About the Author

Accidentally educated in the sciences, KELLY HUNTER has always had a weakness for fairytales, fantasy worlds and losing herself in a good book. Husband … yes. Children … two boys. Cooking and cleaning … sigh. Sports … no, not really—in spite of the best efforts of her family. Gardening … yes. Roses, of course. Kelly was born in Australia and has travelled extensively. Although she enjoys living and working in different parts of the world, she still calls Australia home.

Visit Kelly online at www.kellyhunter.net

The Trouble with Valentine’s

Kelly Hunter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To generous hearts

CHAPTER ONE

HALLIE BENNETT HAD BEEN selling shoes for exactly one month. One long, mind-numbing month working solo at the exclusive little shoe shop in London’s fashionable Chelsea, and she really didn’t think she’d last another. Back in the storeroom she’d sorted every pair of shoes by designer, then model and finally by size. Out here on the shop floor she’d arranged the stock by colour and, within the colours, by function. Dusting and vacuuming? Done. Serving customers? Not yet but hey, it was only midday.

It was also Valentine’s Day, and Hallie had been charged with convincing all her non-existent customers that high-end shoes were the new chocolate. Ruby-red heart-shaped helium balloons bumped across the ceiling. Two dozen heart-shaped shoe boxes sat on the counter ready for the filling. The shop window boasted two dozen long-stemmed roses. Good things happened on Valentine’s Day. Unexpected things like, for instance, a sudden rush of customers.

A shoe shop girl could hope.

Hallie added a few of the heart-shaped shoe boxes to the shop window. Who said she didn’t have marketing initiative? All those gentlemen looking for the perfect gift – the ones who actually knew their beloved’s shoe size – they’d be here any minute now.

Because there were so many of them.

Hallie picked up the nearest shoe, a pretty leopard-print open-toed sandal with an onyx heel, and tried to figure out why anyone would actually pay three hundred and seventy-five pounds for a pair of them. She dangled the dainty shoe from her fingertips, turned it this way and that before finally balancing it on her palm.

‘So what do you think, shoe? Are we going to cram a sweet size six like you onto a size eight foot today?’

A quick jiggle made the shoe nod.

‘I think so too but what can I do? They never listen. These women wouldn’t be caught dead in a size eight shoe. Now if they were men it’d be different. As far as men are concerned, the bigger the better.’ The door to the shop opened, the bell tinkled, and Hallie hurriedly set the shoe back on its pedestal and turned around.

‘Darling, what a thoroughly delightful shop! Why I’ve never noticed it before, I have no idea. And then when you started talking to the shoe I just knew I had to come in.’

The woman who had spoken was a study in contradictions. Her clothes were pure glamour and her figure was a triumph over nature considering that she had to be in her late fifties. But her wrinkles were unironed, her hair was grey, and her ‘darling’ had been warm, possibly even genuine.

‘Please do,’ said Hallie with a smile. ‘Look around. Trust me, they never talk back.’

‘Oh, you’re an Australian!’ said the woman, clearly delighted with the notion. ‘I love Australian accents. Such marvellous vowel sounds.’

Hallie’s smile widened, and she spared a glance for the woman’s companion as he followed her into the shop, a glance that automatically upgraded to a stare because, frankly, she couldn’t help it.

As far as women’s fashion accessories went, he was spectacular. A black-haired, cobalt-eyed, dangerous-looking toy who no doubt warned you outright not to bother playing with him if you didn’t like his rules. He was like a Hermès handbag; women saw and women wanted, even though they knew the price was going to be astronomical. And then he spoke.

‘She needs a pair of shoes,’ he said in a deep gravelly baritone that was utterly sexy. ‘Something more appropriate for a woman her age.’

‘You’re new at this, aren’t you?’ muttered Hallie before turning to stare down at the woman’s shoes, a stylish pair of Ferragamo man-eaters with a four inch heel. They were a perfect fit for the woman’s perfectly manicured size-six feet. They were fire-engine red. ‘There is nothing wrong with those shoes,’ said Hallie reverently. ‘Those shoes are gorgeous!’

‘Thank you, dear,’ said the woman. ‘Why a woman turns fifty and all of a sudden certain people to whom she gave birth start thinking she should be wearing orthopaedic shoes is completely beyond me.’ The woman seemed to age ten years as wrinkles creased and unshed tears leached even more colour from eyes that would have once been a bright sparkling blue. ‘Your father would have loved these shoes!’

Ah. It was all starting to make sense. He of the indigo glare was the woman’s son and right now he was in big trouble. ‘Right,’ said Hallie brightly. ‘Well, I’ll just be over by the counter if you need me.’

He moved fast, blocking her escape. ‘Don’t even think of leaving me alone with this woman. Give her some shoes to try on. Anything!’ He picked up the open-toed leopard-print sandal. ‘These!’

‘An excellent choice,’ she said, deftly plucking it from his hand. ‘And a steal at only three hundred and seventy-five pounds. Maybe your mother would like two pairs?’

His eyes narrowed. Hallie smiled back.

‘If only I had something to look forward to,’ said the woman with a sigh that was pure theatre as she sat on the black leather sofa and slipped off her shoes. ‘Grandchildren, for instance. I need grandchildren.’

‘Everyone needs something,’ said her son, looking not at his mother but at her. ‘What do you need?’

‘Another job,’ said Hallie, kneeling to fit the sandals. ‘This one’s driving me nuts.’ She sat back on her heels and surveyed the sandals. ‘They fit you beautifully.’

‘They do, don’t they?’

‘How do you feel about travel?’ he asked her while his mother preened.

‘Travel is my middle name.’

‘And your first name?’

‘Hallie. Hallie Bennett.’

‘Nicholas Cooper,’ he said and gestured towards the woman. ‘My mother, Clea.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Clea, her handshake warm and surprisingly firm. ‘Nicky, she’s darling! She’s perfect! You need a wife, you said so this morning. I think we’ve just found her.’

‘Wife?’ said Hallie. Wife? That’d teach her to shake hands with strangers. Nicholas Cooper’s smile was lazy. His mother’s was hopeful. Probably they were both mad. ‘Is this a Valentine’s Day prank?’

‘Of course not,’ said Clea. ‘It’s fate.’

‘Fate,’ echoed Hallie. ‘Of course. My mistake.’ Rule number one of customer service – the customer was always right.

‘He’s loaded,’ said Clea encouragingly, getting back to the matter at hand –which clearly wasn’t the buying of shoes.

‘Well, yes.’ Hallie could see that from the way he dressed. He was also far too amused for his own good. ‘But is he creative?’

‘You should see his tax return.’

‘I don’t know, Clea. I think I prefer my men a little less …’ What? She slid Nicholas Cooper another quick glance. Sexy? Wild? Gorgeous? ‘Dark,’ she came up with finally. ‘I prefer blonds.’

‘Well, he’s not a blond,’ conceded Clea, ‘But look at his feet.’

Everyone looked.

He wore hand-stitched Italian leather laceups. Size 12. Wide.

‘Of course, as his mother I can’t let you marry him unless you’re compatible so maybe you should just kiss him and find out.’

‘What? Now? Ah, Clea, I really don’t think—’

‘Don’t argue with your future mother-in-law, dear. It’s bad form.’

‘No, really, I can’t. It’s not that, er, Nicky, doesn’t have a lot going for him—’

‘Thanks,’ he said dryly. ‘You can call me Nick.’

‘Because clearly he does. It’s just that, well …’ She cast about for a reason to resist. Any reason. Yes, that would do. It wasn’t quite the truth, but little white lies were allowed in sticky situations, right? ‘I wouldn’t be very good wife material right now. I have a broken heart.’

‘Oh Hallie, I’m so sorry,’ said Clea in a hushed voice. ‘What happened?’

‘It was terrible,’ she murmured. ‘I try not to think of it.’

Clea waited expectantly.

Obviously she was going to have to think of something. Hallie leaned forward and tried to look suitably woebegone. ‘He was secretly in love with his football coach the whole time we were together!’

‘The cad!’ said Clea.

‘Was he blond?’ said Nick. ‘I’m betting he was blond.’ He was standing beside her, close, very close, and she was kneeling there, her gaze directly level with his … oh … my!

‘Are you sure you’re not interested?’ asked Clea.

