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WHEN I WALK INTO AN Atlanta coffee shop the following day and see the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, I figure that’s got to be Damian.
Aurora from Companions for Hire showed me pictures of him when we discussed my needs. Tall and well-built with broad shoulders, long legs, and lean hips. Dark hair. Striking blue-green eyes. The perfectly chiseled features of a model for upscale cologne or luxury cars. The pictures were great, but also rather unreal. I could aesthetically see the man is handsome, but he didn’t really do it for me.
And that’s fine. I’m not looking for a guy who does it for me. I just want a man who will suit my practical needs. The truth is, until this moment, I was taking some comfort in the fact that this man is attractive but not likely to attract me.
I was wrong. Holy hell, I was wrong.
He looks like a real person as he’s sitting there in a corner table. (Despite the fact that the place is crowded on a Sunday afternoon, he’s somehow managed to snag the best seat.) He’s dressed simply in jeans and a black crewneck, and he’s focused down on his phone. He’s relaxed. Reading. He lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, and the move highlights the well-defined muscles in his arm.
And my whole body wakes up. My eyes. My mouth. My lungs. The blood in my veins. The female parts between my legs that really shouldn’t be this awake in the middle of a coffee shop.
Shit.
What the hell?
I wouldn’t have picked out this guy if I’d known he could make a girl feel like this from nothing more than an initial glance across a crowded room. I thought he was too perfect to be sexy to me.
I’m standing there like a dope, clutching the strap to my leather bag, when he glances up and sees me. I’m not sure why he knows I’m the person he’s supposed to meet. Yes, I’m staring at him dazedly, but a guy this hot must get that regularly.
He knows it’s me though. He stands up with a smile.
It takes a couple of seconds for my body to obey my mind, but I manage to walk over to his table.
“Melody Clarke?” he says in a pleasantly husky baritone.
“Yep. That’s me.” I gesture away the hand he’s extended. I’m not a hand-shaker, and I’m definitely not going to risk touching this guy. I give him a little wave instead as I take the chair opposite his. “You’re Damian Winters?”
“Yes.” He’s sitting down too. Some men think it’s rude that I won’t shake their hands, but his eyebrows are arched, and one corner of his mouth gives a little twitch, like he might be amused. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I feel breathless and flushed, which isn’t at all like me. I’m well-known for being straightforward and unflappable. So I jump past preliminaries and get right down to business. “Aurora told me all about you. She said you would suit my needs perfectly.”
“I hope so. I’m more than willing to give it a try.” His eyes are scanning my face and occasionally dropping down to my body. I can’t tell from his expression what he thinks of my appearance.
Everything about me is medium. It always has been. I didn’t dress up for this meeting, so I’m wearing black yoga pants, a fitted T-shirt, and a gray zip-up hoodie, which is the kind of outfit I pretty much live in. My brown hair (medium length) is pulled back in a low ponytail. I’m not wearing any makeup.
If he was hoping for a beauty queen or a sex goddess, he’s going to be disappointed.
I remind myself he’s probably not hoping for anything but to get paid at the end of his job, and I press on. “Okay. Here’s what I need.”
His eyebrows are dark and just a little thicker than they should be. I notice it because it’s one of the few parts of his body I can see that aren’t perfect. They arch up again, as if my no-nonsense style surprises and amuses him. “I’m listening.”
“I need someone to act like my husband for six months. I’m sure Aurora has told you. We don’t actually have to get married. It’s not going to matter, since no one is likely to check into marriage registrations. You just need to pretend to be my husband on the weekends when we go up to Charleston, West Virginia and visit my mom and her new husband’s family. She’s got a bunch of events planned—showers and parties and such. And sometimes we’ll just go to visit. Then the wedding of course. That’s in four months. And I figure we better keep it up for a couple of months after that, although once they’re married there won’t be any more events."
Damian nods. “Okay. That sounds easy enough. Aurora said you had a tricky family issue. Do you mind if I ask what it is? Why do you need a husband so much you’re willing to pay for one?”
It’s a perfectly natural question. Anyone would ask it. And there’s nothing rude or intrusive about his tone or expression. But I feel my defenses rising anyway. I’m a private person, and this man is a stranger. “It’s complicated.”
His eyebrows lifted even higher, and his eyes drop. “Okay.”
I’m not sure why, but his mild response makes me feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him. It’s very annoying, and the discomfort is not like me at all. “It’s just that my mom’s new husband is very... traditional. Opinionated. And kind of manipulative, I guess. His granddaughters told me that he’s got a bad habit of putting pressure on people. To get married.”
“I’d guess there are a lot of people out there still like that. Why does it matter?”
