from her plate, her arteries still thumping. “First thing tomorrow.” She certainly couldn’t call them today. It was later in Ireland than in Texas.

“I’ll get your ring tomorrow, too. Maybe one of those sets where the engagement ring and the wedding band are designed to go together. I know someone who deals in antique jewelry, if older pieces are okay with you.”

“Yes, of course.” She wasn’t going to interfere with his choices. “You can get whatever you think is best.”

“The dealer works exclusively with a private clientele. She’s a longtime friend of my grandmother’s. I’ll be inviting Grandma Lottie to the wedding, so you’ll get to meet her. She’s ninety years old and has a condo in a senior community here in Royal. It’s a great place, as luxurious as it gets.” He hesitated, reached for his soda, took a swig. A second later, he said, “But just so you know, her short-term memory is failing her. She has what’s called mild cognitive impairment or MCI. Sometimes she forgets portions of conversations or repeats things we already talked about. I’ve gotten used to it now, but it was strange at first, trying to get a handle on it.”

Allison couldn’t imagine her granny going through something like that. Both of her grandparents were fit as fiddles. “Does MCI lead to Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia?”

“In some cases, it does. But her doctor doesn’t think that will happen to her. She has a caregiver who lives with her, so it helps to know she has someone with her all the time. Grandma Lottie was my rock when I was growing up. She stepped in when our mother got sick and raised us kids after Mom passed. I was ten at the time, and Trey was only four. He barely even remembers our mom.”

“How sad for him. How sad for both of you.” She didn’t know what to say, except to express the grief she knew he was feeling. “But I’m glad your grandmother was there for you.”

“Me, too. Without her, I don’t know what we would have done. Our parents weren’t even together when Mom died. They were already divorced. So by then, our father was used to being a weekend dad, to seeing us when it was convenient for him.” Rand shook his head in obvious displeasure. “He never tried to take us away from Grandma Lottie, but he butted heads with her about what he called the ‘indulgent’ way she was rearing us. He didn’t think she disciplined us enough.”

“My parents coddled me. But maybe if I hadn’t been so sheltered, I would have been more streetwise when it came to someone like Rich.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been wondering about your relationship with him and how it unfolded.”

“It’s foolish, the way I let it happen.” She picked at a piece of crust leftover on her plate, even if she’d been taught not to play with her food.

“Will you tell me about it?”

She winced. “Right now?”

He nodded. “Sorry, yes. But I’d really like to know.”

She expelled an uneasy breath, preparing for the shameful truth. She’d already discussed this with the authorities and answered all of their probing questions, but repeating it to Rand seemed different somehow. “I met him at a restaurant where I was waitressing. I’d been working there for years, in addition to my freelance writing, so I could save extra money. Kenmare is a tourist destination, and we have lots of pubs and eateries.” She picked at the crust again, tearing it into little pieces. “He said that he was on a much-needed holiday in Ireland, taking a break from his busy life. He explained that he was the CEO of an oil and energy company and how demanding his job was. He mentioned his family’s cattle ranch, too, and his devotion to it. He was certainly my idea of a handsome Texan.” She remembered how easily they’d talked and how forthcoming he seemed. “I thought he was as charming and interesting as a fellow could be. He took an immediate fancy to me, too. Or so I thought. But now I realize that he just saw me as an easy mark.”

“Did you know he was married?”

“Yes. But he told me that he and Megan were getting divorced. That she’d met someone else and was in a secret relationship with that person. He also said that Megan was an emotionally fragile woman. According to him, she wasn’t ready to talk to family and friends about the divorce or tell them that she was seeing someone else. She needed more time to get a handle on her new relationship.”

“So Rich and Megan were keeping everything hush-hush? Gee, how convenient for him.”

Her shame went bone-deep. Her foolishness. Her naïveté. “I shouldn’t have fallen for a story like that. But he seemed so kind and sensitive, and I believed that he had Megan’s best interest at heart. I didn’t have a clue how often he’d been cheating on her or what a lovely and centered person she actually is.” She released a sigh. “Of everyone I’ve met in Royal so far, she’s been the most gracious to me. I feel so badly for her, marrying a man who wasn’t even who he claimed to be.”

After a long and silent pause, Rand asked, “When did your affair with him start?”

“Our romance budded right away, while he was still in Ireland. But I didn’t tell my family about him. I knew they wouldn’t approve of me seeing a married man, even if he was in the process of a divorce.” She shook her head. “Or supposedly getting divorced or whatever.” She continued her wretched story. “After he went home, we emailed and texted. He said that when I was ready to come to the States, he would help me get a visa.”

“So you took him up on his offer?”