Hallie nodded vigorously and dropped her gaze, looking for carpet and finding feet. Big feet. ‘It’s this job,’ she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Probably he was bluffing. Probably he had regular size eight feet tucked into those enormous shoes. Her hand shot out of its own accord, spanning the soft leather of his shoe, testing the fit for width and finding it tight. Uh, oh. She pressed her thumb down and felt for toes, found them at the very top of the shoe. ‘Phew!’ She felt breathless. ‘It’s a tight fit.’

‘Always,’ he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘But I’m used to it.’

Hallie smiled weakly and scrambled to her feet as warmth spread rapidly through her cheeks. It was his eyes. His voice. Possibly his feet. Any one of them was a guaranteed temptation, but all three together? No wonder she was blushing.

‘What my mother meant to say was that I need someone to pretend to be my wife for a week. Next week to be precise. In Hong Kong. You’d be reimbursed, of course. Say, five thousand the week, all expenses covered?’

‘Five thousand pounds? For a week’s work?’ There had to be a catch. ‘And what exactly would I have to do to earn that five thousand pounds?’

‘Share a room with me but not a bed, which is fortunate considering your broken heart.’

Was he laughing at her? ‘What else would I have to do?’

‘Socialize with my clients, act like my wife.’

‘Could you be a little more specific?’

‘Nope. Just do whatever it is wives do. I’ve never had one, I wouldn’t know.’

‘I’ve never been one. I wouldn’t know either.’

‘Perfect,’ said Clea, bright-eyed. ‘I’m believing it already. Of course if the kiss isn’t convincing it’s just not going to work.’

‘No kissing,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m heartbroken, remember?’

‘There has to be kissing,’ he countered. ‘It’s part of the job description. Who knows? You might even like it.’ There was a subtle challenge to his words and lots of amusement.

‘Kissing would cost extra,’ she informed him loftily. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t exactly the sanest of conversations to begin with.

‘How much extra?’

Hallie paused. She needed ten thousand pounds to finish her Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art; she had five of it saved. ‘I’m thinking another five thousand should do it.’

‘Five thousand pounds for a few kisses?’ He sounded incredulous, still looked amused.

‘I’m a very good kisser.’

‘I think I’m going to need a demonstration.’

Uh oh. Now she’d done it. She was going to have to kiss him. Fortunately common sense kicked in and demanded she make it brief. And not too enthusiastic. One step put her within touching distance; a tilt of her head put her within kissing range. She stood on tiptoe and set her hands to his chest, found his shirt soft and warm from the wearing, with a hard wall of muscle beneath. But she digressed. With a quick breath, Hallie leaned forward and set her mouth to his.

His lips were warm and pleasant; his taste was one she could get used to. She didn’t linger.

‘Well, that was downright perfunctory,’ he said as she pulled away.

‘Best I can do given the circumstances.’ Hallie’s smile was smug; she couldn’t help it. ‘Sorry. No spark.’

‘I’m not sure I can justify paying five thousand pounds for kisses without spark.’ His lips twitched. ‘I’m thinking spark is a must.’

‘Spark is not part of the negotiation,’ she said sweetly. ‘Spark is a freebie. It’s either there or it’s not.’

‘Ah.’ There was a gleam in his eyes she didn’t entirely trust. ‘Turn around,

Mother.’ And, without waiting to see if his mother complied, Nicholas Cooper threaded his hands through her hair and his mouth descended on hers.

Hallie didn’t have time to protest. To prepare herself for his invasion as he teased her lips apart for a kiss that was anything but perfunctory. Plenty of chemistry here now, she thought hazily as his lips moved on hers, warm, lazy, and very, very knowledgeable. Plenty of heat as her mouth opened beneath his and she tasted passion and it was richer, riper than she’d ever known. She melted against him, sliding her hands across his shoulders to twine around his neck as he slanted his head and took her deeper, tasting her with his tongue, curling it around her own in a delicate duel.

If this was kissing, she thought with an incoherent little gasp, then she’d never really been kissed before. If this was kissing, imagine what making love to him would be like …

His smile was crookedly endearing when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair back in place. ‘Now that was much better,’ he said in that delicious bedroom voice and she damn near melted in a puddle at his size twelve feet. ‘We’ll take the shoes.’

Right. The shoes. Hallie boxed the sandals with unsteady hands, swiped his credit card through the machine, fumbled for a pen and waited for him to sign the docket before she risked looking at him again. His hands were large like his feet, and his hair was mussed from where her hands had been.

What would it be like to pretend to be this man’s wife for a week? Foolish, certainly, not to mention hazardous to her perfectly healthy sex drive. What if he was as good as his kiss implied? Who would ever measure up to him?

No. Too risky. Besides, she’d have to be crazy to go to Hong Kong for a week with a perfect stranger. What if he was a white slave trader? What if he left her there?

What if he was perfect?

He was halfway across the room before she opened her mouth. Almost to the door before she spoke. ‘So you’ll get back to me on the wife thing?’

At five thirty-five that afternoon, Hallie counted the day’s takings. It wasn’t hard; she’d only made three sales and that included the shoes Nicholas Cooper had purchased for his mother. Next, she shut the customer door, turned the elegant little door sign to ‘closed’, and was about to set the alarm system when a breathless courier rapped on the display window and held up a flat rectangular parcel.

Not shoes, thought Hallie. Shoes did not arrive by courier in flat little parcels, even designer ones. But the courier’s credentials looked real, the address on the parcel was that of the shop, and the name on the paperwork was hers so she opened up with a sigh, signed for the parcel, and locked up behind him before turning back to the parcel.

It was a brown-paper package tied up with string. Hard to resist, what with it being a favourite thing and all. Besides, it was Valentine’s Day. Good things happened on Valentine’s Day. Unexpected things. Hopefully it wasn’t a bomb.

Hallie snipped and ripped to reveal a slim travel guide to Hong Kong and Nicholas Cooper’s business card. The card said he was a gaming software developer. Good to know. She flipped it over and discovered a message on the back.

‘Marco’s on Kings’, it read in bold black scrawl, and beneath that, ‘7 pm tonight, Nick’.

Presumptuous, yes, he was certainly that. His kiss had been presumptuous too.

Not to mention annoyingly unforgettable.

So what if Marco’s was one of the best seafood restaurants this side of heaven? So what if raindrops on roses might conceivably be in Nick Cooper’s repertoire? No sensible woman would even consider his proposal. Pretending to be a complete stranger’s wife for a week was ridiculous, even by her standards.

And yet …

Hallie reached for the travel guide and smoothed it open, first one page, and then another.

Hong Kong; gateway to the Orient. Money and superstition. Heat and a million camera shops. A squillion neon signs.

‘An enchanting blend of East meets West,’ read the travel guide. Half a world away from this shoe shop, whispered her brain. Ten thousand pounds.

So there were a few drawbacks.

Lies. Deception. Nick Cooper’s kisses. Hallie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and closed the book with a snap.

Big drawbacks.

And yet …

Twenty minutes later, Hallie let herself in through the front door of her brother’s Chelsea flat and dumped her handbag on the sideboard. Why Tris had bought the little two-bedroom apartment when he never stayed more than a year in any one place was a mystery, but she certainly appreciated the use of it. No telling what Tris would make of Nicholas Cooper’s offer.

Probably best not to tell him.

Ten thousand pounds, whispered her brain as she slipped off her shoes and padded down the hallway.

No.

Dinner at Marco’s, then. It’s only dinner.

No it’s not. If you go to dinner you’ll ask him why he needs a wife for a week and then where will you be? Next thing you know, you’ll be agreeing to go to Hong Kong with him.

So?

Travel was her middle name.

Oh, boy. Hallie stumbled over the hallway runner and wondered just what it was about Nicholas Cooper that made her lose her mind.

He had a wicked smile. No doubt about it.

And his offer was definitely intriguing.

A rueful smile tugged at her lips. Best not to even think about his kisses.

Come ten to seven, Hallie had finished her argument and was in the bathroom, hurriedly applying makeup, when she heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of a man’s long, loping strides down the hall. Moments later Tris appeared in the doorway, little more than a vague shadow at the edge of her vision. ‘You’re back,’ she said, busy with the mascara. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’

‘Plans change,’ he said. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Dinner at Marco’s on Kings Road.’

