Chapter 1
Oh no, I cannot be late today! Liberty Birch darted between pedestrians on the crowded streets of Paris at lunchtime, wondering why on earth she’d let her grandfather talk her into moving with him to France. He was retired and wanted to live out his life drinking wine and romancing beautiful French women. Meanwhile she had to push through those out for a casual stroll if she stood a chance at keeping her life from imploding. Normally she would never act so rudely, would never disrupt her karma by shoving and bumping against people as if her plans were more important than theirs. But she had an important meeting to save her bakery, Loaves of Love. Stupid Marco Dalton. The heartless man wanted to put her out of business and she’d only been open for six months. Before that it had taken nearly a year to find a building and set it up as a bakery. And he wanted to take it all away for some big shopping center that would make him rich. No, richer.
Not happening.
Not if she could make to Dalton’s office by three. It was twelve thirty-two so she had plenty of time. Her heart thundered as she thought about having to close and then reopen her bakery when things were starting to look up. She’d spent a good chunk of her inheritance renting the place and reshaping it. She could not afford to do that again.
Which explained her inability to stand still even at a red light while the guy beside her barked into his cell phone in a cultured accent. Why did people have to talk on the phone all the time? It was rude and inconsiderate. She shook her head in disapproval, watching from the corner of her eye as the barking man stepped off the curb. The next few moments happened so quickly she couldn’t be sure of their order.
She heard an engine rev to her left and on instinct her hand flew out to grab the man’s arm, but all she got was his sleeve. Luckily it was enough because he turned, off balance and all she could see was a wall of smoky blue pinstripes and a sky blue silk tie as she fell to the ground to the sound of squealing tires and the crunch of a bicycle hitting a fender. “Ow!” It was the only word she could get out as her hand hit the pavement and her wrist twisted before she went down.
The man pushed himself off her quickly and jumped to his feet without even wrinkling his suit. He aimed a dark scowl down at her and smoothed his suit. “What is the meaning of this?”
She fell back against the concrete and groaned. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Dude, she saved your ass!”
Libby sent a smile of gratitude to the teenager skater defending her honor and cupped her wrist as another impatient pedestrian kicked her in his haste to get to his destination. She couldn’t even blame him because she’d been doing the same. And now she would be late. That got her moving, though not as fast as she would have liked. Planting her wrist on the ground caused an agonizing pain that ripped a scream from her lungs. Okay, you’ll be fine. Worry about this after your meeting.
“Here, let me,” the giant man in blue said, a scowl still marring what she could now see was a truly stunning face. Sharp cheekbones made his almond shaped hazel eyes look even more pronounced, more exotic. A square jaw and a wide, lush mouth pulled into a straight line at her perusal. His hair, short on the sides and a little longer on top, was slicked back in the way tycoons seemed to love.
“I’ve got it,” she smacked his hand away once she pulled herself from his strong grip. Using her other hand, Libby pushed herself off the ground. She needed to get going before Hart made the sale and took off to parts unknown. “Glad you’re okay,” she mumbled and walked away.
“You need to get your wrist checked out.” His cultured accent told her he was neither American or French, and the way he grabbed her paid proof to her assumption he was a very wealthy man. Probably a tycoon. “I’ll have my driver take you to the hospital.”
“No!” She straightened and relaxed, using her good hand to smooth her turquoise and tan paisley dress and oversized cable sweater, only wincing once when she skidded against the oversized button on her sweater. “I mean I will make my way to the hospital. After my appointment.”
He laughed. “What could possibly be so important?”
Libby lifted her injured hand to wave off his condescending tone when another impatient tourist walked between her and dark angel, smacking his chest against her hand. “Ow, dammit!” She felt the blood rush from her face, her temperature drop and dark spots formed around her field of vision. The pain was too much and she looked up again at her dark angel. “I guess I’ll take that ride to the hospital after all.” And lose my bakery. “Of course this happens today. No good deed,” she groused and shook her head, wondering what she’d done to make karma treat her this way.
Hours, perhaps days later, she had her diagnosis. A sprained wrist. As grateful as Libby was, she felt like all the pain warranted at least a fracture. “Damn,” she groaned when her phone began to beep. It was two minutes past three and her bakery would officially be gone in thirty days.
“Problem?”
She looked up again at the darkly gorgeous man. “When you’re not frowning you’re beautiful.” Oops. He probably thought she was crazy. “Sorry. Nothing for you to worry about, you’ve done enough by getting me here. Thanks.”
“Actually, I was-,”
She held up a hand as she dug her phone from her purse one-handed and put it on speaker. “Hey Grandpa.”
“Hey Sugarplum. How did your meeting go?”
She smiled at Nate Birch’s gravelly voice. It had been the same since she was a little girl and it attracted her like a magnet. “I didn’t make it. I’m at the hospital.” She could hear him getting himself riled up. “I’m fine though, just a sprained wrist.”
“What happened?”
“Just me helping a guy not become pavement pizza,” she smiled up at the handsome man standing in the doorway.
He coughed and then laughed before he coughed some more. “I told you girly you don’t need to help every person on god’s green earth.”
“Lesson learned. We have thirty days to find a new space Grandpa.” It had taken months to find the current space which meant there were no other spaces. Not that she could afford anyway. Maybe outside the city.
“Don’t you go writing us off just yet Sugarplum. Earl’s son is in real estate,” he said it like she didn’t know that Earl’s son, Earl Jr. was a commercial realtor.
