The woman laughed. Fully and completely. And he could only stare.

Her almost silver hair, grayish in hue yet not with age, glinted in the sun, the darker weaving strands almost striping it, the tips frosted white. Even in this shape, she kept her yellow cat eyes, the glow of them brilliant and almost disconcerting.

By chance, he’d found the lynx from the forest. Caught her scent as he passed by on the sidewalk, intent on his favorite bakery.

What’s that? It caught his attention, teased him with ghostly scented fingers urging him to follow it inside. He’d known her immediately, even though she faced away. Her appearance distinct. Her scent, remarkable and completely unhidden.

He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t help but see her as the solution to his problem. It wasn’t hard to tell she needed help. Needed money. Her clothes looked well worn, the jacket frayed at the hems, her shoes gray with wear, not by design. Then the final proof, the assortment of change she used to buy the cheapest thing in the place.

This woman probably barely owned more than what was on her back and yet she dared laugh at his heritage.

“You have a problem with maple syrup?”

“It’s that stuff made from trees, isn’t it? Or do you offer the knock-off kind made of brown sugar?”

He drew himself upright. “There is only one true kind of maple syrup, and my family has been making it for generations.” Liquid gold in his world. Their premium line fetched the highest prices on the market.

“Well, la-dee-da for you. I don’t eat the stuff. Too sweet.” Her nose wrinkled, adorably cute, and yet the blasphemy in her words had him exclaiming.

“Too sweet? Never. It’s a matter of using it to complement in the right amount with other foods.”

“You eat it with pancakes.”

“Not just pancakes. French toast, waffles, drizzled over a salty ham. Basted over a chicken breast on the barbecue.”

Again, her soft laughter tickled. “You are way too excited about syrup.”

“Because it’s delicious. You’ll learn to love it once we’re married.”

She snorted. “I think you’ve been sniffing too much maple, big guy.”

“The name is Bryce.”

“Don’t care.”

“You should, Ms…”

“None of your business.”

“That’s not very friendly. What’s your name?” When he saw her hesitate, he cajoled. “Come on, it won’t hurt to tell me.”

A sigh escaped her. “Melanie.”

Nice. Classic. Grandfather would approve. “I’m surprised we’ve never met.” He thought he knew all the shifters in town.

“I only moved in recently with my mother.”

“And you didn’t register?”

“Register what?” Her brow creased. “To vote? Is there an election?”

“No.” He cocked his head. “But you should have presented yourself to my grandfather. We’ll take care of that when we tell him we’re engaged.”

“Not engaged, dude. And I don’t understand why you keep persisting. You claim you’re rich, so why marry me? Why not some rich girl you’ve known all your life?”

“Because she won’t want to leave once she’s not needed.” Bryce had figured it out since his grandfather had made the ultimatum. He only had to make the pretense of complying with his grandfather. Soon, they’d find out Rory wasn’t part of the family and his granddad would change his will to make Bryce the only heir.

“So you want a sham wife who’ll walk away.” She snorted. “Why would anyone agree to that?”

He cast her a glance. “Money.”

“I’m not for sale.”

She whirled and began to walk away. He grabbed her arm, and a jolt of awareness hit. He noted the thin leanness of the limb, yet the wiry strength underneath.

“Let me go.” She tugged.

“At least say you’ll think about it. A fake engagement, worst-case scenario, a marriage in name only for a few months.”

“Still not interested.” She pulled free. “Good luck convincing someone of your story.” She walked away, a slim figure in a jean jacket, her loose hair lifting in the wind.

A true natural beauty, and a shifter. Dress her up in a slim pencil skirt and jacket and granddad would gobble her up.

If she agreed.

He frowned because she didn’t seem inclined. She’d also forgotten to give him her phone number.

Good thing being rich had its advantages.

I’ll convince you to become my fake bride, little kitty. He just needed the right kind of incentive.