‘Classy.’ Was it just her imagination or was Tris a whole lot more preoccupied than usual? ‘Who with?’

Ah. That was more like it. ‘Nick.’

‘Nick?’

‘We met today. At the shop.’

‘He wears ladies’ shoes? Is this supposed to be reassuring?’

‘He came in with his mother. He bought her some shoes.’

‘Run,’ said Tris. ‘Run the other way.’

‘Nope. I’ve made up my mind. It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m embracing the unexpected. I’m having dinner with him.’ She finished with the mascara, reached for a smoky grey eyeliner.

‘So …’ said Tris. ‘Does Nick have a last name?’

‘Of course he does but if I tell it to you you’ll run a check on him at work and come home and tell me what kind of toothpaste he uses. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s not even a date, exactly. More of a business opportunity.’

‘What kind of business opportunity?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’ No need to bore him with details. ‘Something involving travel.’

Tris sighed, heavily. ‘And you believed him.’

Time to change the subject. ‘There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge,’ she said as she dropped her lipstick into her evening bag and turned to leave the bathroom, halting abruptly as she took her first good look at her brother. ‘Whoa.’ His dark, shaggy hair was filthy, his left hand was carelessly bandaged and his clothes looked like they’d been dragged through a sewer with him still wearing them but it was his eyes that bothered her most. Because they were full of frustration and pain. ‘You look terrible.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Liar.’ He was holding himself so stiffly. Ribs, maybe. He sagged against the doorframe, his shoulder hunched and Hallie revised her opinion. ‘Shoulder?’

Tris nodded. Every so often he dislocated his left shoulder. The first time he’d done it he’d been six and their father had rushed him to the hospital. These days Tris opted to do without the six hour wait in A&E and sort it out himself.

‘Have you ever considered a different line of work?’ asked Hallie, mainly because it needed to be said and who better than a sister to say it? ‘Because seriously, this undercover gig isn’t doing you any favours.’

‘You’d rather I sold shoes?’

‘Well, yeah,’ she drawled, and then forgot all about the insult to her current occupation when Tris leaned his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes. ‘You want me to put your shoulder back in?’

Tris nodded, opened his eyes, pushed off the doorframe and went and sat on the edge of the bath. Hallie got up into his space, put the heel of her hand to his shoulder and lined up her weight behind it, ready for the hard, sharp push she was about to deliver. Better she put the shoulder back in than Tris trying to fix it himself using the doorframe. That never ended well. ‘On three, okay?’

Tris leaned into her, as relaxed as he was going to get. ‘Just do it.’

‘Patience, grasshopper. Ready?’ Time to count off. ‘One.’

Hallie shoved hard and in it went. Tris groaned and almost landed in the tub.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered hoarsely.

‘Not my pleasure.’ Hallie found painkillers in the bathroom cabinet, tipped three of them into her brother’s palm and watched him swallow them dry.

‘You done in here?’ he asked. ‘I could use a shower.’

‘No kidding.’ She hated to see him hurting. She was also reconsidering her dinner plans. ‘You want me to stick around?’

‘What? You’re going to cancel a free feed at Marco’s to stay here and fight me for the last of the lasagne?’ Tris summoned a faint smile. ‘Touching, yet stupid.’

‘The job went bad, didn’t it?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it, Hal.’

Hallie sighed. He never did. Tris didn’t talk about his work. Ever.

‘Go,’ he said, waving her away with his bandaged hand. ‘I’m gonna take a shower and get cleaned up. There’s nothing you can do. Eat. Be merry.’

And from within the confines of the bathroom as he shut the door behind him, ‘Don’t talk toothpaste.’

Nick Cooper always gave a woman fifteen minutes’ grace. Any longer than that and he was inclined to leave or start without them. Fact was, women enjoyed keeping men waiting. They did it deliberately to heighten anticipation and make a man wonder. To make a man want. All part of the game, but then games were Nick’s specialty. For every attack, there was a counterattack, no matter how good your opponent. And Hallie Bennett’s fifteen minutes were almost up.

Not that Nick was even sure she was dining with him – as she hadn’t called – but he’d headed for Marco’s regardless. A man had to eat. And call it a hunch but he thought she’d show. He browsed the blackboard specials, scanned the printed menu, looked around for a waiter and saw, instead, the delectable Hallie Bennett heading his way. Botticelli’s Renaissance, her colouring; she of the Titian hair, creamy complexion and golden-brown eyes. But her hair was cropped to chin length and her face was pure arthouse Animae; all big eyes, clean lines and memorable mouth.

His body stirred and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to conceal the fierce rush of anticipation that accompanied her arrival as he stood to greet her. Kissing that smart mouth of hers into submission had been an absolute pleasure. Getting to know the rest of her was tempting, very tempting, but the truth was he couldn’t afford the distraction. He didn’t need a bedmate this coming week; he needed a partner. Someone with an opportunistic streak, a quick wit, and a deft touch with the ridiculous.

So far, Ms Bennett had impressed him on all counts.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I wasn’t sure I was coming until the last minute.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ he asked as he saw her seated and tried to ignore the quickening of his breath and of his blood.

‘Hong Kong and ten thousand pounds,’ she said, her accompanying smile drawing his attention to the generous curve of her lips, currently painted a deep, luscious rose. Her lip colour matched her dress, a sleek, cling wrap of a dress that emphasized the perfection of the body beneath.

‘I like your dress,’ he said with utmost sincerity.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes lightening with a humour that was hard to resist. ‘I like it too. Have you ordered?’

‘After you.’

She chose the clam chowder. He chose the reef fish and, at her nod, a bottle of white to wash it down.

‘I’m curious,’ she said once that was all settled. ‘You’re rich, you’re handsome, you’re healthy – you are healthy, aren’t you?’

‘Perfectly,’ he said, enjoying her candour.

‘So why do you need a pretend wife for a week?’

‘I’m negotiating distribution rights to a computer game my company has developed. Unfortunately, the distributor’s teenage daughter took a liking to me and I found it extremely difficult to, er, dissuade her.’

‘You mean you couldn’t fend off one fledgling female? You? You’re kidding me, right?’

‘Wrong.’ Nick sighed. He could handle predatory women, honest he could. But a semi-naked eighteen-year-old Jasmine Tey had cornered him in his bedroom late one night and the sheer unexpectedness of it coupled with more than one glass of his host’s most excellent rice wine had rendered him momentarily incapable of sensible thought. ‘She was very young,’ he muttered defensively. ‘Very sweet. I was trying to let her down gently.’

‘You invented a wife,’ guessed Hallie. ‘And now you have to produce her.’

‘Exactly. Will you do it?’

‘Why not ask a woman you already know to help you out? She’d probably do it for free.’

‘Because then I’d have to dissuade her. Whereas you and I will have a business arrangement, a contractual obligation if you like, and once you’ve fulfilled that obligation, you leave.’

‘Ah.’

It was a very expressive ah.

‘Will you and your wife be staying with your associate and his family?’

Nick nodded. ‘They have a guest suite. And it’s only John Tey and his daughter. He’s a widower.’

‘Dining with them? Socializing? Getting to know them?’

‘All of that,’ he said.

Hallie Bennett leaned back in her chair and regarded him steadily. ‘That’s a lot of lies, Nick. Why don’t you just tell your distributor the truth? Maybe he’ll understand.’

‘Maybe.’ Nick didn’t have a good enough measure of the man to know. When it came to business, John Tey was cutthroat sharp. When it came to his daughter, the man was putty. ‘As far as I can see, John Tey gives his daughter everything she wants.’

‘I was raised by my father and four older brothers,’ countered Hallie. ‘Trust me, giving her what she wants won’t apply to men.’

She had a point.

‘Unless of course, your distributor decides that marrying his daughter off to you makes good business sense.’

‘Exactly. I can’t risk it.’ He didn’t want to marry Jasmine. He didn’t want to marry anyone just yet. And then the bulk of her earlier remarks about her family registered. ‘Four older brothers, you said.’

‘Not you too.’ Her voice was rich with feminine disdain. ‘Would it help if I told you they were all pacifists?’

‘Is it true?’ he asked hopefully.

‘No. But we were talking about you.’

