Marry Me, Major. Merline Lovelace

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of her lips, “doesn’t hold a high opinion of single, working women attempting to acquire a ready-made family.”

      “Which is where I come in,” Ben drawled, enlightened.

      “Right.” Her eyes were dark pools in the flickering light. “I don’t want a husband, but I need one. Temporarily.”

      “I guess I can see that. But why me, for God’s sake? We barely know each other. Surely you have better candidates to pick from.”

      “No, you’re perfect.”

      He gave a snort of laughter. “I must have performed better in Vegas than I remember.”

      The quip didn’t raise an answering laugh, and her total lack of response told him she really meant this absurd proposition.

      “I’ll admit the sex was pretty good...” she said with a shrug.

      “Thanks.”

      “Okay, extremely good. But I’m going to be up-front with you. Sex can’t play in any deal we work out. Our marriage has to be in name only. I can’t risk getting emotionally involved. Not with Maria to consider. And you don’t want any entanglements. You made that clear in Vegas.”

      Damn! He must’ve come on like a complete jerk. At least he hadn’t lied to her. Still, her blunt assertion that all he’d been interested in was getting her horizontal hit too close to the mark.

      “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he countered drily, “but sex was the only thing we had in common in Vegas. With that off the table, I’m having a little trouble seeing why you think I’m the perfect choice.”

      “Because you’re military. That’s a plus in this city. With such a large percentage of the population either working on or associated with the base, Albuquerque is nothing if not pro military. A husband in uniform has got to play in my favor with the judge.”

      She hunched sideways, her shoulder wedged against the door and her face dead serious in the dim light.

      “As an added bonus, you’re Special Ops. That means you’re gone more than you’re home. Your absence is a built-in excuse if the court orders an unscheduled home visit and finds no husband in residence.”

      “Convenient,” he drawled.

      “Yes, it is.” She must have sensed she hadn’t convinced him. Her voice took on an urgent note. “I won’t make any demands on you, Kincaid, or tie you down. I promise! And you’ll be helping a little girl who’s lost almost her entire world.”

      Still Ben hesitated. The scheme edged too close to fraud in his mind. He was tossing possible legal ramifications around in his mind when she fumbled her phone out of the little purse slung over one shoulder.

      “Here.” She opened the phone and jabbed the photo icon. “This is Maria.”

      The lit screen displayed a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl with an impish smile and a doll cuddled up to her cheek.

      “She’s a great kid. And really smart. She downloads a new book from the library every week. And...” She broke off, her voice thickening. “She helps in my business. I use her to model my line of kids’ clothing.”

      When she feathered a finger over the sparkly red heart on the girl’s T-shirt, Ben caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She blinked them away and scrolled to another photo.

      “This is my sister, after her loving husband lit into her about the mounting medical bills.”

      The face in this photo was older, painfully gaunt, and sporting a vicious black eye.

      “That slime is capable of doing the same—or worse—to his daughter,” Alex said, her voice low and vibrating. “Which is why I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep him away from her.”

      She clicked the phone off, shoved it in her purse and locked her gaze on Ben’s face. “So will you? Marry me?”

      She’d played him. Ben knew it. She’d shown him those pictures, hoping they would kick his protective instincts into high gear. Counting on it!

      No matter. The ends in this case appeared to justify the means.

      “Yeah, I will.”

      She blew out a long breath. “Thank y—”

      “On two conditions.”

      Her face closed in, turned wary. “Which are?”

      “First, if you mention paying me again, the deal’s off. No way I’m going to take money you’ll probably need for the legal battles still ahead.”

      She didn’t try to hide her relief. “I can live with that. Second?”

      “If we’re going to do this, we have to do it tomorrow.”

      “Tomorrow! Why?”

      “Remember those pluses you just enumerated? Particularly the one about me being gone more than I’m home? My unit’s heading across the pond. We’re going wheels up at o-dark-thirty Monday morning.”

      “But tomorrow’s Sunday! The country clerk’s office won’t be open to issue a license.”

      “Then I guess we’d better make a quick trip to the scene of the crime.” He had to grin at her blank look. “Vegas, sweetheart. Vegas. I’ll take care of the details. Just give me your address, phone number and email. I’ll let you know what time I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

      * * *

      Alex exited the Cactus Café’s dusty parking lot and drove home in a swirl of emotions. This was what she wanted. This was the scheme she’d paid her high-priced lawyer to help her devise. It didn’t do a bit of good to remind herself that she’d resisted putting that scheme into play until she’d discovered this year’s Badger Bash would take place at the Cactus Café.

      She’d known for months that Major Ben Kincaid was stationed right here, in Albuquerque, at the vast, sprawling military installation dominating the south part of the city. Kirtland Air Force Base was home to a dozen or more military units, including the premier training squadron for Special Ops aircrews and pararescue personnel. It hadn’t taken much sleuthing to confirm he was one of the instructors assigned to the 58th Special Operations Wing.

      Alex hadn’t acted on that knowledge, however, as much as she’d wanted to. Her life was complicated enough with her rapidly expanding business, taking care of Maria, and trying to ramrod an adoption through a confusing and complicated legal system.

      Then Eddie Musgrove, damn his putrid soul, had appeared in court. In restraints and an orange prison jumpsuit, no less. Despite the fact that he was a deadbeat dad and convicted felon, he’d convinced the doddering, dyspeptic, misogynistic judge that a single working woman wasn’t a suitable parent for his daughter. He’d also convinced the judge that the photo of his wife with that black eye was a result of a misunderstanding. He’d never laid another hand on her, or so much as touched his daughter in anger.

      Furious and more than a little desperate, Alex had brainstormed the

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