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  Vicky adjusted her portfolio and knocked. She was a few minutes late for their standard twice-weekly appointment to work on the magazine, so she wasn’t surprised that he barked at her to come in.

  She opened the door and stepped inside.

  Because he looked way too tired still, she kicked up her leg on the edge of his desk and noted the grind of his teeth with grim satisfaction. “Like the boots? The stiletto heels are a little much, but I managed.”

  “Your boots are fine. As is your skirt.” He barely spared either a glance, nor did he come around the desk to shut the door in case of bloodshed. Remarkable. “That slit in the side isn’t terribly appropriate for work, but since when has that stopped you?”

  She pulled down her foot. “Oopsie, I left my Miss Manners manual at home. Thank God I have you to set me straight.”

  “Speaking of setting things straight…” He folded his hands and gazed down his nose at her as if he were her professor and she were a naughty student. Which she totally could be in this getup. She even had a ruler in her portfolio. “We need to talk.”

  She sprawled in the chair across from his desk. “Yammer away.”

  “Yesterday you offered me sex,” he said, as if she’d forgotten. She certainly hadn’t tossed and turned all night thinking about just that. “Which I’m assuming you’ve reconsidered.”

  Like a jack-in-the-box, she popped up and shut the door. “Correction: I offered to act as your girlfriend for a limited-time engagement. And we both could benefit, if you feel me.”

  “I don’t want to feel you. That’s part of the issue.”

  Hmm, did he realize that his jaw was twitching? Because she certainly did. “So take one for the team.”

  More twitching. “Victoria, this isn’t a joke.”

  “Who’s laughing?” She rolled up the mass of jingling bracelets on her wrist. “Call it curiosity. We’ve been dancing around each other for so many years that maybe it’s just the next step. Besides, you’re the one who keeps bringing up the sex thing. We could pretend to be all kissy-face without screwing. That was your optional add-on.”

  His teeth ground together in a way that wouldn’t please his dentist. “We certainly could, as we’re not teenagers led around by our hormones.” His eyes glittered. “Despite that unfortunate encounter in the gazebo.”

  Vicky tried not to snarl. “Unfortunate, huh?”

  As usual, he didn’t deign to give her a response. “But playing devil’s advocate, say the worst were to happen due to spending time together or whatnot.”

  “Or whatnot.” She rolled her eyes. ”Oh God, let me go wring out my panties.”

  She’d even worn some today. She was a respectable businesswoman and all.

  “We’re not talking about grabbing a pizza. We’re talking about you and I becoming lovers. Do you understand the implications of that?”

  His exasperation almost made her laugh as she looked down at herself. She wasn’t icily gorgeous like Melly—not “perfect” by any stretch of the imagination—but was she really that repugnant to him?

  “Figures you’d clam up now.” He pulled on his perfectly knotted tie. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she made him nervous. “How long has it been for you?”

  For a moment, she didn’t get the question. She was too busy gauging if her stomach poufed out more than it had the last time she’d checked. But then…

  Whoa, he was getting personal. She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’d rather not say.”

  A half smile crossed his perfectly shaven face. She’d kind of liked him scruffy and rough-looking yesterday. “You opened this line of inquiry.”

  “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me.”

  His pause was just long enough for her to think he’d say no. Then he shrugged. “Fine. You go first.”

  “I don’t keep a tally or anything, but around ten months. I think.”

  He looked at her for an instant too long, then frowned. “You disappoint me.”

  “Quit stalling. How long for you?”

  A knock sounded at the door and Dillon craned his neck around the frame. “Hey, bro, did you finish those reports for the Carlton store yet? If not, I can handle them.” He glanced at Vicky and grinned, his blue eyes warming about fifty degrees hotter than his brother’s ever did. “Hey Vickster.”

  “I’ll e-mail you what I have so far. I had trouble getting the projections to line up.” Cory didn’t sound pleased about that fact, but when did he ever sound happy?