‘You’re right. I need a wife for a week. It’ll be over so fast your brothers will never know. Will you do it?’ Nick waited as the waiter set their meals in front of them. Waited while she thanked the man, reached for her napkin and set it across her lap, her features relaxed, her expression noncommittal. She was more than he remembered from the shop. More vibrant. More thoughtful. Four brothers.

‘I’d need to know more about you than I do now,’ she said finally.

‘I’ll send you a fact file.’

‘I’m not a fact file person.’

Why was he not surprised?

‘No,’ she continued. ‘I’m more of a hands-on person. You’re going to have to show me where you live, where you work and what it is you do all day. That kind of thing.’

Nick groaned.

‘You can send me the fact file as well,’ she said with a placating smile. ‘I don’t suppose it can hurt. And we’re going to need some rules.’

‘What sort of rules?’ He wasn’t very good with rules. Probably not worth mentioning.

‘I want physical contact limited to public places,’ she said firmly.

‘No problem.’ His lips twitched.

‘And only when we have an audience.’

‘You’re absolutely right.’ At this rate she’d get through every sexual fantasy on his list before dessert. ‘What else?’

‘I’ll follow your lead but only within reason. I won’t be a simpering “yes” wife.’

‘But you will simper a little?’

Her chin came up, her eyes flashed warningly. ‘Can’t see it happening.’

‘Okay, I can see that simpering might be a stretch for you. Forget the simpering.’ He wouldn’t. ‘Can you do possessive?’

‘That I can do,’ she said. ‘You want the whole “hands-off-my-man”, slapping routine?’

‘No slapping,’ he said. ‘Ladies don’t slap.’

‘You never said anything about being ladylike.’

Fantasy number three. Damn she was good.

‘Oh, and there’s one more thing …’

‘There is?’ Every man had his limits and Nick had just reached his. His brain fogged, his blood headed south and he was thinking leather, possibly handcuffs, although where he was going to get handcuffs from was anyone’s guess. Silk then. No problem finding silk in Hong Kong.

‘Earth calling Nick?’ said Hallie in exasperation. She’d seen that glazed look before. Knew that Nick Cooper was definitely not thinking business. Men! They could never multitask. ‘Nick! Can you hear me?’

‘Oh I’m listening.’

He had the damnedest voice. The laziest smile. But this was a business arrangement. Business, no matter how tempting it was to think otherwise. ‘My return ticket stays with me.’

CHAPTER TWO

HALLIE COULDN’T QUITE REMEMBER whose idea it had been to tour Nick’s workplace after dinner, only that it had seemed a sensible suggestion at the time. Business, she reminded herself as they stepped from the restaurant out into the cool night air and he slipped his jacket around her shoulders. Strictly business, as she snuggled down into the warmth of his coat and breathed in the rich, masculine scent of him. The fact that his chivalrous gesture made her feel feminine and desirable was irrelevant. So was the fact that he was quirky and charming and thoroughly good company. This wasn’t a date, not a real one. This was business.

Nick’s office was only a couple of blocks away, familiar territory, this part of Chelsea, and they walked there in companionable silence.

‘I need to make a phone call,’ she said as Nick halted in front of a classy office block and unlocked the double doors that led through to a small but elegant foyer. ‘I’m sharing a house with one of my brothers at the moment. He’s a touch protective; he likes to know where I am if I’m out with someone new. I used to get annoyed with him. Nowadays I just tell him what he wants to know. No offence.’

‘None taken. It’s a smart move. Makes you a smart woman,’ said Nick.

Nice reply. Hallie pulled out her mobile and dialled Tris’s number, grateful when he picked up on the umpteenth ring. He told her he was fine and not to nag. She told him where she was and that she’d be back before midnight and disconnected fast, before he could give her the be careful speech.

Hallie slipped her phone back into her handbag. Nick ushered her into the lift, the doors closed, and it was intimate, very intimate in there. She cleared her throat, risked a glance. Impressive profile. Big feet. And an awareness between them that was so thick she could almost reach out and touch it, touch him, which wouldn’t be smart at all. He turned towards her and smiled that slow, easy smile that bypassed brains and headed straight for the senses, and then—

‘We’re here,’ he said, and the lift doors slid open.

Nick’s office suite was a visual explosion of colour and movement. Cartoon drawings covered every inch of available wall space; computers and scanners crammed every desk. There was a kitchenette full of coffee and cola; a plastic trout mounted above the microwave. The whole place was organised chaos and completely intriguing. ‘So how many people work here?’ she wanted to know.

‘Twelve, including me.’

‘Let me guess, they’re all men.’

‘Except for Fiona our secretary. Sadly she refuses to clean.’

‘I like her already.’

‘Figures,’ he said. ‘So does Clea. This is my office,’ he said, opening a door to a room that was surprisingly tidy.

‘What’s the basketball hoop for?’

‘Thinking.’

Right. ‘And the flat screen TV and recliner armchairs?’ There were two chairs, side by side, a metre or so back from the wall-mounted television.

‘Working.’

Ah. Why she’d expected a regular office with regular décor was beyond her. There was nothing the least bit ordinary about Nicholas Cooper. ‘So tell me more about this game of yours. Is it something I’d know all about if we were married?’

‘You’d know about it.’ Nick’s voice was rich with humour as he slid a disc into the gaming console and gestured towards an armchair. ‘If we really had been married these past three years you’d have banned all talk of it by now.’

That didn’t sound very wifely. ‘Couldn’t I have been supportive and encouraging?’

‘Sure you could. I was thinking realistically but we don’t have to do that. We can do fantasy instead.’

‘Hey, it’s your call. You’re the fantasy expert. By the way, how long did you tell your distributor you’d been married for?’

‘I didn’t.’ He slid her a glance. ‘I’m thinking a couple of months, maybe less. That way if we don’t know something about the other it won’t seem so odd.’

‘Works for me.’ And then the game came on. The opening music was suitably raucous, the female figure on the screen impressively funky. ‘Very nice,’ she said politely. ‘What does she do?’

‘Mostly she fights.’ He handed her a gaming handset. ‘Press a button, any button.’

Hallie pressed buttons at random and was rewarded by a flurry of kicks, spins and feminine grunts. Not, Hallie noted, that the figure on the screen even came close to raising a sweat. ‘Are those proportions anatomically possible?’ she wanted to know.

‘Not for earth women,’ said Nick. ‘Which she’s not. Xia here is from New Mars.’

‘New Mars, huh? I should have guessed. The clothes she’s almost wearing are a dead giveaway. Does she have a wardrobe change option?’

‘You want to change her clothes?’

‘Well, she can hardly kick Martian butt in six inch stilettos, now can she?

He stared.

Hallie sighed. ‘You’re losing credibility here, Nick.’

‘What did you do before you sold shoes?’ he wanted to know. ‘Bust balls?’

‘I worked a blackjack table at a casino in Sydney for a while.’

‘Why did you stop?’

‘I never saw sunlight.’

‘And before that?’

‘A brief stint washing dogs in a poodle parlour.’ The memory was dim but still worthy of a shudder. ‘Too many fleas.’

‘So are you actually trained in anything?’

‘I have a fine arts degree, if that counts for anything. And I’m halfway through a Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art. That’s why I came to London.’

‘Why East Asian Art?’

‘My father’s a history professor with a particular interest in dynasty ceramics and I hung out in his workshop when I was a kid, read all his books.’ It had been the crazy-cracks in the glazes that had first captured her interest. The rich history behind each of the pieces had held it.

‘So you’re following in your father’s footsteps. He must be proud of you.’

‘No, mostly my father ignores me. I learn anyway. I can spot a fake dynasty vase at fifty paces. In fact I’m absolutely certain the Ming in the Museum of London’s a fake.’

He stared.

‘All right, ninety percent certain.’

‘So why aren’t you finishing your diploma?’

‘I will be. Just as soon as I earn enough money for my last two semesters.’

‘By selling shoes?’

‘It’s a job, isn’t it?’ she said defensively. ‘Interesting, well paid jobs are hard to come by when you’re a student. Employers know you’re just filling a gap.’

‘Couldn’t you ask your family to help out?’

