Chapter Four
Derek knocked on Stephanie’s door. On the last knock, the door swung open. Stephanie was sweaty, disheveled, in yoga pants and a tank top. A bead of wetness trickled down her neck and drew his eye down, over the swell of her breast. He lingered until she cleared her throat, flushing.
Maybe he should have dressed down.
Always dress to impress. His father’s voice in the back of his mind, stern and cold.
His father had never been in this situation.
She looked him over from head to toe with a wry smile. “Thank you for coming. I guess this isn’t what you had planned when you said you’d pick me up tonight.”
“I’d rather expected sushi and the opera, not a tactical strategy meeting.”
“Is that where you usually take girls when you order them to go out with you?”
“It wasn’t an order.”
She grinned. “Then what was it?”
He paused and canted his head. “A reasonable request.”
“Wow.” Stephanie arched a brow with a soft chuckle, a beguiling glitter in her eye. “Do you ever take the stick out of your ass?”
“Only to change the batteries.”
She blinked at him, then burst into incredulous laughter. Her husky, throaty laughter had a musical sound that played over him like a caress. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to hearing. Derek thought he’d forgotten how to make someone laugh. Yet it came so naturally with her, and here she was, looking up at him with her eyes alight with warmth. Warmth, and a spark of interest that made him remember all too clearly how her plush mouth had yielded against his.
This is only for her sake. Don’t take it seriously.
“You know, maybe I was wrong about you.” As her laughter quieted, she took a step back. “Come on, Poindexter. Let’s be diabolical.”
She led him inside her apartment—small but homey, in soft, pastel earth tones, with a sort of cluttered coziness he envied. It looked warn, lived-in, a stark contrast to the vast, cold emptiness of his own condominium. The living room was messy. She was messy, and he had a feeling if he’d let her she’d make a mess of him. The TV was playing Cartoon Network, something bright and goggle-eyed and utterly baffling.
“You…watch cartoons?”
“They’re good brain food. Shut up.” Color bloomed in her cheeks as she dropped onto the couch and curled up, tucking her feet under her butt. “Sit.”
She was nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Yes, master.” He sat at her side, their hips bumping. She tensed but didn’t move away, only playing with the remote on the armrest. He could practically feel her nervous energy swirling around her like a storm.
She ran a slender finger down the buttons on the remote. “Do you want me to change it? I’m sure there’s something about…stocks or the economy or something on CNN.”
“I’d rather chew cardboard.” It would have about the same flavor. He leaned across her, covering her hand on the remote, stilling its nervous—and mildly distracting—tapping. Her body was trapped between his arm and the couch, her slim arm pressing into his chest, all heat and softness. A mussed lock of her hair teased against his jaw like a kiss of chocolate. This close he could smell her, the soft tang of perspiration and a sweeter breath of feminine musk. His mouth went dry. Her fingers curled into a fist under his on the remote.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and almost afraid. Why? What did she think he could possibly do to her?
He almost leaned closer. Almost let go of his rigid control and gave in to the temptation she presented; she was so much more real than the women he was used to, who wouldn’t be caught dead answering the door flushed and sweaty from a workout. The lack of artifice was…refreshing, to say the least. But she would be entirely out of place in his orderly life. Forget bull in a china shop. She’d storm his world like Godzilla rampaging through Tokyo.
He took a deep breath, slipped his hand away from hers, and pressed the power button on the remote. Its gaily chatter silenced, leaving them alone in the laden stillness.
“You wanted something from me,” he murmured.
She was still staring up at him, her eyes glassy. “…what?”
“When you called.” Her parted lips tempted him. “You said something about an attack strategy. What do you plan to attack?”
For a moment, he thought the answer might be him. She swayed closer to him, and her pulse jumped visibly against her throat. Her skin was still sheened with a luscious wet-sugar glaze of sweat, and that pulse drew him until he could almost feel it throbbing against his lips, almost taste her.
But she jerked back, making an odd sound and taking a shaky breath. He was still trapping her. Right. He withdrew his arm and leaned back, putting a safe distance between them.
She looked down and watched her fingers as they picked at a frayed thread on the hem of her tank top. “About that.” Her tongue darted over her lips. “I…I really hate asking for favors. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t necessary. I mean, I know you’ve got your own stuff to do in town, and you don’t have time to do me—I mean—wait, that’s not how I meant it! I just—damn it.”
“Favor first. Backstory later. It’ll be easier if you just spit it out.”
“Easier for you, maybe.” She shot him a dirty look. “Why did you let him bully you into pretending to be my fiancé, anyway? You should have just told him he was crazy and left.”
“We’ve been over this already. I did it for you.”
Her eyes flashed. “I don’t need people to do things for me.”
“Yet you called me here. And I doubt it was because you really wanted to see me again tonight.”
She faltered, and looked away. “I wouldn’t say that,” she muttered under her breath, pink to the tips of her ears, then raised her voice. “Okay. So. You might regret the whole ‘knight in shining armor’ act. You’re stuck with it. Or not, I mean, you could say no.”
He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. “Say no to what, exactly?”
She cringed, scrunching down into the couch. “…to being my fiancé for the next week.”
He should have known it wouldn’t be simple.
“A week, hm?”
“Yes.” She looked so small, so vulnerable, hunched down and picking furiously at that thread until her shirt was starting to unravel at the hem. “Rodgers thinks Wheeler will want to see you again at various business functions, starting with dinner tomorrow night. He thinks it’ll make him like me—and the company—more. The whole family values thing.”