“Don’t worry Grandpa. I’ll figure something out, or I won’t. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I didn’t make it. Have fun with the guys.”
“Alright little girl. I’m gonna clean up tonight and then tomorrow we’ll figure it out. Over breakfast.”
“See you then.” Tonight was weekly poker night and he would either buy a big breakfast tomorrow, or she would. “Is there something I can help you with?”
He stepped forward and closed the door. She knew she should be scared, but she didn’t get that vibe from him. “Actually, I think we could help each other.”
She sighed. One of those. “I appreciate the ride to the hospital, but I’m not in the mood for any funny business.” Her gaze narrowed at his twitching lips. “I’m serious,” she pointed at him.
“No funny business, I swear. But I have a proposition that I think will benefit us both.”
“Sounds funny to me.”
He chuckled. “You need a building for your bakery and I need a fake fiancée.”
She looked at him like he’d grown another head. “A what? I don’t even know you!”
* * *
Her delicate face would have been funny if he wasn’t so serious. He’d spent six weeks looking for the type of woman who could pose as his fake fiancée. They were all too much like Nissa. Boring and ready to become a rich man’s wife. “We can start there. My name is Amir.”
“I’m Liberty but everyone calls me Libby,” she grumbled, keep a wary eye on him. “Why does a guy like you need a fake girlfriend?”
“Fiancée,” he corrected with a grin. “Because my parents think they can make all my decisions for me. They have chosen a horrendously boring woman they would like me to marry. I have decided it is in my best interest to choose my own.”
“Except she’s fake.”
“Well, yeah.”
“So what happens when there’s never a wedding? And why on earth are your parents picking out your wife?”
She was refreshingly real. “Because when the time comes for my father to step down, I will become Sheikh of Kadrishan which means I will need to produce heirs.” Giant blue eyes that dwarfed her face took him in, carefully assessing him.
“Wow. You’re a royal. Cool.” She shook her head like someone had just told her a joke. “So you need someone to pretend to be your fiancée?” She sat back and tapped her chin. “I wouldn’t mind helping you out and you will help me find a location for my bakery, but I worry that my karma will get all confused by this type of deception.”
He coughed. “You think I’m going to help you find a location for your business?” Was anyone really that naive?
She frowned. “You implicated as much!” She fell back and winced when she attempted to cross her arms. “If you won’t help me then I’m sorry, but I won’t help you.”
Amir couldn’t help the smile that tugged his lips. She was delightful. Gorgeous with strawberry blonde hair and smooth pale skin that was almost translucent, she looked otherworldly. The freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks gave her an innocence that was quickly forgotten at first glance of those plump lips. “I’m not going to help you find a location Libby. I will buy you a location and hand you the deed when our fake engagement is over.”
She sucked in a breath. “Are you for real? Wait, are you crazy?”
“Yes to the former, no to the latter. At least last I checked, I wasn’t crazy.”
“When was that?”
Amir laughed at the question and took another step closer. “I assure you that I am serious Libby. What you need is worth the cost of what I am asking of you.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
Smart woman. “We will have to date. That means nights out and you will join me at certain events and activities.”
“Kissing? Sex?”
“Um, optional?” He saw the heat flare in her eyes and knew there was a good chance things would turn physical between them. He didn’t mind that at all. As long as she understood. “But it won’t change things?” He wasn’t ready to take on a wife just yet. He had a duty to produce heirs so he would, but his father had at least five more years before he would even start thinking of stepping down.
“You’re afraid of commitment aren’t you?”
“What? No!” Amir wasn’t afraid of anything. “I just want time to find the right woman when I am ready.” It had taken months just to find her.
The doctor interrupted them, giving her a sling, prescriptions and instructions on care. “Do not use that hand at all for the next three days. Come back then and we will check you out.”
Emotions flashed across her face quickly, but he’d caught a few of them. Worry and fear. More worry. “Okay, thank you Doctor.”
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
She didn’t even argue. “Great. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about your wrist,” he told her, feeling guilty that she’d hurt herself for him.
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll get a holiday named after me in…where are you a royal?”
“Kadrishan. A small peninsula nation in the middle east.”
She looked at him in surprise. “In the Persian Gulf?”
He nodded, impressed.
“So, what are the odds of me getting that holiday?”
Amir didn’t know whether to laugh or ask for a scan of her head. “You’re serious?”
“No,” she smiled, those big blue eyes went round. “Unless, can you do that?”
He tossed his head back and laughed, helping her into the back of the limo. “I might. Now tell me, what would this holiday entail?”
She thought for a moment, hand cupping her chin. “Dancing. And eating. Maybe naked under the moon. With wine too, lots of wine!”
The image came, of Libby naked and curvaceous wearing nothing but the moon and firelight. He wondered what color her nipples were. A dusky pink, he would bet. “You make it sound so appealing I just might do it.” Her laugh came deep and sultry, like warm honey mixed with whiskey.
“Then I think we might have a deal. But I need to sleep on it, make sure this isn’t as crazy as it sounds when I’m thinking clearer.”
She was talking more to herself than Amir but he didn’t mind. She amused him with her blunt assessments, her refreshing honesty and her lack of pretense. “I can handle that. Meet me for lunch tomorrow and afterwards we will start making plans.”
“Sounds good,” she handed him her phone and entered his number and then called his phone. “See you tomorrow,” she told him on a yawn before carefully sliding from the limo in front of a small cottage overlooking coastal waters.
He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by broaching the topic too soon, but he had a good feeling about Libby.
A really good feeling.