‘No.’ Her voice was cool; he’d touched a nerve. Her brothers would have lent her the money. Hell, they’d wanted to give her the money and so had her father for that matter, but she’d refused them all. Little Miss Independent, and it galled her that they hadn’t understood why she’d refused. None of her brothers had taken money from anyone when they’d started out. She was staying with Tris because there was more than enough room for her in his home and because London rentals were outrageously expensive. That was all the help she was prepared to accept.

No, money for nothing wasn’t her style at all. But ten thousand pounds for a week’s work … a week’s fairly unorthodox and demanding work … Well now, that was a different matter altogether.

‘How much do you need to complete your studies?’ he asked curiously.

‘Ten thousand pounds plus money to live on. But I’ve already saved five so with your ten thousand I figure I’ve got it covered.’

‘And then what?’ he said. ‘Then will you roam the world in search of ancient artefacts and long lost oriental treasure?’

‘Yeah, just like Lara Croft and Indiana Jones,’ she said, heavy on the sarcasm. ‘You know, maybe you need to get out more. You might just be spending too much time in fantasy land.’

‘See? I knew it wouldn’t take long before you started sounding like a real wife,’ he countered with a grin. ‘Don’t you want to be a Tomb Raider?’

Sure she did. She just didn’t think it very likely. And as for sounding like a nagging wife … Hah! Wait till she really put her mind to it. ‘Right now I’m thinking I want to be Xia here because she’s really good at this alien butt-kicking business, isn’t she? What does she get if she wins?’

‘Points.’

‘Points as in money? Does she get to shop afterwards?’

‘Only for a new weapon.’

‘What, no plastic surgery? Because I really think a breast reduction is a must here.’

‘Our target demographic is teenage boys.’

‘I’d never have guessed.’

‘Besides, there’s nothing wrong with her breasts; those are excellent breasts. Fantasy breasts.’

Hallie sighed.

‘Not that yours aren’t very nice too,’ Nick added politely.

‘Mine are real,’ she said dryly, slanting him a sideways glance. ‘Completely real. Just in case anyone should ask.’

‘I’m very impressed.’ His eyes were blue, very blue, and his smile was pure pirate. ‘Because they look to be in excellent shape. I should probably take a closer look; acquire a real feel for them so to speak. I’m not a fact-file person either.’

‘Is your distributor’s daughter watching?’ she countered smoothly, even as her breasts tingled and her nipples tightened at the thought of him touching her. ‘Are we in a public place?’

‘Sadly, no.’ And through eyes half closed, his attention back on the screen, ‘Man I love kinky women.’

Oh, boy. ‘So what’s in this game for us girls?’ she said hastily. ‘Other than this very cool vibrating controller.’

‘Shang.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Shang. Paladin princeling.’

Nick flicked back to the main menu and a male figure appeared on the screen. He had dark, carelessly cut hair, an exotic face, a tough lean bod, and was no slouch in the ammunition department either. ‘Is that a gun in his pocket or is he just glad to see me?’

Now it was Nick’s turn to sigh. ‘You’re not taking this seriously.’

‘It’s a game, Nick. I’m not meant to.’

‘You’re right, you’re not. My mistake. I’m the one who has to take it seriously. My people have spent three years developing this platform, Hallie, and now it’s up to me to market it. I can’t afford to make mistakes. Not with John Tey, not with his daughter. That’s where you come in.’

‘Call me naive when it comes to big business but I think lying to a potential business partner about your marital status is a mistake,’ Hallie felt obliged to point out.

‘You sound like my conscience,’ he muttered. ‘If you have a plan C let’s hear it.’

‘Ah, well, I don’t currently have a plan C.’

‘Pity.’

He looked tired, sounded wistful. As if having to deceive John Tey really didn’t sit well with him. Sympathy washed over her and all of a sudden she wanted to slide on over to his recliner and comfort him. Weave her hands through that dark, tousled hair, touch her mouth to his and feel the passion slide through her and the heat start to build as she feasted on that clever, knowing mouth and – Whoa! Stop right there. Because that wasn’t sympathy.

That was lust.

‘What?’ He was looking at her strangely.

‘Indigestion,’ she said. ‘I think it was something I ate. Probably the clams.’

‘Probably the situation,’ he said. ‘What’s it to be Hallie? Are you in or out?’

Hallie hesitated, tempted to say yes. Not for the adventure, the excitement, or the money but so that she could spend more time with Nick. The same Nick who was prepared to pay her ten thousand pounds so that at the end of the charade she’d leave.

A sensible woman would refuse him now and save herself the heartbreak, the genuine heartbreak, that was bound to come if a woman was careless enough to fall for him. A smart woman would sigh over that Hermès handbag, maybe even spend a minute or two imagining what it would look like on her arm, but in the end she’d turn away. That was what she should do.

What she said was, ‘Do you believe in destiny, Nick? Do you believe in fate?’

‘Only as a last resort. Why?’

‘I think we should let the game decide. Xia and Shang against the Martians. If we win we go to Hong Kong as man and wife. If we lose, you throw yourself on the tender mercies of Mr Tey and spill your guts.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

She was.

‘Deal,’ he said, and the fighting began.

Two murderous hours later it was decided. They were going to Hong Kong.

CHAPTER THREE

JASMINE TEY HAD ALMOST conquered her habit of stiffening with apprehension every time someone mentioned Nicholas Cooper’s name. It had taken a while. Two weeks, to be exact, and it had been a month since she’d last seen him. So much could happen in a month. New memories could replace excruciatingly embarrassing ones. Selective amnesia could happen, not that it had …

Not that it could with Kai standing in the kitchen telling her that Nick was coming back next week to finish his business dealings with her father.

And bringing his wife.

Jasmine would never have done what she did had she known about his wife.

‘So, are they staying here or downtown?’ she asked in what she hoped was a disinterested voice.

‘Here.’

‘Oh.’

‘You enjoyed Nick’s visit last time,’ said Kai mildly.

Yes, she had. Nicholas Cooper had been fun to have around. His eyes had so often been crinkled and smiling. He’d been careful to include Jasmine in his conversations and he’d paid attention to her opinions whenever she’d voiced them. She’d taken it as encouragement.

So heady, Nick’s attention.

So stupid, what she’d done next.

She’d gone to Nick’s room one night and waited for him. Not naked, nothing so shameful as that, but she’d waited, hands twisting, breathless with anticipation. She wanted to know what a man’s lips would feel like against hers. She ached for the slide of warm hands around her waist. She’d wanted someone to want her and there were so few some-ones in her sheltered world to choose from.

She’d wanted Kai to notice that Nicholas Cooper had treated her like a woman rather than a girl.

She’d been such a fool.

Nick had stepped into the guest room, taken one look at her standing to one side of the window and blanched.

He’d stammered something about leaving his computer downstairs and needing to go and get it.

‘Wait,’ she’d said. ‘I didn’t mean—I don’t mean to offend.’ She’d looked pleadingly at him. ‘I thought—’

She’d thought he might like to take their friendship further.

‘Jasmine.’ Nick’s voice had cut across hers, low and urgent. ‘God help me if I’ve given you the wrong impression, I never meant to, but if it’s romance that you want from me … I’m sorry, but I can’t.’

Humiliation had coursed through her, fierce and all consuming.

‘You’re a lovely girl,’ he’d continued. You are. And I’m honoured. And flattered. Very flattered. Really.’

He hadn’t looked flattered. He’d looked completely aghast and Jasmine had felt the hot prick of tears behind her eyes. ‘Is there something lacking in me?’ she’d found the courage to ask and he’d shaken his head and gone two shades paler.

‘No,’ he’d said. ‘No. Don’t go there; it’s not you. Don’t ever think that. I just—can’t. Jasmine, I’m married.’

Jasmine had fled his room after that and Nick had left the following day on urgent business, with enough speed to make her father frown and wonder about the merits of doing business with flighty Englishmen. Kai had just looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and Jasmine had blushed hard and looked away.

Kai didn’t know what she’d done. He merely suspected that she’d done something.

‘Jasmine?’ Kai’s voice came to her, soft, as always, and threaded through with steel. As always. ‘Something bothering you?’

‘No. Nothing,’ she said and followed through with a restrained nod and a half-smile. Too much reaction and Kai would know there was something wrong. He knew her reactions, all of them.

And she knew his.

