he stood in her doorway.
The urge to photograph her didn’t surprise him as much as the electricity that hung between them, barely held in check. She felt it, too. He could see it in the way her gaze darted everywhere but to his face. Her mouth opened slightly, and her hand moved to catch a strand of hair that caressed her cheek. For a long moment he simply looked at her, at slim fingers that curled behind her ear and slid down her neck to catch the point of the collar on her blouse. “Thank you for coming,” she finally said in that throaty whisper he’d heard on Bettina’s phone.
His fiancée glanced down at his jeans. Bettina accused him of being casual to the point of being threadbare. He hadn’t thought about it until he viewed himself through the eyes of this elegant woman. Maybe he could stand some upgrading. That had never mattered before. And it was too late to worry about that now.
“Well,” he finally said, “are you going to let me in or do we just stand here and stare at each other?”
She blinked and stepped back. “I’m sorry. Come in.”
He followed her, dropped his bag, and closed the door behind him, gathering control as he looked around. His photographer’s eye noted that her little house was much like a beach cottage. That surprised him. He’d expected her to live in a condo, not a wood-frame bungalow on a small side street. From where he stood in the living room, he guessed he could see most of it. There was an archway behind Anne that apparently led into a dining area with a kitchen to the right. To his left was a bedroom and a tiny sitting porch. It was warm, cozy. The walls were creamy white. Two fat couches seemed to shake hands in front of a fieldstone fireplace at the end of the room. She’d covered them in a bright turquoise and coral print. The colors of the islands.
“I didn’t really expect you to be the man in the photograph,” she said. “I hoped, but I didn’t believe you’d really come.”
“And I didn’t expect you to be a beautiful woman. I guess we’re both surprised.”
“You thought I’d be ugly?”
“You don’t want to know what I thought. Let’s just say I’m surprised you had to use an agency to find a fiancé.”
“Believe me, I didn’t want to. It was my mother’s idea.”
“Your mother?”
“My mother took it upon herself…never mind. I should never have let it happen. If we can just get through this weekend, I’ll put an end to it.” She reached into her pocket. “I have your cash.”
Mitchell took a step closer. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to pay for services in advance? After all, I might not live up to your expectations.”
“Mr. Dane, let’s get this straight right now. I just want a man who can convince my employer that he is my fiancé for two days. Are you up to the job or not?”
Oh, he was up all right, or well on the way, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. New, stiff jeans would have been welcome.
Anne didn’t move. The woman had a way of standing absolutely still, waiting, as if she were making up her mind about him. The technique probably worked well in business; it must unsettle her opponents. It sure as hell unsettled him.
“I said I’d take the job. If you still think I’m the man you want…” So much for walking away, Dane.
She ignored the want and got down to business, speaking slowly so that he’d understand. “Don’t worry. I have it all worked out. We’ll take my car and drive up to Lake Lanier—my suitcase is already in the trunk. We spend the afternoon at a friend’s cabin rehearsing. Then we drive over to Mr. Jacobs’s for the party tonight and the wedding tomorrow.” She took a long look at his duffel bag and knapsack. “You did bring a dress suit.”
“Oh, yes. I don’t think I will embarrass you.”
“Well, I don’t suppose it really matters. My associates think you’re a photographer, so they expect you to be a little…eccentric.”
He went right past eccentric. “Photographer?” Mitchell echoed, more sharply than he intended. What in hell was Bettina doing using his name and now his real-life profession? “Whose idea was that?”
“Bettina’s. It was convenient. It gave a reason for you to always be away. And I liked the idea of a man who is free to go where he wants to and gets paid for it.”
There was a tinge of yearning in her voice and he wondered if she ever let herself go. Now he leaned against the doorway, keeping far enough away to defuse the effect of whatever seemed to connect them. “What kind of assignment was I on?”
“You were in South Africa. I don’t know what you were doing there. Bettina never told me and nobody ever asked. They only wanted to know when we were getting married.”
“And you told them?” She seemed calm. She didn’t try to make him feel welcome, nor was she overtly unfriendly.
“I said we hadn’t decided. I was waiting for you to get into town.”
“Well,” he finally said, “I’m here. Do I pass?”
She blinked. “Pass?”
“Inspection. Are you satisfied with me as your lover?”
She blinked and looked quickly away. “Not my lover, my fiancé.”
“If I were really your fiancé, I’d be your lover, too. We’d be good together, Anne Harris.”
Anne trembled slightly, then jerked her cool control back into place. “Let’s get this straight—being my lover isn’t included in the job, Mr. Dane.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this is more difficult than I’d expected. You’re not just a picture now; you’re a real man. I guess I wasn’t prepared for that. Perhaps it’s not too late for me to call it off and confess the truth to Mr. Jacobs.”
Before he could speak, the phone rang. Anne answered, listened for a moment, then said, “Mother, I’ve been trying to reach you. Do you realize that your little fib to Mr. Jacobs about my nonexistent fiancé could cost me a promotion and maybe even my job?”
Anne Harris was very convincing. If this was a matchmaking attempt, Bettina had chosen the right woman. The question was, was she in on the hoax? For now, maybe the best way to handle the situation was to go along. Bettina would be surprised at how convincing he could be.
Who was he kidding? If Anne Harris wanted a fiancé, she had one. He’d play the role because he couldn’t turn away. She might not be the woman he’d loved and lost, and everything about her said hands off, but he had to know.
Mitchell wished he could hear the other side of the telephone conversation. Anne appeared to be blaming her problem on her interfering mother. He could appreciate that. Sometimes Bettina’s meddling in his personal life was just as bad. He couldn’t imagine that Anne’s employer would refuse to promote her because she was single. There had to be more to the story.
“Where are you, Mother?” she asked. “I’ve asked you to let me know when you leave town.” Then, “So you’ve been in Key West with a lovely man who paints sunsets. How nice to be able to take off on a whim. No, I did not know that the