  “I’ll take care of it,” Dillon offered.

  Cory shoved a thick folder at his brother. “We’ll go over the numbers later. I have business with Victoria.”

  “Gotcha.” Dillon shot her a grin. “Don’t strain his brain too much, kid.”

  She grinned back and noted Cory’s sudden glacial chill. It was kinda hot how he could turn it on at the drop of a dime. “I’ll be gentle with him, don’t worry.”

  There was no missing Cory’s grim expression as Dillon shut the door behind him.

  They spent the next ninety minutes going over photos from Simply Home’s interior layouts. Vicky helped design the basic page mock-ups, then the graphic designer executed the plan. Cory usually provided input that pissed them both off.

  Today, however, he seemed to be in a conciliatory mood. Shockingly, they quickly reached a compromise and selected pictures from both Cory’s high-end design and her own country-chic choice. The accompanying article would explain how the same room could be taken from casual to sophisticated by using affordable materials and accessories found at Value Hardware.

  “So I had an idea.”

  He pretended to shudder, though she glimpsed the amusement in his eyes. “And the earth rejoiced.”

  “The Helping Hands houses would be the perfect tie-in between the company and the magazine. It’d be easier to stage them than an empty set and probably more cost-effective, too.” She propped her sketch pad against her knee and waited for his objections. They never came.

  “That’s Dillon’s area. I don’t have much to do with the charity, other than supporting it financially of course. There just aren’t enough hours.”

  “So I’ll work with Dillon.”

  His rapid head shake made her frown. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

  “Somehow I doubt it, since you hate all my ideas.” Vicky shoved the photos back into her portfolio. “My favorite was the problem you had with the window treatments.”

  “I preferred the bamboo blinds,” he said evenly.

  “I don’t tell you how to do your job,” she returned. “Stop haranguing me on how to do mine.”

  He stroked his tie and her mind shot back to their conversation yesterday—when he’d briefly stroked something else. “I have never harangued you.”

  “Says you.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.” He spread his hands, palms up. He was well-endowed hand-wise. Even his wrist, outfitted with a gold Rolex, was thick enough that she’d wondered for years what exactly he had going on downstairs. In this case, knowledge was definitely not power, because she wanted to leap across the desk and straddle his lap. “This is your area of expertise. Do as you would like, though there is one detail you’ve neglected. Since the winter issue releases before the holiday season, you might add a few festive touches, at least on the cover. Assuming it doesn’t interfere with your vision.”

  He was just baiting her, something he was superior at. But she wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with. “You got a problem with my vision, Santangelo? Come over on to this side of the desk and we can discuss it.”

  He gave her a slow, smug smile. “Retract the claws, kitten.”

  “Sorry, I forgot you don’t like physical displays. Of any sort. Minus ones under the cover of darkness, of course.” Thoughtfully, she pursed her lips. “I have to admit, I’m really starting to wonder why you can’t get a girlfriend without setting up arrangements.”

  Back to the jaw ticking. “Yo
u know how busy I am.”

  “I do. But perhaps there’s another issue. Maybe you couldn’t satisfy a woman if she drew you a map. Maybe your idea of wax play is getting freaky with crayons.” She leaned forward, making sure he got an eyeful of her cleavage in her scoop-neck top. “Come on, Cory, you can tell me. Is the problem dead wood?”

  She knew from the orgasm he’d given her the other night that it wasn’t, but taunting Cory was too much fun to miss.

  He stared at her for a long, pulsing moment, not smiling. Barely breathing. Then he rose, unfolding his long frame one delicious inch at a time. “You go too far, Victoria.” His voice was low. Hot.

  She tilted her head and batted her lashes. “So pull me back in line. If you can.”

  He reached out and for a second, she actually thought he was about to grab her hair and yank her over the desk. For nefarious or sexual purposes, she couldn’t tell.

  But she couldn’t wait to find out.

  A knock sounded at the door. As Cory’s mother popped her head in, he clenched his hand and dropped it to his side. And swore under his breath. Colorfully.