‘Your father would like you to entertain Mrs Cooper while she’s here.’

‘Of course,’ she said. It wasn’t the first time her father had called on her to help entertain his guests. ‘You have the dates?’

Kai gave them to her and she nodded again and turned back to the stir fry she was preparing. ‘Would you like some?’ she asked, knowing that once upon a time Kai would have helped her with the cooking and thought nothing of sitting down to a meal with her in her father’s kitchen. Not so these days, and with Kai’s retreat came a loneliness that went bone- deep.

‘No, I’m going out.’

‘Oh.’ Oh, of course. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day.’ Of course he would be going out. All the beautiful people went parading on Valentine’s Day. Just because Kai had never brought a woman back to his apartment over the garage … just because he’d never introduced Jasmine to anyone … that didn’t mean he didn’t have a special friend. ‘I hope you brought her a big bunch of flowers.’

‘What?’ Kai looked momentarily puzzled.

‘Flowers. For your date. For Valentine’s Day. I hear it’s best to give them in public, and then you walk somewhere with her, while she’s holding them in her arms so that everyone can see how highly regarded she is. And you need a really big bunch.’ Kai was looking at her strangely. ‘What?’

‘How do you know all this?’

The question stung, mainly because of all the things he didn’t say. You’ve only ever been on one date, and that was arranged by your father and the boy in question never asked for another, he could have said. And you’ve certainly never been given a gift on Valentine’s Day. He could have said that too. Instead, he’d gone with ‘How do you know all this?’ and shamed her anyway.

‘I see what people do,’ she offered tightly. ‘I know what’s expected. Just because—

Just because she’d never had a proper boyfriend and barely knew kisses …

‘Just go,’ she said.

But Kai had never been one to take orders – at least, not from her. He stood there watching her; so many secrets behind those beautiful black eyes. Kai had been her bodyguard for eight years now, ever since she was eleven, and there’d never not been secrets in those eyes.

Nicholas Cooper’s laughing blue eyes had been refreshingly devoid of secrets.

Well … except for the fact that he had a wife.

‘It’s not a Valentine’s Day date,’ Kai offered finally. ‘I don’t have a Valentine. I’m not buying flowers. I’m going to watch a martial arts demonstration. Wing Chun style versus Aikido.’

‘Oh.’ The bean shoots were burning. Jasmine turned down the heat and gave the food another stir. ‘May I accompany you?’

‘It’ll be hot and crowded.’

This was Hong Kong. It often was. ‘I don’t mind. I wouldn’t treat it like a Valentine’s Day outing, or anything. I mean—that’s not how I think of you. At all.’

Much.

Kai just looked at her and then with a flicker of something in his beautiful black eyes, he looked away.

‘No, Jasmine,’ he told her quietly. ‘The answer’s no.’

Hallie’s bedside phone was ringing. She rolled across the bed, arm outstretched, groping wildly. Because no way on earth were her eyes going to open at this hour. She’d spent most of last night watching bad action adventure movies with Tris. She’d planned on a ten a.m. wake-up time, minimum. It wasn’t ten a.m. It was still dark, not even dawn. She found the phone, found her ear. ‘‘Lo,’ she mumbled.

‘Can you get some time off work this afternoon?’

‘Nick?’

‘Yes. Nick.’ He sounded impatient.

‘Couldn’t this have waited till morning?’ she mumbled.

‘It is morning. Were you still in bed?’

Hallie slitted her eyes open to glance at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock. Five-fifty! A.m! Ugh, he was a morning person. The notion was going to take some time to digest. She held the receiver to her breast and took several deep breaths before putting it back to her ear. ‘Nick, it’s the weekend. I have one day off a week and this is it and there’d better be a good reason for this call. What do you want?’

‘To let you know we have an appointment at Tiffany’s at two this afternoon to get your rings.’

‘Rings?’ Hallie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Tiffany’s? As in Tiffany and Co. the jewellers?’ She was wide awake.

‘Wedding ring, engagement ring. It’ll be expected. The manager of the store on Old Bond Street’s a friend of mine; he’s going to let me borrow some pieces,’ said Nick. ‘After that we’ll go shopping. You’ll need suitable clothes as well.’

Shopping for clothes? This coming from the lips of a man? ‘You’re gay, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ he said, with a smile in his voice that curled her toes.

‘Cross dresser?’

‘Nope.’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Nor am I drunk.’ Exasperation in his voice this time, giving her toes a chance to relax. ‘The way we present ourselves in Hong Kong is going to be important and I’m guessing there’s nothing in your wardrobe that’s suitable.’

‘Suitable how?’ she snapped as visions of tailored suits and pillbox hats floated through her mind. ‘You’re going to dress me up like Jackie Kennedy, aren’t you? You’re having make-over fantasies!’

‘I wasn’t until now.’ The smile was back in his voice; yep, there went her toes. ‘And I’m not thinking First Lady exactly but we can’t have you looking like Marilyn Monroe either.’

She should have been insulted. Would have been except that this was a sex goddess he was comparing her to. ‘Who’s paying for these clothes?’

‘I am. Consider it a perk.’

‘I love this job,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m in. Two o’clock sharp at the jewellers. Oh, and Nick?’

‘What?’

He sounded complacent. Indulgent. As if she’d reacted exactly as any good little plaything would. ‘Bring your mother.’

‘How’d the big date go last night?’ asked Tris when finally she made it to the kitchen for breakfast. He was standing by the counter waiting for toast to pop. Hallie was all about getting to the coffee pot. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘That’s because you were totally out of it. I checked on you when I came in.’

Tris poured her a coffee without further comment. Hallie added milk, blew gently on it for good measure and finally took a sip.

‘He’s a nice guy,’ she said. ‘Funny. Good company …’

‘Name?’

Hallie reached for the Hong Kong travel guide sitting on the counter, flipped to the back of the book and retrieved Nicholas Cooper’s business card. She held it up, rolling her eyes as Tris not-so-deftly plucked it from her outstretched fingers. ‘How’s the shoulder?’

‘Bruised.’ Tristan studied the card. ‘Seriously?’ His tawny, golden gaze pinned her once more, bright with amusement. ‘You’re dating a computer geek?’

‘Well, it beats dating a cop. Imagine if I brought home someone like you?’

‘No cops,’ growled Tris.

‘Amen.’

‘Brat.’

‘Boor.’ She took in the scrape high on his face and the discoloured skin that ran from shoulder to neckline. ‘You still look like hell.’

‘Perks of the job. Speaking of, I’m going to be in Prague most of next week. Maybe longer.’

As far as Tris destinations went, Prague was a new one. ‘What’s in Prague?’

‘Vice.’

‘Tris, this job you do—’

I wish you’d walk away from it, she wanted to say. I don’t like the distance you put between yourself and other people these days and I can’t bear to see the bleakness in your eyes when you think no one else is looking.

But the Bennett family never said things like that and Hallie was nothing if not one of them.

‘Be careful, won’t you?’ she said, and took comfort from his smile.

Hallie arrived at the jewellers at exactly two o clock, only to find Nick and Clea waiting for her outside, Clea looking thoughtful, Nick looking just plain smug.

‘We got here a little early so we’ve already been in,’ said Nick. ‘Henry’s given me some pieces on loan. I’m sure you’ll like them.’

‘What do you mean you’re sure I’ll like them? You mean I don’t even get to go into the shop and ogle the pieces for myself?’ Hallie stared at him, aghast. Surely he was kidding. ‘Don’t you need to measure my ring size or something? I mean, what if they don’t fit?’

‘Here, dear, try this on.’ Clea handed her one of her own rings, a wide band of square- cut diamonds set in platinum. ‘We used this one for size. I usually have a good eye for these things.’

Hallie slipped the band on her wedding ring finger and stared at it in dismay. It was a perfect fit.

‘Does it fit?’ asked Nick, all solicitousness. ‘It looks like it fits.’

‘It does. But we’re still going inside. I for one will be far more amenable once I get to see all the pretties, even if I don’t get to choose anything.’ Hallie placed a dramatic hand over her heart. ‘Nick, I’m your future pretend wife. You need to humour me.’

‘This really isn’t going to plan,’ said Nick as Hallie handed Clea’s ring back to her and headed towards the plate glass doors of one of London’s landmark jewellery stores. ‘Why isn’t this going to plan?’

