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  “Better hurry. It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

  Her mind formed an image of him joining her in the shower, running his big hands over her soapy, naked body. Stop it, Andrea. “I just woke up. Can you watch TV or something to give me a head start?”

  “Sure. Is thirty minutes enough?” he asked.

  With one last glance at his butt, she scurried to the stairs. “Thirty I can manage,” she called out, jogging up the steps.

  “What do you like in your omelet?” he asked. “I’ve got cheese, onion, tomatoes, bell peppers, mushrooms, broccoli, ham, chicken, and sausage.”

  She leaned over the railing from the second-floor that looked over the family room next to the kitchen. Though she couldn’t see him below her, she knew he’d hear her. A man like him in the kitchen could make her burnt toast and cold coffee, and she would barely notice. “I’m not picky. Whatever you make will be fine.”

  After washing her hair and shaving, she brushed her teeth, blew her hair mostly dry, and dressed in a lavender, green, and white tie-dyed, lacy sun dress, whose princess seams flattered her figure. She inspected herself in the mirror, making sure her panty line didn’t show. After smearing cherry blossom-scented lotion on her arms and legs, she swiped on some mascara and headed downstairs, hoping to see approval in his eyes.

  Blake looked up at her approach and smiled. The way his gaze caressed her body quickened Andrea’s pulse. “Perfect timing.” He hurried to the table and pulled a chair out for her. “Madame.”

  Two place settings had been prepared at the round table side by side, each with shiny silver, a white plate, paper napkin, and a sweating glass of orange juice. A single white rose stood in a clear vase, its petals directed at one of the plates. She leaned over to smell the rose, closing her eyes to enjoy it more, before sitting. “It’s lovely. You really didn’t have to make such a fuss.”

  He leaned down and kissed the butterfly tattoo on top of her shoulder, sending a wave of warmth rippling across her skin. “It was my pleasure.” Blake returned to the stove and picked up a skillet. “Great dress, by the way.”

  “It’s Sarah’s.”

  “And it suits you.” He scooped the omelet onto her plate and returned with the empty skillet to the stove. “Love the tat. Got any others?”

  “Not yet, but I’m thinking of getting another. Do you have any?”

  He winked at her as he slid another omelet onto his own plate. “You’ll have to discover the answer to that yourself. Does the wedding dress cover it up?”

  She hadn’t thought to ask Sarah whether her gown was sleeveless. “I’m supposed to go in for a fitting adjustment this afternoon, so I’ll find out then. If it doesn’t, I’ll use makeup to cover the tat.” If push came to shove, she’d swing by a theatrical makeup supply store. That stuff didn’t come off with a mere touch.

  “Where’s the fitting?” He brought a bowl of steaming hot potatoes to the table, along with a plate of toasted English muffins, took a seat beside her, and opened his napkin.

  “I’m not sure. I left my phone upstairs, but the details are on the calendar app. Blake, this looks terrific. Thank you.”

  “Enjoy,” he said.

  The breakfast was delicious—the sausage and cheese omelet cooked to perfection, with a hint of Southwestern flavor. It was big, though, and she was satisfied before finishing half. “I hope you don’t mind if I save the other half for tomorrow. I don’t want to stuff myself and feel miserable the rest of the day.”

  He pushed his empty plate a couple of inches away. “Not at all. I brought a couple of blueberry muffins and some fruit, too, in case you need a snack.”

  She cocked her head and studied him as he downed the last of his OJ, trying to reconcile his thoughtfulness with his good looks and wealth. “That was really sweet of you.”

  “Gotta take care of my bride,” he said with a wink. “I talked to Sarah last night, by the way.”

  “Oh, good. Is everything still okay as far as, you know, the wedding and my part in it?”

  “It’s still on, if that’s what you mean. I brought some papers I need you to sign.”

  “What kind of papers?” She sipped her juice to hide her nervousness. She was already deep enough in these people’s private affairs; getting even more involved wasn’t something she cared to consider. It was probably just Monica’s paranoia getting to her.

  “A lot of surprises have been sprung on me in the last twelve hours. Sarah never disclosed her sexual orientation to me, which is grounds for me to ask for my engagement ring back. She also plans to divorce me as soon as the contract between our two parents is finalized.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry,” Andrea said. It was cruel and selfish of her, but she couldn’t help feeling glad. That meant Blake would be free to find a woman who could appreciate his manly appeal.

  “When I make a commitment, I honor it. I had every intention of trying my best to make the marriage work, to raise a family with her. Now that I know she’s only in it for the money, I woke my lawyer this morning to add an amendment to our existing prenuptial agreement.”

  She looked at him with suspicion. “What amendment?”

  “For a minimum of five years, excluding separation and the time between serving divorce papers and finalizing the divorce, she’s got to live with me as my wife and stay loyal. No lover on the side.”

  Her heart sank, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she should care. “That means no lover on the side for you too, right?” Though Sarah had given her permission to sleep with him, agreeing to his amendment would disallow it. “I mean, it’s only fair.”

  He cocked his head and regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re right. We can write that in.”