“So that’s your attack strategy.” He assessed her thoughtfully. “Lie until you win.”
“Look, it wasn’t my idea, all right?” She lifted her head with that stubborn tilt to her jaw. “I’m not that kind of person. You weren’t the only one who got bullied.”
Ah. Now he understood. “And I’m not the one who stands to lose everything if he doesn’t acquiesce.” He brushed his fingers underneath her chin. Her skin was warm to the touch, fine and smooth. “Did he threaten you, Stephanie?”
She made a miserable sound. “He might as well have.”
“You shouldn’t cave to threats. It sets a bad precedent for future business…and it lets men like Rodgers believe they can continue to get away with their tactics.”
“Yeah, well, it’s gotten him this far.” She pulled away from his touch. “I wouldn’t ask, but…”
“You’re desperate.”
She smiled weakly. “Aaron did ask me to play tour guide this week. We could make it part of the luxury Miami Business District tour.”
“There is that.” He nearly smiled. “Why do you work for a man who forces you to lie?”
“Because…” Her voice softened. “Because he’s a means to an end. Sometimes you have to put up with bad people to do good things.”
“And lying is a good thing?”
“If it means helping those who can’t help themselves…yes.”
Her eyes were distant, her mouth soft and pensive and so entirely alluring. Too alluring. This was Aaron’s younger sister—and Aaron would take his legs off at the knee if he touched her again.
“Aaron might have me abducted if I say no.”
She laughed. “Every time I think you don’t have a sense of humor…”
“…you grew up with him. Do you really think that’s a joke?” He snorted.
“You have a point.” Her smile was more tentative this time, shy. “You’ll really do it? I promise I’ll try not to trip you into traffic or spill coffee all over you or cause any natural disasters.”
“Do you do that often?”
“You haven’t known me long. Just wait.”
“I suppose I have a week to find out, dearly betrothed.”
He had to be out of his mind.
“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Thank you!”
Before he could think too hard about what he was doing and why he was doing this, he found his arms full of a soft, kittenish bundle of woman, her slim arms around his neck, her scent surrounding him, her face pressed against his throat. Every inch of her set him alight, her lushness molding to fit his body, her lips a micron away from his throat. Hugging him. She was only hugging him, he reminded himself fiercely. She’d flung herself at him just as she would with any of her brothers, and he reminded himself to keep his touch brotherly as her hands settled on her waist.
But as she drew back, his grip tightened unconsciously. He didn’t want to let her go. She froze, their noses almost brushing, her eyes locked with his. She wasn’t looking at him as if she saw a brother. She was looking at him as if she saw a man, and in that moment she was very much the woman who could make him forget propriety and act on an impulse he should ignore.
Yet he couldn’t resist cupping her cheek. His thumb caressed her lower lip, and her breath caught. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, touching his thumb for a brief second. To hell with propriety—and consequences. He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. Once. Twice. The third time, he lingered and didn’t let go.
She yielded against him with a low moan. Her softness would be his undoing; he wanted to touch her everywhere, feel the velvety texture of her entire body against his palms. But her nails dug into his shoulders, bringing him back to reality. He couldn’t do this. She was Aaron’s sister. He lived over a thousand miles away. A fling would have Aaron breathing down the back of his neck. Derek couldn’t ask her for more than that when his life had no room for a woman who lived half a country away.
And she’d only asked him for a favor. That gave him no right to more.
“I’m sorry.” He bit back a groan and reclined on the couch. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
For a moment, hurt flashed through her eyes. Then she pulled away and retreated to her corner. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen.”
“It did. But it won’t happen again.” He sighed. “I’ve no intention of taking advantage of you, Stephanie. You asked for my help. That comes without strings.”
“For Aaron’s sake, right?”
No. For yours.
He looked away from her, at the blank, quiet TV. “Something like that. I’ll play the part you need from me in public. But I’ll leave you in peace when we’re alone.”
“Such a gentleman,” she mocked, and curled in tighter on herself. Her voice was flat, but with a slight hitch. “Then you’ll need to be ready for tomorrow. We’re meeting Mr. Wheeler for dinner. Black tie formal, so you’ll need to rent a tux.”
Why was she so upset with him? He watched her from the corner of his eye. “I own a tux. Several, in fact.”
“Of course you do.” She laughed, brittle and humorless. “Rich, right? All of Aaron’s frat boy friends are rich.”
“Do you have a problem with rich men?” That would be a refreshing change.
“No, not really.” She sighed. “Just…so many of them have it so easy. And not many of them are like Wheeler, thinking about those who don’t.”
It was clear who she meant. Him. What would she think of him if she knew who he really was? He hadn’t told her the whole truth about his job, though he hadn’t lied. He’d just neglected to mention that he owned the company he worked for, and could likely buy her apartment building several times over. Most of the women he’d dated lit up at the number of zeros tacked on to his personal net worth.
Somehow, he had the feeling Stephanie would just be disappointed in him. Disappointed in everything he’d worked for, in the life he’d built, the corporation he’d founded, the money he made hand over fist…and did nothing worthwhile with. He’d done everything his father had wanted. Had met his expectations entirely, grooming himself into the man Walter Rory had expected him to be, burying every trace of his dark-eyed, wild-spirited mother’s heritage. He’d even taken speech training classes to eliminate most of his accent.
Yet the man he’d crafted, he thought, wasn’t a man Stephanie could respect.
And that really shouldn’t matter…but it did.