‘I have no idea,’ offered Clea dulcetly as she too headed back inside. ‘Coming?’

Henry, Nick’s Friday night poker buddy and current sales director of the jeweller’s UK branches, smirked when Nick stepped back inside. He’d said nothing when Nick had chosen the pieces earlier with Clea’s help, but he’d smirked when Nick had said that Hallie was meeting them here. Henry caught Nick’s gaze, highly amused about something, and then Henry adjusted his tie, turned and bestowed a charming smile on Hallie and on Clea. ‘Let me guess,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’d like to see the pieces again?’

‘Just the rings,’ said Nick quickly, otherwise they’d never get out of here.

‘And maybe a tiara,’ said Hallie.

‘And the animal brooches,’ added Clea.

‘Good call,’ said Hallie.

‘Certainly, ladies. This way, please.’ Henry’s amusement was definitely not part of the regular Tiffany’s jewellery buying experience. Henry needed a refresher course. ‘Nicholas, my friend. Is there anything else I may show you?’

‘The door in half an hour would be excellent.’

‘I live to serve,’ said Henry. ‘And I do love a challenge. Shall we take it over to the chairs?’

‘No need—’

‘Henry, you angel,’ said Hallie. ‘I need a seat, a tiara and possibly a beverage. Give me the whole Tiffany’s excellent service experience. I’m currently in retail. I’m taking notes.’

‘I’m up to the part where I’m making you feel special,’ said Henry as he gestured towards a cluster of seats and a table set in a perfectly lit alcove. ‘Are you feeling the opulence all around you yet?’

‘And beneath my feet,’ said Hallie as she sashayed forward. ‘I’m loving the lighting.’

‘So am I,’ said Clea. ‘My wrinkles are gone.’

Clea and Hallie moved forward. Henry held Nick back.

‘I thought you said you didn’t need a distraction in Hong Kong,’ Henry murmured. ‘I thought you wanted to focus on the deal.’

‘All true,’ said Nick. ‘Hallie can entertain Jasmine. John and I can get on with business. Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Oh, my friend. I knew fantasy was your speciality. I didn’t realise you’d added delusion to your play deck. Nick, look at her. That is not a woman you are going to be able to ignore. She is exactly your type. She’s going to wrap you around her little finger. You, my friend, are going to come back from Hong Kong completely smitten, and then you’re going to come in and buy every last piece you’ve just borrowed and I am going to dine out on your commission for months.’

‘Want to bet?’

‘Don’t bet,’ cautioned Henry. ‘You need to save your money to pay for the tiara.’

‘I’m pretty sure the tiara request is a joke. Hallie doesn’t want a tiara.’

Henry’s smile was full of pity. ‘Yet.’

Henry went into organising mode after that, calling two more staff members over and sending them off to fetch the requested jewels.

Ten minutes later the tiaras had been perused and discarded, a dazzling sapphire peacock brooch was still on the table, and the brilliant-cut solitaire diamond engagement ring Nick had picked out earlier was shining away on Hallie’s wedding-ring finger as she tilted it this way and that.

‘I mean it’s beautiful,’ said Hallie. ‘And it’s huge. But I’m not sure it’s me.’

‘Think of it as a prop,’ he offered. ‘A reminder that you’re pretending to be someone else.’

‘Look at this one,’ said Clea, holding up a Celtic-inspired swirl of platinum, studded with rubies.

‘Nick, look!’ said Hallie, her eyes bright with laughter. ‘It looks like something Xia from New Mars would wear. Surely the wife of a world-class computer game designer could have this engagement ring instead of the boring one?’

‘The boring one signals your status more clearly,’ he countered. ‘That one could be a dress ring.’

‘Or a belated Valentine’s gift,’ offered Henry.

‘Not helping, Henry,’ muttered Nick.

Hallie slipped Xia’s ring on her finger and Nick watched her fall in love.

‘Tell her it’s not as expensive,’ said Henry.

‘It’s not as expensive.’

‘Who cares?’ said Hallie, holding her hands up and looking from one ring to the other. ‘You’re not buying. I’m not keeping. Clea, which do you prefer?’

‘The diamond solitaire is the more traditional option.’

‘Is John Tey an observer of tradition?’ asked Hallie and Nick nodded.

‘Damn.’ Hallie sighed and slipped Xia’s ring from her finger and set it back on the table. ‘Goodbye, baby. It was fun while it lasted.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ said Nick. ‘Keep practising those words.’

Clea’s laughter bubbled through the air. Hallie smiled guilelessly and Nick wondered – not for the first time – about the sanity of continuing on this particular path with the not-so-angelic Hallie Bennett in tow.

It still wasn’t too late to back out.

Henry glanced at Nick and narrowly avoided snorting.

‘Your sales manner is atrocious,’ Nick told his old schoolfriend.

‘Fortunately, my bullshit detector is as well honed as ever,’ said Henry. ‘I can set the Valentine ring aside for you for a couple of weeks. You can think about it.’

‘I don’t need the “let me set it aside for you” offer,’ said Nick. ‘I feel special enough.’

‘Old friend,’ drawled Henry. ‘Let me do it for you anyway.’

‘Did you get the week off work?’ Nick asked her as they exited Tiffany’s a short time later.

‘Yes. The owner’s niece is going to fill in for me,’ said Hallie, recalling the conversation she’d had with her employer earlier that morning. No need to tell Nick that if the niece liked the job, Hallie was out of one. If everything went to plan she wouldn’t need the job anyway.

‘What about your brother? The one you’re staying with. Does he know you’re going to Hong Kong?’

‘Not yet. It turns out he’s also going to be away next week.’ And wasn’t that a fine piece of timing. ‘I’ll leave him a note.’

‘That’ll go down well,’ muttered Nick.

‘Trust me. It’s as good a plan as any.’ Hallie smiled brightly. She really didn’t want to dwell on what Tris would have to say about this. ‘So where to now?’

Ten minutes later they were standing outside one of the most exclusive clothing boutiques in Knightsbridge. ‘Are we sure about this?’ asked Hallie hesitantly. Buying an outfit or two from a mid-range clothing store was one thing, dropping a bundle on a week’s worth of designer clothes was quite another. ‘I’m all for being well dressed but do we really need to shop somewhere quite this exclusive?’

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Clea. ‘I get a very good discount here.’

‘You want to hope so,’ Hallie muttered to Nick as she stared at the sophisticated power suit in the display window. ‘I think it only fair to warn you that I still have nightmares about the first time my oldest brother took me shopping for clothes. Pinafore dresses that came to my ankles. Sweaters up to my chin. Wide brimmed straw hats …’

‘And very sensible too dear, those hats, what with the harsh Australian sun and your skin type,’ said Clea.

Hallie groaned. And here she’d been hoping that Clea would be an ally when it came to clothes. ‘My point is I battled for years for the right to choose my own clothes and I’m not about to relinquish it now.’ She pointed a stern finger at Nick. ‘You can tell me what kind of look you’re after but I won’t have you choosing clothes for me. Are we clear on that?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Having said that, I will of course ask your opinion on the things I’ve chosen. I’m not an unreasonable woman. You can tell me if you like something.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Hallie considered the question. She could be a bit contrary at times. ‘Probably best not to say anything,’ she said and, squaring her shoulders, sailed on into the shop.

The boutique was streamlined and classy, the coiffed and polished saleswoman just that little bit daunting, never mind that she greeted Clea with friendly familiarity.

‘Size eight, I think,’ said the saleswoman after turning an assessing eye on Hallie.

‘Ten,’ said Hallie.

‘In this shop, darling, you’re an eight.’

Hallie liked the woman better already.

‘Do you have any colour preferences?’ the woman asked.

‘I like them all.’

The saleswoman barely suppressed a shudder. ‘Yes, dear. But do they all like you? Let’s start with grey.’

Hallie opened her mouth to protest but the woman was having none of it. She pulled a matching skirt and jacket from the rack and held them out commandingly. ‘Of course, it relies on the wearer for colour and life but I think you’ve got that covered.’