She nodded. “But he also said that he would try to help me get a green card, too, so I could move here for real.”

“And make all of your Texas dreams come true?” He squinted at her. “Did he offer to marry you?”

“No.” So far, Rand was the only man who’d ever proposed to her. “But his ‘supposed’ divorce from Megan wasn’t finalized, so that wasn’t an option. Besides, our relationship was still really new. We wouldn’t have been talking marriage, anyway.”

“Then how was he going to help you get a green card?”

“He said that he knew some government officials who could probably make it happen.” She paused, thinking back on what a tall tale it was. “It’s strange because you’re the one who actually knows someone who works for Immigration.”

“Yeah, but my friend isn’t going to just magically get you a green card. It doesn’t work that way.” Rand watched her with a curious expression. “How long were you together with him in Texas?”

“Overall? Before the plane crash? It was three months.” Ninety days in Dallas, she thought, of being duped. “After what he did to me, after being conned by him, it makes me want my green card even more. I don’t want him to be the cause of me losing my dream of living in the States.”

He continued to watch her. Or scrutinize her. Or whatever he was doing. She glanced away, needing a reprieve.

He asked, “Did Rich know you had a savings account? Did you share that information with him?”

She returned her gaze to his. “Yes, I told him. But it never occurred to me that he was going to swindle me out of it. As far as I knew, he was a wealthy man.” After a chop of silence, she added, “When I first got to Dallas, I rented the apartment I have now, and he would stay with me when he was in town. He took me out from time to time, but he never introduced me to any of his friends or family. He said that he couldn’t, not while he and Megan were still keeping a lid on their divorce. I didn’t know anyone in Texas besides him, so there was no one for him to meet, either.”

“Sounds like your life with him was isolated.”

“It was. But at the time, I didn’t mind.” She winced, hating the stomach-clenching ache that repeating this story gave her. “It seemed romantic, just the two of us. But then he started to seem troubled. Only he refused to tell me what was wrong. He kept saying that he didn’t want to burden me with it. It was obviously part of his ploy, pretending to protect me from his problems. But finally, he told me that he was under financial duress. That his personal accounts had been frozen because of something Megan had done, and he wasn’t able to make withdrawals or use his credit cards. He also said that he couldn’t withdraw money from his business accounts, either, because he didn’t want to involve his family, and they were tied to those accounts. He was trying to solve it without them knowing what was going on.”

Rand shook his head. “It sounds like he had it all worked out, blaming his wife while trying to get money from his girlfriend.”

“I loaned him little bits at a time, until the amounts started getting bigger and bigger. But even so, he never gave me cause to think that he couldn’t be trusted. He promised that he would pay me back, and I believed him. The last time I saw him, he said that he was getting close to sorting it out and should have access to his accounts again.” She took a long sip of soda to quench her suddenly dry throat, then went on. “Shortly after that, I received a letter from an attorney saying that he was dead, and I was named as one of the heirs to his estate.”

When she hesitated, Rand motioned for her to continue. She took one more sip of her drink before she said, “I was devastated by his loss. Then later, of course, things took a different turn. I discovered that he wasn’t even Will Sanders. I also learned that four other women had received the same letter, also making them heirs to an estate that didn’t even belong to him. It made me feel as if he’d stolen from me twice, first by taking my money. Then by making me part of an inheritance I wasn’t able to claim.”

Rand nodded, a bit too solemnly. “Did you ever tell your family about him? Do they know he’s the reason you had to borrow money from them?”

“I told them a condensed version of the truth. I admitted that I came to America to be with a man and that he’d taken advantage of me and hurt some other women, too. I couldn’t reveal the entire story since we’re not allowed to discuss the case with anyone who isn’t involved in it, but they’re still concerned about my emotional well-being. They could tell how badly this affected me.”

“And now you’re going to tell them that I helped you through it and you fell in love with me.”

“Yes.” She would be deceiving them about what should be the most important events of her life. Falling in love. Finding her true soul mate. Accepting his marriage proposal.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, much too softly.

Was he comforting her for the lie she was going to tell her family? Or was he consoling her for Rich’s treachery?

Whatever he was doing, it made her feel warm and protected. When she was a girl, eating Ma’s bread-and-butter pudding used to make her feel the same way. Sometimes she used to sit by the fireplace on cold nights and devour the entire pan.

“Do you have a preference for the type of engagement ring I get?” he asked. “The cut of the diamond? Or the kind of setting?”

She cleared her mind. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling warm and protected by Rand. She hadn’t even decided how trustworthy he was. “I thought you were going to get an antique one?”

“I am, but this will be the first time I’ll be buying jewelry for someone other than my grandmother. And I want to do it right.”

