with me too. I was afraid to trust it’s real. But it is. We’re engaged.”
She’s all smiles now. She believes me. Her parents were poor. She got pregnant when she was only seventeen. My father treated her like garbage. And she had to work herself to the bone to make sure she could give me every opportunity I might need in my life. I don’t think she was miserable for my growing-up years, but she was never like this. Never this happy. I’ll do anything to keep her this way.
Even hire a man to be my husband for six months.
“I’m so glad, Mel. So tell me about him. What’s his name?”
I swallow and keep my expression relaxed as I answer, “His name is Damian.”
WHEN I WALK INTO AN Atlanta coffee shop the following day and spot the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, I figure he’s got to be Damian.
Aurora from Companions for Hire showed me pictures of him when we discussed my needs. Tall and well built with broad shoulders, long legs, and lean hips. Dark hair. Striking blue-green eyes. The perfectly chiseled features of a model for upscale cologne or luxury cars. The pictures were great but also rather unreal. I could aesthetically see the man is handsome, but he didn’t really do it for me.
And that’s fine. I’m not looking for a guy who 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 the man is attractive but not likely to attract me.
I was wrong. Holy hell, was I wrong.
He looks like a real person as he’s sitting there at 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 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 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 here like a dope, clutching the strap to my leather bag, when he glances up and sees me. I’m not sure how 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 handshaker, 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 again too. Some men think it’s rude that I won’t shake their hand, 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 drop 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 got to be disappointed.
I remind myself he’s probably not hoping for anything but to