“It matters because my mom is happy. Really happy. And she’s never really been happy before. If there’s conflict between me and Pop—that’s what everyone calls her fiancé—then she’s not going to stay happy. So I thought...” I shake my head and stare down at the table. “Maybe it’s stupid. It probably is. But I thought if I was already married, then it wouldn’t be an issue at all. He wouldn’t try to pressure me. My mom wouldn’t be caught in the middle. It would fix things. I need her to be happy.”
I’m not sure how these words are coming out of my mouth. I never talk like this to strangers. I barely talk this way to my best friends or my therapist.
Damian seems to be listening. And thinking about what I say. “All right. That makes sense. It’s a pretty big investment though. Don’t you have a friend who could pretend to be your husband for a while?”
I shake my head. “Most of my friends are online. And the ones I do have aren’t men. Except for Steve. My business partner. And asking him to do something like that would be way too awkward. I’d much rather it be a stranger, so things don’t get messy.”
“Messy?”
“You know. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Emotionally tangled. I’m not into that kind of thing.”
He gives a soft huff. I’m not sure what it means. “Okay. Got it. No messy emotions.”
I feel another flush for no good reason. “I’m not saying anything is wrong with it. You can have messy emotions if you want. I just don’t see any reason for this to get messy. That’s why I wanted to just hire someone.”
“I understand. So do you just want me to spend the weekends with you? I’d understood it was a full-time commitment for six months.”
My face twists as I go back to a question I’ve been stewing over for days now. “Yeah, I don’t know. The only thing I really need is the weekends, but I’m worried that if we’re supposed to be married, it better look like we’re married here in Atlanta too. Just in case Pop or his family comes into town or they know someone here who might question the arrangement.”
Damian doesn’t appear surprised or uncomfortable about this idea. “That’s what I figured. I’m not opposed to living with you for the job, as long as I have my own room and bathroom, and I have enough free time to get my own work done.”
“Oh you’d have plenty of time. Monday through Friday, you wouldn’t have to do anything for me. And you’d have plenty of privacy. I’ve got a guest suite in my place that never gets used. If it suits you, you could have it. That way no one would question why we’re supposed to be married but not living together.” I’m relieved that he’s acting so nonchalant about the whole thing. Maybe he’s had other jobs even stranger than this one.
“All right. I’d have absolutely no problems with that.”
I look at him for a moment, once again feeling that wave of attraction that rocks me to my bones.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
“No. No.” There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him that I’m currently fighting the impulse to reach over and tear off his clothes. “It’s all good. So you think you want to do this?”
“You’re still willing to pay the price Aurora quoted?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Then I’m in.”
“Okay. Good.”
“Good.” His eyes are almost unreal. A vivid turquoise color that’s quite unnerving.
I glance away from him, up toward the counter. “Now that we got that taken care of, I might go get some coffee.”
“Oh, I’ll get it for you.” He stands up. “I should have asked you before. What would you like?”
“Just black. Dark roast. But I can—” Before I can finish my sentence, he’s already heading up toward the counter.
I watch him walk away—the way his jeans mold the tight curve of his ass—and then I force myself to turn back around.
It’s fine. It’s all fine. Damian seems professional and relatively low maintenance. More intelligent than I was expecting from him. Yes, he’s too hot for my comfort, but I can deal with that. I’ll probably get used to it fairly quickly. I’ve got a perfectly healthy sex drive, but I’ve never been unduly bothered by random impulses in the past.
My current state of mind is probably because I’m not used to being this close to a man so good-looking.
Otherwise, Damian exactly suits my needs. This is going to work out fine.
He returns a few minutes later with my coffee. As he slides into his chair, he smiles at me.
Damn it. Every nerve in my body zaps into life again.
“What’s the matter?” he asks with a frown, evidently seeing something in my expression.
“Nothing. Really. Just do you have to be so good-looking?”
He blinks. “Uh...”
“I know. It’s not your fault. And you can’t do anything about how you look. It’s just kind of distracting.”
His eyes narrow, scanning my face, but his mouth twitches up slightly. “And you don’t like being distracted that way?”
“No. I usually don’t have any problems with that kind of thing.” I’m scowling now, since it really is quite annoying that I’m finding him so obnoxiously sexy. “Can’t you like put on some glasses or something to dampen the hotness a little?”
He gives another soft huff. This one shakes his shoulders slightly. “In my experience, glasses don’t do anything to keep someone from being hot.”
“I guess. But maybe it’s worth a try.”
He’s trying not to smile. I can see it on his face. He quietly reaches down to his computer bag and pulls out a small case. He takes glasses out of it and puts them on.
I stare at him for a minute. Now he looks handsome and sexy and incredibly smart. I slump and mutter, “Damn it. That didn’t help at all.”
***
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