“None of your business.”
“It is when you’re trying to talk me into bed.”
He hesitated and then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t count or you can’t count that high?”
His chin jutted forward. “How many men have you slept with?”
Her shameful past crept over her. She’d wasted her youth looking for ways to flout her father’s iron-fist authority, and she wasn’t proud of that. She’d been a rebel, but she’d reformed. She’d practically become a nun. “Hey, if you don’t have to answer then neither do I.”
“What am I supposed to do for…relief?”
A slideshow flashed in her mind of ten different ways she could give him sexual relief, but she shut it down. The heat flushing her skin wasn’t as easy to vanquish. “That depends on whether you’re right-or left-handed.”
“And you?”
Her cheeks ignited. “I can take care of myself.”
His jaw muscles bunched as if he were gritting his teeth. He paced to the window, paused and then turned. “Fine. I accept your terms. Do you have a passport?”
For a moment she was too stunned to speak. “Yes. Why?”
“I’ll have Brandon make the arrangements. He and Cassie can set up a quick, quiet Bahamas wedding. Does that suit you? Or do you need a circus?”
Cassie…it took a moment for Lauryn to place the name. Cassie Sinclair had been John Garrison’s secret lovechild from an extramarital affair. Or so the papers reported. Even though Lauryn had never met the woman, she felt a kinship with her. Another outsider. But at least Cassie had known who her parents were. Cassie currently owned and managed the Garrison Grand-Bahamas and had recently hooked up with Brandon Washington, Adam’s attorney—if the club’s scuttlebutt was to be believed.
“I don’t want a big wedding. But why the Bahamas?”
“If we get married in Miami my family would expect to be invited and there’s a good chance there would be a media blitz.”
Avoiding both the media and the Garrison family appealed. “Something quiet in the Bahamas is fine. I’ve never been there.”
“We’ll stay a few days and call it a honeymoon.”
Honeymoon? “I won’t change my mind about the sex.”
“Lauryn, it’s imperative we act like a couple who’s fallen in love and eloped. If this marriage doesn’t look real it’ll do me no good. We’ll have a honeymoon.”
“The business council nomination is that important to you?”
Again he hesitated. “It’s what the nomination represents that’s important.”
“And that is?”
“Personal.” He glanced at his watch. “If we leave now we have time to swing by the club and pick up the agreements.”
Personal.
Secrets weren’t the best way to start a marriage—temporary or otherwise. But she’d let him get away with this one because she had a few of her own.
Some things were too shameful to share.
“You didn’t have to drive me home,” Lauryn said as Adam turned his BMW into her apartment complex.
“I told you I’m not letting you take the bus at this time of night.”
“I always use the bus.”
“Not anymore. My fiancée would never use public transportation.”
Fiancée. She gulped down her rising panic. Her last marriage had been a horrific mistake. Would this one be better or worse since love wasn’t involved?
“Your fiancée can’t afford valet parking or dollar-an-hour parking meters.”
“With the money you’re about to receive that’s going to change.”
As bad luck would have it, one of the few visitors’ parking spaces opened up as he turned into the lot. He pulled between the white lines, killed the engine and unlocked the doors.
She needed to get away from Adam, needed to rethink this crazy scheme and make sure there wasn’t another way to accomplish her goal.
Admit it. There is no other way. You’ve pursued every other avenue. This is your best chance to uncover the truth.
Clutching her purse and the file containing the prenuptial agreement and marriage contract, she sprang from the car before he could circle to her side. “You don’t need to walk me to the door. The area is well-lit and safe.”
He grasped her elbow in a warm, firm grip. Even though he’d touched her dozens of times tonight her breath still caught on contact. “Which way to the elevators?”
He obviously planned to ignore what she’d said.
“There are no elevators. I’m on the third floor.”
He swept his free hand toward the stairwell.
Reluctantly, Lauryn led the way, but even with her “leading” he was right beside her, matching his steps to hers. She didn’t want him in her apartment. Not that there was anything wrong with the tiny, tidy space, but after seeing the luxury to which he was accustomed, her place felt dinky and inadequate. The Art Deco building had been renovated, but with white-collar instead of wealthy tenants in mind.
She hiked the stairs with him by her side, unlocked the door and entered. A quick glance revealed she hadn’t left anything lying around that she didn’t want him to see—like the thick folder she’d compiled on her mother. Or the thinner one on Adam and his business clearly marked with his name on the tab.
She faced him with the marriage file clutched to her chest. “I’m in. Safe and sound. Thanks for taking me to the Ainsleys’ tonight and for showing me your house.”
He stepped forward, forcing her to shuffle hastily out of the way. With his eyes sweeping her space, the tiny kitchenette to the left, the sitting room in front of him, the doors leading to the small bedroom and minuscule bathroom, he shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“What are you doing?”
“Making myself comfortable.”
“You don’t have to stay. I’ll look these over and bring them to work with me in the morning.” She remained by the open door, hoping he’d take the hint, get his coat and leave.
Instead, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up one shirtsleeve and then the other, revealing hair-dusted forearms. “I’ll go over the documents with you.”
“No need. If I have