  “Vicky! I thought I heard your voice.” Corinne hurried inside the office and swept her into a hug.

  Vicky eagerly returned it. She’d adored Cory’s mom ever since Corinne had come in to assist during a few school events. She’d gravitated to her right away, probably because she hadn’t had a mom around of her own. Melly was a couple years older and seemed to take everything in stride, but Cory’s mom had helped fill the gaps for Vicky.

  Then Vicky remembered the events that had transpired since the last time she’d seen Cory’s mom. As in the bump ’n’ grind photo seen ’round the world—or at least ’round Haven. A flush crept up her cheeks despite Mrs. Santangelo’s relaxed demeanor.

  Maybe she was so relieved her son was finally getting some action, she didn’t care where or when.

  “I’ve seen some of the pictures—” oh God, here it came “—from the magazine and can’t wait to see the finished product.” As Vicky sucked in a lungful of air, Corinne cupped her cheek. “We’re so lucky to have you working with us on this project. No one’s a better designer than my girl.”

  Vicky’s throat swelled so fast she didn’t have time to stave off the surge of emotion. It also helped distract her from her lingering embarrassment. Leave it to Corinne to be able to get to her so easily. Must be a shared family skill. “Thanks. Not sure Cory feels the same,” she said with a watery laugh.

  Speaking of Cory, his eyes had gone to slits and his jawbone appeared ready to snap. Because his mother liked her so much? Or because he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands?

  Corinne frowned. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. Is it, Cory?”

  He didn’t answer, which really freaking pissed her off. He was the one who’d appeared at her door last night with his supposed solution to the picture situation, though she still wasn’t sure why he’d come up with that idea at all since he’d rebuffed her attempts to help him with his little girlfriend problem.

  Perhaps the time had come to nudge his hand.

  Forcing a smile, Vicky walked around the desk to slip an arm around Cory’s waist. He stiffened.

  She hated to lie to the woman who’d been the closest thing to a mother she’d had after her own mom had walked out on their family without warning. But if there was one thing that superseded even her love of Corinne, it was driving her son crazy. This should do it.

  “He’s so quiet because he’s not sure how to tell you about us.” Vicky hip-checked Cory hard enough to knock him off his stance. His glare didn’t exactly go miles to add veracity to her statement, but whatever. “Right, darling?”

  No response. Just a blank stare as if he scarcely recognized her, never mind claimed her as his significant other.

  They probably wouldn’t be winning any of those “best couple” radio contests anytime soon.

  “Is it true?” Corinne rushed the desk like a linebacker about to tackle. Cory somehow managed to shove additional steel supports into his spine and braced even more. “I saw the pictures in the paper, of course. Horrible paparazzi,” she added in a low voice. “But I wasn’t sure that you two were…well, pictures sometimes can be deceiving.” She paused in front of the wood monstrosity Cory called a desk. “Is that why you were so resistant when we mentioned Melinda?”

  Hurt quashed Vicky’s brief amusement. Just what she needed—the reminder that even Corinne believed Mel was a better fit for him than her. Not that she necessarily wanted him for anything other than sex—a lot of sex—but still.

  And if that was the case, why did Corinne look downright giddy now? Was she that desperate for her son to couple up with anybody?

  Hello, ego blow number 10,000. She shook it off. It wasn’t relevant. She wasn’t going to second-guess his mother’s motives or even Cory’s, for that matter. She’d agreed to do this thing and she was going for it.

  No fear had become her motto years ago out of necessity. It applied now. She was more than capable of facing whatever he threw at her and not only surviving, but thriving.

  “He’s just being coy.” Vicky pinched his butt and he jolted so violently she nearly pitched sideways. “He’s so shy about his romantic side. It can be difficult to be so sensitive. Right, bumblebee?”

  If Cory shot any more bullets at her with his eyes, she was going to be picking shrapnel out of her hair for a lifetime. “Not sure sensitive is the word I’d use, muffin.” To her shock, he cupped her ass. Hard. “But you definitely are. Or you will be, later.”

