A Christmas Proposition

“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 an “I do” kiss and sharing a room with him if she could barely talk to him when they were alone?

And it wouldn’t end in Harlington.

No, this decision would follow her home. Follow her around until she and Emmett were unmarried. And what would they do until then?

She didn’t want to think about it. She opened her laptop and started typing a list of to-dos for her wedding. After a few minutes of crafting a list, she realized that even the basics were going to take plenty of time and energy and effort.

In order to pull off a wedding as well as a successful charity dinner, she would have to either make a clone of herself or do some delegating. And there was only one other person to delegate to.

That person strode back into the room with a rolled sleeping bag tucked under his arm. He hadn’t bothered with his coat for the quick jaunt outside, so his face and nose were red even from the brief exposure. Before he dropped the bag, she made her request.

“I need your help with a few things while I’m here.” Realizing that sounded demanding, she added, “If you can take the time away from your job.”

“You are my job while I’m here.” He crossed the room and dumped the sleeping bag onto the love seat.

It was easier for her to admit this next part while looking at his back...

“One more thing...” He turned before she could finish and she gulped, a dry sound that caused her throat to click. “I need to tell you the truth about why we’re here.”

Seven (#u7f37cb16-ca47-5398-8f88-56c798742046)

“You mean there’s more to it than cornering me into matrimony and eating a fancy dinner with your fancy friends?”

But that last bit didn’t make much sense, did it? Not now that they were in Harlington, where the “fanciest” restaurant in town was a Chili’s.

“You’re joking with me. That’s new. Usually you’re frowning at me.” Her smile was tentative. She leaned back on the bed, the pair of leggings making her slim legs look a mile long and the oversize pink sweater hiding her petite curves. She looked comfortable and relaxed, which was as crazy as the fact that he felt the same way.

Stefanie didn’t like him—he’d have lost a bet that she’d smile at him let alone propose to him even if it were up to them to repopulate the planet. There were a million strings attached to the proposal, and it was an arrangement for the greater good, but...shouldn’t they both be more on edge?

She picked at a thread on the quilt rather than look up at him. “Does this mean we’re becoming friendly instead of mortal enemies? That someday I could be more than a job to you?”

Ah, hell. Surely she didn’t think that. He didn’t consider her an enemy—he liked her.

He cared about her safety.

And about her as a person.

“I only ask because we need to make this marriage look real if we go forward. How good of an actor are you?”

His face scrunched at the question.

“Can you hold my hand in public? Open a door for me? Be a gentleman? I don’t think the public would believe I’d fall for someone who didn’t do those things.”

“Who cares what the public thinks?” he barked, stung at her accusing him of not knowing how to treat a woman. He was accustomed to protecting—to watching other people’s backs. That was why he brought up the rear whenever they walked anywhere together.

“Do it for Chase if you can’t do it for me.” Hurt flooded her eyes.

Did she really believe he found her so unsavory? Emmett wouldn’t stoop to defend himself aloud, but his thoughts went there. He was doing this for her. So that she could come out here to...do whatever she was doing.

“You owe me the truth,” he reminded her. But when she took a breath, presumably to tell him, he held up a hand. “Not here, though. I’m hungry.”

Stefanie had never set foot inside a Chili’s restaurant until today. It wasn’t that she was too good for a burger and fries; it was that there wasn’t much of an opportunity to go to a chain when there were hundreds of other unique restaurants to choose from. Any man she’d dated had endeavored to impress her with meals that had cost hundreds of dollars.

Emmett didn’t apologize for choosing a restaurant that had nary a word of French on the menu. She appreciated being treated as an equal and not catered to like some spoiled rich girl. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was stubborn or because he knew her better than anyone else, but the latter seemed impossible. They barely knew each other at all.

Once they were settled in with their drinks—wine for her and beer for him—and a bowl of warm tortilla chips and a dish of salsa, Emmett gestured with a chip for her to speak. “Go.”