The Wedding Pact Box Set - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,13

my fiancé.”

He raised his hands in surrender, his eyes pleading with hers, and damned if her breath didn’t catch. Her pulse quickened just at the sight of him. Of course, it didn’t help that their kiss was so fresh in her memory.

“You couldn’t walk and you were talking nonsense, so like I said, the only way I knew how to get you out of the terminal without leaving our bags behind was to carry you over my shoulder. But people thought I was abducting you, so I told them that you were my fiancée.” He heaved out a sigh of frustration. “Your family heard me and thought I was Jay. And then I got stuck.”

Everything made perfect sense, but something about his delivery was off.

He narrowed his eyes, and she could practically feel the judgment rolling off him. “Have they really never seen him before?”

“No,” she said sharply, putting her hands on her hips. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Not even photos?” His brow lifted as though a new idea had occurred to him. “Wait. Does he even exist?”

Her mouth dropped in shock. “Of course he exists!”

“Then why no photos?”

Her back stiffened. “I have some photos of him. Just not very many. And I guess they’re a little blurry.”

“You have to admit that’s pretty weird, since you were supposedly together for two years.”

She gasped. “Who are you to judge me? You’ve been conscious and coherent all day, yet you were just sitting in a strange woman’s kitchen pretending to be her fiancé!”

“Now, Megan. I wouldn’t call you strange. A little eccentric maybe.”

She balled her fists and groaned in frustration. “Are you some creepy stalker? How did you know I’d been with Jay two years?”

“Your mother. She’s very chatty when she’s in a good mood.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I still don’t understand how this happened.” Dropping her arms to her sides, she glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you. Your parents thought I was your fiancé.”

“I mean, why didn’t you correct them?”

He quirked his brow and smirked at her. “Says the woman who’s getting married in three days to a made-up groom.”

She stomped her foot. “I did not make him up!”

He began to pace at the foot of her bed, his pure masculinity a sharp contrast to the white and lavender ruffled comforter. “Look, in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest decision to call you my fiancée when I left the terminal—especially after you told me that your mother was picking you up—but I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to explain the misunderstanding, but before I knew it, I was riding in your mother’s Navigator to Blue Springs, Missouri.” He spun around to stare at her. “Your mother is frightening.”

“I told you!”

He grabbed her hand and sat down on the bed, guiding her to sit next to him. “Look. You need someone to stand in for your fake boyfriend—”

“He’s not fake!”

“—and your parents think I’m him. We can make this work for you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, ignoring the fact that his touch sent flutters through her stomach. She jerked her hand free.

If he was offended, he didn’t let on. “We’ll let them continue to think I’m here to marry you. Then I’ll act like a jerk and break up with you in front of them. That way I’ll take all the blame, which gets you off the hook. You have to admit that it’s the perfect plan. Your mother won’t kill you, and you might not even have to return all those toasters.”

“I didn’t register for toasters. I registered for a bagel oven.”

He looked taken aback. “You seriously registered for your fake wedding? How far were you going to take this anyway?”

She gritted her teeth, seething. “I had a fiancé. His name is Jay Connors. He’s an investment banker, and he lives in downtown Seattle in a condo that overlooks Puget Sound.”

His head jerked back in disgust. “An investment banker. You can’t be serious.”

“What’s wrong with dating an investment banker?”

“Nothing. If you were really engaged to one. But if you made the guy up, you could have at least given him a more exciting career. Like a firefighter. Or a trapeze artist.”

“And what is it that you do, Mr. McMillan?”

“I’m an entrepreneur.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like that’s any better. Isn’t that a fancy way of saying you don’t know what to do with your life?”

He ignored her insult and pressed on. “What do your parents know about me?”

“They