  Huh. Was that part of “handling him”? He’d said it was, but she’d been sure he was just trying to get her to back down.

  Hot wax, spankings…so much for holding hands and strolling through the falling leaves. Who needed hayrides and cups of cider? He obviously preferred autumn kinky-style.

  Ah well. She’d suffer through.

  “So you’re saying it’s true, Cory?” Cory’s mother looked between them, her smile still firmly in place. Her perceptive gray eyes never wavered as she stared her son down. “It’s real?”

  If any word could’ve cooled her jets, real was it. She was all about helping the guy with his little family issue, but she wasn’t looking to put her heart on the line. Well, any more than it already was, anyway.

  Which was not at all.

  When she would’ve slid away, Cory locked his arm around her waist. He wrapped his other hand around her chin and tilted up her face, his gaze slamming against hers for one frantic moment before his head swooped toward hers.

  Oh, shit.

  In self-defense, Vicky braced a hand against his chest. Almost of their own volition, her fingers curled into his lapel as his firm lips met hers. There was no mistaking the command in his kiss, as relatively chaste as it was, and her heart surged against the walls of her chest. In excitement or terror, she couldn’t quite tell.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, she had underestimated him.

  When he pulled back and began to speak, she could only watch his mouth move. Oh God, that. Mouth.

  “Oh, yes. She wanted me.” Wolfishly, he licked his lips. “Now she has me.”

  Chapter Four

  Night one with his pretend girlfriend and she’d already gone missing.

  In under a week, he’d gone from a relatively content single businessman to a man with a fake girlfriend, as evidenced by her disappearing act tonight.

  Where the hell was she?

  Cory glanced at his watch again. She’d called around dinnertime to say she was running late for their agreed-upon discussion about the parameters of their pseudo-relationship. He’d assumed she meant she was stuck with a client so he’d told her she could meet him at his place afterward. That had been more than six hours ago.

  After Monday’s debacle in his office with Victoria and his mother, he’d been sure they would proceed with the ruse immediately. Victoria had been adamant about wanting to pretend to be his significant other, so fine, he’d make
the best of things. After all, it had been his fault they’d gotten into the situation. If he hadn’t responded to her on the gazebo—

  Water. Bridge. Time to move on.

  She’d been all over him when his mother was there and then she’d vanished. She’d barely returned his calls all week, claiming she was busy with clients and Jill. Jill was a grown woman, surely she didn’t need to be attended to at all times? Apparently such was the nature of female friendship.

  He’d finally pinned Victoria down that afternoon at their Friday magazine meeting, where she’d acted uncharacteristically reticent. She’d barely even teased him about his starched pants or made snide comments about his too-tight tie. Instead she’d been cool and distant. When he’d inquired about her availability that night, she’d said yes with about as much enthusiasm as one did when faced with the prospect of wrangling snakes.

  Was that the problem? Did she fear he had wrangling of a much more personal nature in mind for this evening? Had his warnings about the kind of sex he enjoyed finally sneaked through and now she thought him some sort of deviant?

  He stood on his balcony and stared at the clear night sky. The early-fall chill spread goose bumps up and down his arms, but he didn’t reach for a shirt. He’d tugged on sweatpants after his shower and that was as much as he intended to put on.

  The breeze felt good on his skin. He’d just pushed himself through a workout in his gym, courtesy of his rowing machine, and the frosty air offset the burn in his muscles—and the hot shower he’d taken immediately after the session, masochist that he was.

  Now he was scoping out the stars with his binoculars because he didn’t feel like dragging out his telescope and feeling oddly like a chump who’d been stood up on a fake first date.

  He leaned on the rail and scowled. They were just pretending to date. She was just goading him with that “next step” stuff. Because there was no way, just no way, she really intended to sleep with him. Even Victoria wouldn’t take one-upmanship that far.