  Despite what she’d told him about sleeping with him, she wanted to leave her options open. “Maybe we could specify that the no-lover clause should start after the honeymoon.”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “Why would she agree to this if she’s already planning to divorce you?”

  “Because if she adheres to the letter of the agreement, I’ll donate five million bucks to The Lighthouse on each of our wedding anniversaries for five years.”

  Twenty-five million dollars! Knowing how important The Lighthouse was to Sarah, it was definitely worth considering. “Wow, that’s a lot of money.”

  “Its operating budget is about one-point-five million per year over what it brings in from outside donations, so she’d have a surplus to save.”

  That still meant staying married to a man she didn’t love. “Won’t that just delay the inevitable?”

  “Yeah, but by then, we might have a couple of kids. She gets the money she wants, and I get the family I want. She could fund The Lighthouse and won’t be under her father’s thumb—if she doesn’t dump me as soon as the business deal is finalized. My goal is to tempt her into staying with me and trying to make the marriage work.”

  Was Sarah the kind of woman who would marry a man she didn’t love for money? Andrea nearly laughed out loud at herself. Why not? She was already paying another woman to do it for her. “In California, she’s entitled to half of what you earn during your marriage, isn’t she? She’d walk away with more than the twenty-five million after five years.”

  “Yes, but I’m also entitled to half of what she earns, and she’s getting a fifty-million-dollar wedding gift from her father once we’re married.”

  Andrea thought Sarah had told her it was ten million. Would she have lied to make her offer to Andrea seem more generous than it was?

  “When she divorces me,” Blake said, “whether that’s now or five years from now, legally, she has to split that with me. It would be more to her benefit to stay with me than to dump me. After five years of marriage, she’ll break even. If she stays married to me for ten years, I won’t ask for my half of that wedding gift.”

  “I see. It sounds fair, but I should talk to Sarah before I sign anything.”
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  “You have power of attorney in all matters regarding her marriage to me, right?” When she nodded, he said, “And you just said it’s fair. She entrusted you with the power to exercise your own moral discretion in this matter. It’s your decision, Andrea. If you think it’s fair, then there’s no sense in delaying.”

  Sarah had specifically told her she had authority to make financial decisions with regards to the marriage, but the fact that he was pressuring her to sign made her think that Sarah wouldn’t agree. “You think she’d object, don’t you?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. I thought I knew her well enough to answer that, but I guess I don’t. She’s lied to me, withheld information from me... Who the hell knows what she’d do if she were here? For all I know, she’d throw that engagement ring in my face and tell me where to put it. If she sticks with her plan to divorce me sooner rather than later, I get half of her money. That part is still up to her—you aren’t taking away her choice in that matter. The amendment benefits her far more than it does me.”

  Andrea chewed her lip as she thought it over. If he was willing to pay Sarah to stay married to him, that was his business. And if she was willing to accept that payment, that was hers. As long as Sarah’s options remained open, what harm would it do to sign? She nodded. “All right. I’ll sign it.”

  He smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Great. I left the papers in the car. We can take care of it on our way to your eye doctor’s appointment.”

  “You’ll tell Sarah about the amendment? Since it was your idea, I’d rather not be the one to do it. I’ve delivered more surprises than I care to in this arrangement.”

  “I’ll tell her. Now that it’s settled and the wedding is still on, there’s another matter we should get out in the open.”

  “Uh oh,” she said, eyeing him warily. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  He put a warm hand on her shoulder and caressed her skin, brushing one finger up her neck and raising goosebumps on her arms. “We need to get comfortable with one another—touching, holding hands, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. That kind of thing.”

  Kissing, she thought as she watched his lips.

  “And we’re going to need to prepare ourselves for the kiss at the altar, once we’re declared husband and wife.”

  She cleared her throat. Why did he make her so nervous? “Are you suggesting we, um, practice? I don’t know how to do a movie kiss.”

  “Movie kisses don’t look real. This has to look legit. We have to actually kiss.”

  “Yes, I suppose so, but do we need to practice? A kiss is a kiss. I’m sure we’ve both done it hundreds of times.” His lips looked soft, and she reflexively moistened her own with a quick swipe of her tongue.

  “Sure, but we need to look like we’ve done it with each other,” he said. “We don’t want to bump teeth or miss each other’s lips. What if we’re up there in front of a hundred people, and you think we’re doing a granny peck but I go all-out French?”

  Andrea giggled with embarrassment.

  “It’ll look ridiculous.” He slid his hand down her arm and held her hand. “We should hold hands so we don’t look like a couple of tweens at the school dance.”

  The heat of embarrassment flooded her face. Did he have any idea of the effect he was having on her? “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  Blake grinned. “Since last night, I’ve thought about little else.”

  As much as she wanted to share a kiss with this man, this wasn’t the way she wanted to do it. Who planned a kiss by discussing it ahead of time? That would be the least romantic kiss ever conceived. This is a business arrangement, not a date, she reminded herself. “I suppose, but we have three full days to prepare.”

  “Only three days, you mean.”

