TOBY

“No.”

Cara rolls her eyes and leans back in her seat. We’re halfway to Toronto, but getting nowhere with this conversation. “You’re not giving the plan fair consideration.”

“Because it’s insane.”

“Whatever. You don’t even get a say.”

True enough. I’m just the guy who had his tongue down her throat yesterday. What do I know about her love life, anyway?

Nothing, and it’s going to stay that way. Damn it.

I slept like shit last night, replaying that kiss over and over again in my mind. Wishing I’d pulled her closer and pressed my erection into her belly. Wishing I’d dragged her back to my hotel suite instead of depositing her safely at her sister’s townhouse.

Luckily today was non-stop meetings until it was time to meet Cara at the airport, so my brain was forced to take breaks from inappropriate fantasies about teaching her just how good two people can be together.

Giving up on love at twenty-four. What the bloody hell is that?

Sure, I don’t really believe in love myself, but that’s because I’m jaded with good reason.

Maybe Cara is, too.

No. She’s too…lighthearted, too lovely.

Too innocent.

“You can’t hire an escort,” I grind out. “Aren’t you on a student visa in Canada? Don’t jeopardize that.”

“I’m not going to hire a prostitute.”

“Isn’t it the same thing? You don’t want to get busted for solicitation.”

She stares at me like I’m an idiot. Well at least this conversation has gone a long way toward restoring our relationship to its rightful place.

No kissing. Sibling-ish mocking. Huffing and sighing and…

Jesus, she’s gorgeous when she’s frustrated. Pink cheeks and bright eyes.

She takes a deep breath, then gives me a level look. “Okay, let me start again from the beginning, because I think you may have missed the point of the plan.”

I missed nothing. I just don’t approve of her hiring some asshole to pretend to marry her, so she can tell her grandmother she eloped and ta-da, now she’s married, stop worrying, Nana.

I wave for the flight attendant. If Cara’s going to blithely carry on like our kiss meant nothing, I need a drink.

She’s right to do so, of course. It was momentary madness.

I’ve learned a lot about gut calls in the last fifteen years. Learned how to lean into the bruise that fear leaves, figure out when pain is productive and when it’s destructive, and walk that line carefully.

Everything about kissing Cara screamed danger, and I did it anyway. Everything about backing off feels right—except for this one sharp spot in my chest. It feels very wrong there.

I scowl and tip back my drink as soon as it arrives. “Another,” I demand roughly. I can practically feel Cara’s eyebrows raise beside me, so I add a touch of nicety to the request. “Please.”

Cara leans past me and smiles at the stewardess. “I’d love a glass of cranberry juice, if you have it.”

Juice.

I’m guzzling whiskey and she’s asking for juice.

My best friend’s kid sister.

Yes, backing off is the right thing to do, that spot in my chest be damned.

And the fact that her fingers brushing against my forearm makes me halfway hard? Proof I need to get my head on straight and help Cara out, not stand in her way like some jealous wannabe boyfriend.

If there’s a selfish element there, because maybe I don’t mind her not dating anyone… I’m not going to examine that too closely. “Tell me the plan again,” I mutter, closing my eyes.

She sighs and leans in closer. “You’re the best, you know that? Okay, so I was thinking, maybe I could find a guy to play my fiancé, then my husband, just a couple of times. He’d be Canadian, of course, so when I leave Toronto, we’d regretfully decide to part ways. But it would buy me until the end of my program without Nana threatening to meddle with my grant funding.”

“You know she can’t really do that.”

“I know, but she’s a major benefactor at several Ivy League schools. What’s to stop her from making a million-dollar donation to U of T and causing problems for me?”

I frown. “I could match that.”

She laughs. “Okay, no. No. And also, the last thing we need is some crazy big-league donation battle. That would be weird.”

“This whole thing is weird.”

“I just want to be left alone. Is that so wrong?”

No. My chest squeezes tight. “Okay. You figure out what you need, then let me know.”

* * *

I give Ben a call that night.

“Did you get my sister safely back to her dorm?”

“She lives off-campus in a condo.”

“Unchaperoned?”

I laugh. “Very.”

“I don’t approve.” He huffs a sigh. “When did she grow up?”

“Somewhere around the same time you started to feel old.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, you know. About making some changes.”

“Good.”

“I’m officially in the market for a wife now.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him his entire family is crazy, but I can’t break Cara’s confidence. “I saw that coming a mile away. Are you going to do some sort of reality TV show to find one? Russian mail-order bride?”

“Tempting, but no. I’m going to try it the old-fashioned way, first.”

Okay, so maybe he’s not as crazy as his sister. “Good plan. I approve, by the way. That’s the way to do it.” Find someone that lights you up inside.

Bright eyes, soft lips.

“You should take your own advice,” Ben says.

Probably. But I’m not going to, not any time soon. No woman can hold a candle to the only one who is completely off-limits to me.