of one of her boneheaded exes’ beds.
Emmett couldn’t stomach the idea of her stooping to offer herself to another man who likely had his sights set on the Ferguson fortune. Not when Emmett himself was perfectly able to fill the role of temporary husband—and would sooner die than be compensated for the task.
He’d slid that band onto Stefanie’s finger in the jewelry store, the tale of the ring’s past eating into his soul. What he hadn’t been able to deny was his desire to protect her at all costs. The rest of the Fergusons weren’t going to approve, but Emmett didn’t care. Stefanie needed him, and in the same way he’d been protecting the Ferguson family since Chase hired Emmett onto the security team, he’d protect Stef now. She didn’t need him to leap in front of a bullet. She needed him to commit to a vow that was temporary for both of them.
He could hardly believe he’d let her talk him into it.
“There it is.” She pointed out the window at a tall Victorian home. The painted wood siding was slate with brick red shutters. The matching sign was dusted with a thin layer of snow and the wood-carved lettering read Lawson Bed and Breakfast. “It’s as pretty as the online photos.”
It was a regal house in an older neighborhood of Harlington, probably from before the oil wells dried up, back when the residents believed it to be a forever home. It was impressive that it’d been kept up. He pulled down the driveway and into a parking area with four spots. Three of which were taken.
“Margaret Lawson runs the B and B,” Stef said as they walked to the front door. She rang the buzzer. “Her son will be officiating our wedding. We’ll have to share a room, I’m afraid. Otherwise, it’d look weird.”
“Gee, I’d hate to look weird.” He caught sight of the engagement ring when she tugged off one glove, then the next. It was odd seeing it there—the ring he’d put there. It filled him with a propriety he had no right to feel. As if she were his to care for and watch over.
A cheery redhead answered the door. “You must be Stefanie. And this is your...”
“Emmett Keaton.” He thrust a hand forward in introduction.
“Nice to meet you. Your room is ready whenever you are.”
“Is there a couch or extra bed in our room?” he blurted. When Margaret’s smile vanished, he covered with “I toss and turn. Wouldn’t want my future missus to lose any beauty sleep.”
The older woman glanced from Emmett to Stefanie, who was regarding him like she wanted to strangle him.
“There’s a love seat,” Margaret answered. “A rather small one.”
“We’ll make do. Thank you, Margaret,” Stef said. “Honey, won’t you grab the luggage?”
He could take a hint. He excused himself to unload the SUV as Stefanie followed their hostess into the house.
Granted, this was her idea, but could Emmett at least appear to like her? First, he argued that she was insane for suggesting a marriage of convenience, then he asked the owner of the B and B for separate sleeping accommodations. At least he’d been game for the ring buying or else she would have developed a complex.
He stomped into the room in heavy boots and unloaded their luggage—several bags for her and one duffel bag for him.
“Do you have a suit and tie in there?” she asked.
“I have what you see me wearing in there.” He unshouldered his coat to reveal his white-shirt-black-pants combo. His broad frame filled the room—which was small by anyone’s definition of the word. Having him in it shrank it to cracker-box size.
She tapped a key on her laptop, having extracted the computer from her bag first. “I’ll look into tux rental.”
“What’s it matter?”
From her cross-legged seat on the center of the bed, she slapped the laptop closed. In a voice low but firm, she told him exactly why it mattered.
“This isn’t going to work unless you pretend to at least like me. I’ve been doing a good job of cordiality but you are failing with a capital F. Margaret patted me on the arm after leading me up here and assured me men always behaved strangely before a wedding and not to take what you said to heart!”
“I don’t see how that is any of her business.”
“I don’t see how you’re missing the point I’m so clearly conveying,” she snapped. Closing her eyes, she pulled in a deep breath. Serenity now! “We need everyone to buy into the farce or else it’ll leak that this is fake, which will give Blake even more ammunition and ruin my reputation.”
“What do you suggest I do, Stef? Follow you around like a puppy? Hold your hand? Nuzzle your neck?” he bit out.
The idea of Emmett holding her close and nuzzling her anything had her growing warm—and not in a good way. She’d obligated him enough. She couldn’t ask that he force a reaction he wasn’t comfortable with. That would be sexual harassment.
“Of course not.” She craned her chin as he stepped closer to the bed.
He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her, his weighty presence stifling and strangely sensual. Flummoxed by her reaction to him, she changed the subject.
“I have errands to run over the next couple of days. Wedding dress and shoe shopping.”
She also needed to go to the site of the charity dinner and make sure everything was coming along as planned. Caterers would be delivering tables and chairs, and decorating no fewer than three Christmas trees. Not to mention that the volunteers from the community church would be wrapping presents for the invited families.
“I’ll need you to drive me.” She half expected resistance but Emmett nodded easily. “I won’t make you wear a tux.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
He eyed the bed where she was sitting, legs folded pretzel-style in front of her. Then he sent a glance at the diminutive love seat on the other side of the room.
“You can have the bed,” she told him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Nice try.” He grinned, an almost jovial light in his eyes. It faded as fast as it appeared, but damn, what she wouldn’t give to see it again. That smile had transformed his entire face. “I’ll take the floor.”
“It’s cold down there.”
“I’ll live.” He walked to the door and when she asked where he was going, he turned to answer her, his body taking up most of the doorway. “I have a sleeping bag in the SUV, Stef. Stop worrying about me, yeah?”
Then he patted the doorway and was off.
She wasn’t worrying about him, but she was trying to accommodate him. Clearly, he was uncomfortable, and now that they were to be wedded she was feeling equally awkward about their suddenly intimate situation. How was she going to manage
