does it for me. I just want a man who will suit my practical needs. The truth is, until this moment, I was taking some comfort in the fact that this man is attractive but not likely to attract me.
I was wrong. Holy hell, I was wrong.
He looks like a real person as he’s sitting there in a corner table. (Despite the fact that the place is crowded on a Sunday afternoon, he’s somehow managed to snag the best seat.) He’s dressed simply in jeans and a black crewneck, and he’s focused down on his phone. He’s relaxed. Reading. He lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, and the move highlights the well-defined muscles in his arm.
And my whole body wakes up. My eyes. My mouth. My lungs. The blood in my veins. The female parts between my legs that really shouldn’t be this awake in the middle of a coffee shop.
Shit.
What the hell?
I wouldn’t have picked out this guy if I’d known he could make a girl feel like this from nothing more than an initial glance across a crowded room. I thought he was too perfect to be sexy to me.
I’m standing there like a dope, clutching the strap to my leather bag, when he glances up and sees me. I’m not sure why he knows I’m the person he’s supposed to meet. Yes, I’m staring at him dazedly, but a guy this hot must get that regularly.
He knows it’s me though. He stands up with a smile.
It takes a couple of seconds for my body to obey my mind, but I manage to walk over to his table.
“Melody Clarke?” he says in a pleasantly husky baritone.
“Yep. That’s me.” I gesture away the hand he’s extended. I’m not a hand-shaker, and I’m definitely not going to risk touching this guy. I give him a little wave instead as I take the chair opposite his. “You’re Damian Winters?”
“Yes.” He’s sitting down too. Some men think it’s rude that I won’t shake their hands, but his eyebrows are arched, and one corner of his mouth gives a little twitch, like he might be amused. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I feel breathless and flushed, which isn’t at all like me. I’m well-known for being straightforward and unflappable. So I jump past preliminaries and get right down to business. “Aurora told me all about you. She said you would suit my needs perfectly.”
“I hope so. I’m more than willing to give it a try.” His eyes are scanning my face and occasionally dropping down to my body. I can’t tell from his expression what he thinks of my appearance.
Everything about me is medium. It always has been. I didn’t dress up for this meeting, so I’m wearing black yoga pants, a fitted T-shirt, and a gray zip-up hoodie, which is the kind of outfit I pretty much live in. My brown hair (medium length) is pulled back in a low ponytail. I’m not wearing any makeup.
If he was hoping for a beauty queen or a sex goddess, he’s going to be disappointed.
I remind myself he’s probably not hoping for anything but to get paid at the end of his job, and I press on. “Okay. Here’s what I need.”
His eyebrows are dark and just a little thicker than they should be. I notice it because it’s one of the few parts of his body I can see that aren’t perfect. They arch up again, as if my no-nonsense style surprises and amuses him. “I’m listening.”
“I need someone to act like my husband for six months. I’m sure Aurora has told you. We don’t actually have to get married. It’s not going to matter, since no one is likely to check into marriage registrations. You just need to pretend to be my husband on the weekends when we go up to Charleston, West Virginia and visit my mom and her new husband’s family. She’s got a bunch of events planned—showers and parties and such. And sometimes we’ll just go to visit. Then the wedding of course. That’s in four months. And I figure we better keep it up for a couple of months after that, although once they’re married there won’t be any more events."
Damian nods. “Okay. That sounds easy enough. Aurora said you had a tricky family issue. Do you mind if I ask what it is? Why do you need a husband so much you’re willing to pay for one?”