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He’d promised not to touch her …
David was rooted to the spot.
Naked and golden in the bath was the most glorious woman he’d ever seen. Candlelight licked lovingly at her wet skin, making him want to follow suit. Her breasts seemed to float, begging him to put his mouth on them.
Their gazes caught and held. Chelsea was so beautiful, her eyes dark and huge. “Sorry,” he said, shielding his eyes from paradise. “I should have knocked.”
He caught her movement as she dragged her knees up and covered her luscious breasts. “I thought you were in a meeting.” Water sloshed and candles flickered.
“I was supposed to be.” He hesitated. “Look, I’ll go get a drink or something. I’ll come back later.”
“No.” He heard an edge of decisiveness in her voice. “It’s okay.” Then she smiled in invitation and his body throbbed. “Care to join me…?”
About the Author
USA TODAY bestselling author NANCY WARREN lives in the Pacific Northwest where her hobbies include walking her border collie in the rain and watching romantic comedies. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas and has won numerous awards. Visit her at www.nancywarren.net.
Dear Reader,
The idea for My Fake Fiancée was inspired by an actual company where a friend of mine worked. It was a private business that had a policy of only appointing married executives to certain positions that involved a lot of entertaining. My friend at the time was single, and I thought, wouldn’t it be fun if a guy wanted to get one of these positions so badly that he was willing to have a woman pose as his fiancée?
Forced proximity is one of my favorite romantic comedy situations, and I added some spice by making the woman in question an old family friend who’d had a huge crush on the guy in school. I drew heavily on the themes of one of the all time great old movies, Sabrina, with Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart, only I took Humphrey out of the equation and imagined the William Holden character—the gorgeous bad boy who needs to grow up—as the hero.
Happy reading!
Nancy Warren
MY FAKE FIANCÉE
NANCY WARREN
For my Mom,
the best amateur caterer I know,
who taught me how to cook.
Thanks, Mom!
1
THE ELEVATOR DOORS opened like welcoming arms as David Wolfe crossed the marble floor of the office building in downtown Philadelphia. Not having to wait for an elevator during the Monday morning rush was always a good sign. It was going to be one of those great days when everything went his way.
When the doors opened again to deposit him on the twenty-first floor and the offices of Keppler, Van Horne Insurance Co., he was already moving.
Life had never been better. After six years of hard work in the prestigious family-owned-and-run firm, he’d had a few subtle hints dropped his way about a vice presidency coming vacant when Damien Macabee retired. David was so ready to be the youngest VP in the company’s history.
As he strode to his office, he greeted his assistant, “Morning, Jane.”
“Morning, David.” Jane was a middle-aged career secretary and probably the closest to a stroke of sheer luck he’d ever had in his career. They respected each other’s work ethics, operated as an efficient team and he knew that one day when he was president of Keppler, Van Horne she’d still be his right hand. A partnership like that didn’t come along very often.
“I made a couple of changes to your schedule today. The Belvedere group asked if you can make it at four instead of three, so I shuffled some things around.”
“Great, thanks.”
He scratched his nose. It was itchy with sunburn after a weekend sailing where he’d played doctor with a nurse from Boston who’d kept him too busy to think about sunscreen.
“Oh, and you had three calls from some woman named Gretchen.”
“Gretchen leave a last name?”
She smiled thinly. “I don’t think she’s interested in an insurance policy.”
“Oh, that Gretchen.” She was a flight attendant he’d had some fun with, but who clearly wanted more from the relationship than he was willing to give. “I told her not to call me at the office.” He never gave out his office number to women he hooked up with, but it wasn’t hard to track him down. A simple Google search did the trick. “If she calls again, tell her—”
“If she calls again I’ll put her through. Maybe you should tell her yourself.”
“Right. You’re right.”
“I take it you didn’t get sunburned with Gretchen.”
“No. I sailed with a woman named Claire.” He chuckled in memory. “She’s a lot of fun, in fact—”
Jane was looking over his shoulder, and suddenly interrupted, saying, “No wonder you’re going to marry her. You two are perfect for each other.”
If Jane was talking about his fiancée, it could only mean one thing, which was confirmed when an older man’s voice hailed him. “Ah, David. Do you have a minute?”
He turned to greet the president and CEO of the company, Piers Van Horne. “Sure, Piers. Come on in.”
“You’re sunburned,” the older man remarked. “Where were you and your fiancée off to this weekend?”
David felt Jane’s eyes burning into his back like twin laser beams of disapproval. Sure, it wasn’t a good idea to tell lies—even little white ones—to the boss, but David was confident his reasoning was sound.
“A little sailing off Cape Cod. The weather was gorgeous.”
He led his boss and the CEO of the company into his office, where they settled around the small conference table. David kept his space uncluttered. The only personal touches were his framed MBA degree, his current insurance industry designations and on his desk a photo of him hugging a dark-haired woman. You could only see the back of her head, but David was laughing into the camera and they were clearly having a good time.
Piers gestured to the photograph. “How’s that lovely girl of yours?”
David had been talking about his fiancée