‘Umm …’ Hallie took the suit from the woman and held it up for Nick’s inspection. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m confused,’ he said. ‘If I tell you I like it you may or may not decide to buy it, depending on whether you like it. However, if I say I don’t like it you’ll feel compelled to buy it whether you like it or not. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’ Hallie felt a smile coming on. ‘So what do you think?’

‘Try it on.’

And then when she did and his eyes narrowed and his face grew carefully impassive. ‘No?’ she asked. ‘It’s probably not the look you were after.’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘It is.’

Still she hesitated. ‘It’s very—’

‘Elegant,’ he said. ‘Understated. Just what we’re looking for.’

Elegant, eh? Not a term she’d normally use to describe herself. She’d won the right to choose her own clothes in her late teens and in typical teenager fashion she’d headed straight for the shortest skirts and the brightest, tightest tops. Okay, so she’d matured a little since then—she did have some loose-fitting clothes somewhere in her wardrobe but truth was they didn’t often see daylight. She had never, ever, worn anything as classy as this. The suit clung to her every curve, the material was soft and luxurious beneath her hands, like cashmere only not. Even the colour wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. And yet …

‘It’s not really me though, is it?’ she said.

‘Think of it as a costume,’ said Nick. ‘Think corporate wife.’

‘I don’t know any corporate wives.’ Hallie turned to Clea, who was busily browsing a rack of clothes. ‘Unless you’re one?’

‘No!’ said Nick hastily. ‘She’s not!’

‘It’s very grey, isn’t it, dear,’ said Clea, who glittered like a Vegas slot machine in her gold trousers and blood-red chiffon shirt with its strategically placed psychedelic gold swirls.

‘Greyer than a Chinese funeral vase,’ agreed Hallie glumly. ‘Do you have anything a bit more cheerful?’ she asked the saleswoman.

‘What about this?’ said Clea, holding up a boldly flowered silk sundress in fuchsia, lime and ivory. ‘This is pretty.’

‘Why my mother?’ muttered Nick. ‘Why couldn’t we have brought along your mother?’

‘She died when I was six,’ said Hallie, and waited for the silence that always came. She didn’t mind talking about it, honest. She barely remembered her mother but the memories she did have were good ones.

‘Sorry,’ said Nick quietly. ‘You said you’d been raised by your father and brothers but I didn’t make the connection. Try it on.’

And when she did …

‘She’ll take it,’ he told the saleswoman, and Clea nodded her agreement. ‘That’s non- negotiable,’ he said to Hallie.

So much for the rules of shopping. The dashing Nicholas Cooper had a bossy streak she was more than familiar with. ‘Lucky for you I happen to agree.’

‘His father had excellent taste in clothes as well,’ said Clea. ‘Bless his soul.’

But Hallie wasn’t listening. She was looking at herself in the mirror and her reflection was frowning right back at her as she turned and twirled, first one way and then the other. Finally, hands on hips, she turned to Nick.

‘Does this dress make me look fat?’

Two hours later, Hallie and Clea had purchased enough clothes for a six-month stint on the QEII and as far as Nick was concerned he was neither the boring geek Hallie had accused him of being when he made her get the dove-grey suit, nor the skinflint his mother claimed. No, for a man to endure so much and complain so little, he was quite simply a saint.

‘So where to now? Are we done?’ said Hallie after they’d seen Clea to her Mercedes and watched her drive away. ‘Is there anything you need?’

‘A bar,’ he muttered with heartfelt sincerity.

‘Good call,’ said Hallie. ‘I’ll come too. I never realised boutique shopping was such thirsty work. Mind you, I’ve never bought more than a couple of items of clothes at any one time before either. Who knew?’

‘You’re not going to rehash every dress decision you just made, are you?’

‘Who, me?’ She was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Only if you insist.’

Nick shuddered, spotted a sports bar a few doors up and practically bolted for the door. He needed a drink, somewhere to sit. Somewhere with dark wood, dark carpet, dim lighting, good Scotch and no mirrors. He needed it bad.

‘Ah,’ said Hallie as she slid into the booth beside him. ‘Very nice.’

‘You don’t find it a little too … masculine?’

‘Nope. Feels pretty homely to me. I have four brothers, remember?’

‘Trust me, I hadn’t forgotten. Where do they live?’

‘Wherever their work takes them. Luke’s a Navy diver midway through a three-year stint in Guam, Pete’s flying charter planes in Greece, Jake runs a Martial Arts Dojo in Singapore, and Tristan lives here in London. He’s the one I’m staying with while I do my course.’

‘Tristan?’ After Pete, Luke and Jake, a brother named Tristan sounded somewhat incongruous. ‘What does Tristan do?’

‘He works for Interpol.’

‘Paper pusher?’

‘Black ops,’ she corrected. ‘Somewhere along the line Tris was seconded by some special law enforcement group. I forget the name.’ Not quite the truth. Truth was, Hallie had never been told who Tristan worked for these days. She tried not to let that bother her. ‘But he’s a pussycat really.’

Sure he was. All black ops specialists were pussycats. It was such a caring, non-confrontational profession. ‘You know, maybe I need a different type of wife for Hong Kong,’ he said. ‘Maybe I need a brunette.’

‘I was a brunette once,’ said Hallie. ‘The hairdresser was a young guy, just starting out and we decided to experiment. He left the salon not long after that.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m sure Tris wouldn’t really have castrated him.’

Maybe he was doomed. ‘Or a blonde,’ he muttered. ‘I could always replace you with a blonde.’

‘Ha. You can’t fool me. You’re not going to replace me now; you’d have to go clothes shopping again.’

Nick shuddered. She was right. Replacing her was out of the question.

‘Besides,’ she continued blithely, ‘It’s not as if I’m going to be telling any of my brothers the finer details of our little arrangement. They wouldn’t understand.’

On this they were in total accord.

‘So tell me about your family,’ she said, deftly changing the focus back to him and his. ‘When did your father die?’

‘Two years ago. He was a property developer.’

‘And Clea? You said she wasn’t a corporate wife. What does she do?’

‘Many people find it hard to believe but she’s an architect. A very good one.’

‘Is that how they met? Through their work?’

‘No, they met at a birthday party. Clea was in the cake. I try not to think about it.’

‘What about brothers and sisters?’

‘There’s just me.’

‘Didn’t you ever get lonely?’ she asked.

‘Nope.’ She looked like she was struggling with the only child concept. ‘I had plenty of friends, plenty of company. And whenever I had any spare time there was always a computer handy and a dozen imaginary worlds to get lost in.’

‘And now you create fantasy worlds for a living. I guess that means you always knew what you wanted to do, even as a kid.’

‘I always did it. Is that the same thing?’

‘Probably.’ Hallie’s smile was wry. ‘With me it was different … every week a new idea … astronaut, race car driver, professional stuntwoman … My family’s still not convinced I won’t change my mind about wanting to work in the art business.’

‘And will you?’

‘Who knows?’ she said with a shrug. ‘I love the thrill that comes with finding something old and beautiful and I love discovering its history and the history of the people behind it. Hopefully I’ll find work with a respectable dealer in Asian antiquities and it’ll be fascinating but if it’s not … well … I’ll do something else. At least I’ll have given it a try.’

‘You want to make your own mistakes.’

‘That’s it!’ There was fire in her eyes, passion in her voice. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to make your own decisions with four older brothers all hell-bent on guiding you through life? I mean, honestly, Nick, I’m twenty-four years old and I’m not a slow learner. So what if I make a mistake or two along the way? I’ll fix them. I certainly don’t need my brothers charging in to straighten me out every time I step sideways.’ Hallie’s chin came up; he was beginning to know that look. ‘I can take care of myself. I want to take care of myself. Is that too much to ask?’

‘Not at all. What you want is freedom.’

‘And equality,’ she said firmly. ‘And it wouldn’t kill them to show me a bit of respect every now and then too.’

Right. Nick quelled the slight twinge of sympathy he was beginning to feel for her brothers and concentrated on the bigger picture. Freedom, equality, respect. He could manage that. It wasn’t as if she was asking for the sun, the moon and the stars to go with it.

‘I want you to know that even though I’m paying you a great deal of money to deceive my future business partner you have my utmost respect,’ he stated firmly. ‘We’re in this together as equals.’

And to the drinks waiter who had appeared at his side, ‘Two single-malt Scotches. Neat.’

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