  “Whatever.” Andrea cleared her throat and stood. “Shall we go? I don’t want to be late for my appointment.”

  He stood and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and she reflexively put her arms loosely around his neck and shoulders. His warm body was hard with muscle, and he already had an erection, which pressed unapologetically against her belly. His hazel eyes sparkled. “Maybe just a hug then. For now.”

  Oh, Lord. She should object, push him away, but she didn’t want to. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like if he were her fiancé and not Sarah’s. Every part of her body responded: her fingers stroked the back of his hair and neck, her arms tightened around him, her nipples tingled where they pressed into his chest, and her breath grew shallow. A moan might have slipped out of her mouth.

  He nuzzled her neck, breathing his hot breath on her skin, followed by a string of gentle kisses that trailed up to her earlobe. “Mmm, you’re as delicious as you look,” he murmured.

  That all but unraveled her. An image came to mind of the two of them, naked and entwined on the area rug with their clothes strewn about. If she didn’t end this embrace soon, she might not be able to. She moved one hand to his shoulder and pushed herself away. “Blake,” she whispered. “Let’s not get carried away.”

  He released her, though he kept one hand on her waist. With the other, he stroked her cheek. “If I’m too forward, just tell me to back off. I already feel comfortable with you, probably in part because of how much you look like Sarah.”

  She brushed her hair back from her face, trying to play it cool. “Well, I’m not Sarah.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “No. You actually respond to me.”

  Andrea set the security alarm, locked the front door, and put Sarah’s house key in a zippered pouch in her purse. Blake offered his hand, and she took it. Her body came alive at the feel of his warm skin against hers, enough to distract her and tip her thoughts off balance. They walked hand in hand to the black Mercedes Benz limousine parked in the driveway, longer than Sarah’s sedan but not as long as the stretch limos that drove celebrities or parties of squealing teenagers around.

  A man jumped out of the driver’s seat and jogged around to open the passenger door. “Good morning, Dr. Gentry,” he said with a bow. He was dressed in black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie but no chauffeur’s hat atop his buzz-cut hair.

  “You remember Steven, my driver,” Blake said.

  “Of course. Good morning, Steven,” Andrea said, surprised Blake didn’t drive himself. And why would he when he was rich enough to have a chauffeur? “I didn’t realize your driver was waiting for me to shower and eat too.”

  “It’s all right,” Blake said as he went around to the other side. “He gets paid as much to wait as to drive. Besides, I made him an omelet.”

  “The best I’ve had in years, sir,” Steven said, offering a hand to help Andrea into the car.

  Andrea settled into the seat, and Steven closed the door after her. The interior of the car was pure luxury, with black, leather seats that cupped her butt like they had been made specifically for her. Between the two seats was a pull-down console with cup holders, tissue box, and some kind of control panel. The rear cabin was separated from the front by a white privacy panel, below which were twin televisions.

  Blake climbed into the seat behind the driver and shut his door. “Let’s crank this baby up,” he said, adjusting some controls on the ceiling. A rush of cool air filled the cabin.

  “It’s lovely. Is this your car?”

  “No, it belongs to the limo service.”

  “Don’t you drive?”

  “I thought we could get to know each other better if you had my undivided attention. When I don’t have work to do or a beautiful woman to entertain, I drive a Jaguar.”

  She couldn’t suppress a smile at the implication he thought she was beautiful. “And?” When he gave her a questioning look, she asked, “Don’t all you rich guys have eight or nine cars and an elevator in your garage?”

  Blake chuckled. “I guess some do. I can only drive one at a time. If I get the hankering to drive something else, I rent it.”

  Once Steven was behind
the wheel, a small red light flashed between the two TV screens. “Where to first, Mr. Thomas?” he asked through the intercom.

  Andrea gave the driver the name of the eye clinic where her appointment was. The red light went dark, and they started off.

  On the drive, she and Blake made small talk about where they grew up, their family life, and what had brought them to the Bay Area. She found him to be friendly and open, a good conversationalist, which surprised her. Most of her life, she’d envisioned rich people’s social lives consisting mostly of mingling at huge parties, making superficial and trite conversation, but Blake seemed sincerely interested in her. He asked questions and volunteered information about his own life. He’d grown up attending middle-class public schools playing football, rather than in exclusive private schools playing polo as she’d assumed. After high school, he enlisted in the Army and then went to college at San Jose State, majoring in athletic training and business administration. After earning a Master’s degree in athletic training and sports medicine at Penn State, he returned to California to open his first personal training facility. Andrea found him interesting and intelligent, with an easy-going nature. His interest in athletic training was apparent in his well-developed physique, and his posture and the square set of his shoulders made him look statuesque. He looked fit and strong without being grotesquely over-muscled.

  The contact lenses were waiting when they arrived at the eye clinic, the extended-wear kind she preferred. Seated at a counter with a mirror and a bottle of saline solution, Andrea swapped her own clear lenses with the tinted ones. They looked greener than how she remembered Sarah’s eyes, and she worried that people close to Sarah would definitely notice. After paying for the lenses with Sarah’s debit card, she joined Blake in the waiting room.