“I’m sure you’ll do splendidly with whatever you choose. But I’ll be returning it to you after the marriage ends, so you should get something that has a good resell value so you can get your investment back.”

He frowned. “I don’t want it back. It’s going to be your ring. I’m buying it for you.”

“I know, but it wouldn’t be proper for me to keep it.”

“Then you should be the one to sell it and recoup what you lost.”

“That isn’t necessary,” she insisted. “Besides, I already told you earlier that I don’t want to be beholden to you.”

“Come on, Allison. You should at least get a diamond out of this deal.”

She wasn’t comfortable getting anything out of it except her green card. “Maybe we should discuss this another time. I don’t want to argue on our very first day.”

“All right, we’ll figure it out later.” He paused before he asked, “Do you know your ring size?”

She shook her head. She’d never worn a ring before, on any of her fingers. She didn’t own much in the way of jewelry, aside from the costume stuff that she kept in a small wooden box, all tangled up together.

He said, “There must be a way to measure it. I’ll look it up online.” He checked his phone. “Oh, here we go. There’s a paper method that should work. I’ll print this and we can try it.” He got up from his seat. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

While he was gone, she stayed at the dining table, reminding herself to breathe. Within no time, she would be Rand’s wife. She would be sleeping upstairs in that scandalous boudoir, with her hot-as-sin husband on the other side.

He returned with the paper chart and a pair of scissors, striding back into the room and catching her eye.

As he stood next to her chair and cut out the ring sizer, she asked, “When are you going to announce our engagement?”

“You mean publicly? I’d rather wait to make a splash until after we’re married. We’ve got too much to do, trying to plan the ceremony this quickly. If we get bombarded with media attention beforehand, we’ll never get everything done.”

As he took hold of her left hand to size her finger, his touch sent an electric current through her. She nearly jolted from the feeling. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re a six.” He set the chart aside. “I’m going to have to wear a ring, too. I need to look as husbandly as I can, to flash my status as much as possible. But I’ll find myself a plain gold band. Not an antique. Just something simple and modern.”

“Yes, plain bands seem to be what most men prefer.” Or so she assumed. “Would you mind if I took an Uber back to Dallas tonight, instead of you taking me?” She needed some time alone, to sit quietly in her apartment and try to quell her anxiety. “But you can come over tomorrow, if you want.”

“That’s fine. I can stop by after I get your ring. We should probably go to the county clerk’s office tomorrow, too, to apply for our marriage license. You’ll need to have your birth certificate and passport handy for that.”

“I will.” She thought about his social media followers. “I hope your hordes of female admirers don’t hate me for taking you off the market.”

“There isn’t a person in their right mind who could hate you, Allison. You’re just too damn sweet.” When she bit down on her bottom lip, he stared at her. She stared back at him, until he said, “Now give me your phone, and I’ll give you mine so we can program our numbers into them.”

Once that was done, she arranged for her car.

He waited outside with her, with the sun getting lower in the sky. He didn’t kiss her goodbye; he didn’t put his wickedly delicious mouth against hers. They didn’t hug, either. They didn’t do anything that rang of affection.

Then, right before she left, he reached out and smoothed a strand of her hair away from her face with the merest skim of his fingers. A barely there touch that gave her that warm, snug, bread-and-butter pudding feeling again.

Even long after she got home.

* * *

The following day Allison bustled around her apartment, sweeping the floors, vacuuming the area rug beneath the coffee table and fluffing the decorative pillows on the sofa. True to his word, Rand was on his way over to give her the engagement ring he’d purchased and then take her to the county clerk’s office with him.

After she finished tidying up, she smoothed her simple cotton dress and combed her hair, checking her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked as ordinary as she always did, except maybe a tad more flushed.

About ten minutes later the doorbell rang. She answered the summons and greeted Rand. He was as dapper as ever, dressed in casual clothes, his broad-shouldered body filling up the tiny space on her stoop.

She invited him inside, and he glanced around and said, “This is a cute place, a nice little studio.”

“Thank you.” She’d tried to make it seem more like a one-bedroom by dividing the sleeping area from the living area, but she wasn’t able to block her bed completely. A portion of it was still visible, on the other side of a bookcase.

Thankfully, he didn’t mention it. But why would he say something about her bed?

“It’s bright and sunny,” he said.

Allison nodded. Was he getting the small talk over with before he presented her with the ring? “I like bright spaces.” But so did he, she realized. He had lots of windows in his house. Most of her light was coming from a sliding glass door that led to her patio.

He asked, “Are you keeping this apartment for after the divorce or are you planning on getting a different one?”

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