Jamie Denton - Rules Of Engagement

“Not exactly,” she said, concentrating on her purpose for coming to see him. “May I come in?”

Relief swept through her when he stepped back to let her into the house. He showed her into a small living room, tastefully but inexpensively furnished.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, ushering her toward a blue plaid sofa.

“A glass of water would be nice,” she said, smiling up at him.

He nodded absently, then strolled out of the living room, giving her an opportunity to take in her surroundings. A plant in desperate need of attention sat atop an oval end table beside a tall brass lamp. More plants, also lacking tender loving care, were placed on the mantel above a small brick fireplace. Newspapers cluttered the edge of the coffee table, and a collection of magazines were strewn haphazardly beside a worn leather recliner with a remote control resting on the arm.

She eased out a puff of breath. The gods were smiling on her, because her miracle was single. The plants said there might have been a woman in his life at some point. She wasn’t planning to have an affair with him; she just needed him to pretend to be her fiancé for a brief period of time.

He returned with her water, then moved to sit across from her on the matching love seat. “So what’s this all about? If Nick didn’t change his mind, what are you doing here?”

“I can help you, Mr. Price—”

“Morgan,” he interrupted, his storm-cloud eyes dipping to her mouth, making her heart beat just a tad faster. “Isn’t this a little unusual? I didn’t know the partners at Lowell and Montgomery allowed their associates to moonlight.”

She smoothed her moist palms down her navy linen skirt. “They don’t,” she said, offering him a brief smile. “Not as a rule, anyway. I’m not here on behalf of the firm.”

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, giving her a level stare. “Then what are you doing here?”

She set the glass on the coffee table. “Mr. Pr—Morgan. I was hoping we could help each other.”

He regarded her skeptically, but the hopeful light in his eyes boosted her waning confidence slightly. “I’m listening,” he prompted, his brows pulling into a frown.

“In exchange for my providing legal services for your employee, I’d like something in return.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her with those piercing gray eyes.

“I need…”

Oh, why was this suddenly so difficult? She’d planned her speech down to the last detail during her two-hour drive in evening traffic.

“I need a few days of your time,” she hedged.

His brows pulled deeper together. “When?”

“The end of the month. My sister is getting married and I need…a…date.”

“For a few days?”

She let out a breath that did little to calm her case of nerves. “The wedding is in Illinois. In the town where I grew up.”

Regret filled his eyes and her heart sank. “I have to be honest with you, Ms. Cassidy, I’m not sure I can afford—”

“Jill,” she said. “And don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay for everything.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to be out of town,” he said, leaning back on the love seat and crossing his arms over that gloriously wide chest. He propped his foot on his knee. “I have a business to run.”

“Five days,” she said, feeling her only hope slipping away. If Morgan Price didn’t agree, she didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d been evading the issue with her family for months, coming up with one excuse after another as to why her fiancé hadn’t been able to come with her on her last two trips back to Homer, Illinois. She hadn’t meant to lie to them, but everything had spun out of control and now she was backed into a corner and desperate enough to use whatever means at her disposal to convince Mr. Sinfully Sexy to compound her fabrication.

“A few in exchange for decent legal representation for your employee?” she asked, hating the hesitancy in her voice, but under his piercing stare she was lucky her voice worked properly.

He regarded her with a great deal of caution, and she really couldn’t blame him. Her plan was more than ludicrous, it was insane.

“This is blackmail, you know,” he said after a moment, his gaze softened by a slight quirk of his mouth.

Relief, combined with a stirring of something much more elemental, rippled through her. “I was thinking more in terms of the medieval economic system. You need a lawyer and I need something in return.”

“How do I know you’re any good?”

Why did that perfectly innocent question cause gooseflesh to break out all over her skin? “I’m very good. You won’t be disappointed.”

The grin that transformed his granite features was filled with sin. “You don’t leave me much choice.”

She smiled and used every ounce of self-control she possessed not to jump up and squeal with delight. “I was hoping you’d say that. So we have a deal?”

“Tell me something. Why resort to blackmailing for a date to a wedding?”

She reached for the water, taking a drink in hopes of putting out the slow burn in her tummy caused by her precedent-setting case of nerves. “Actually,” she said, setting the glass back on the table, “I need a little more than just a date.”

At his silence, she summoned her nerve and blurted, “I need you to be my fiancé.”

JILL’S WORDS registered and hung between them, dimming the brightness of his angel’s halo. Fool’s gold, he thought. And he was an even bigger fool for allowing himself to feel desperate enough that he was seriously considering her outrageous proposal. “You’re kidding, right?”

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head slowly. “It’s really a very long and boring story,” she said, leaning over to pull a yellow pad from her briefcase. She slipped the cap off an expensive pen. “Let’s start with the charges against your employee. What’s his name?”

“Eddie Burton,” he said, then shook his head. “But I haven’t agreed yet.”

Delicately arched golden brows shot up and her big blue eyes rounded in surprise. “But I thought you needed an attorney?”

“At the cost of selling my soul to get one?” he countered dryly. He didn’t have a choice. Of course he’d do whatever she asked, even if it meant he did have to sell his soul to keep the MasCon contracts. When the guys had come into the shop earlier that evening, he’d promised them he’d look out for Eddie so long as they showed up for work the next morning.

Confidence and amusement mingled within the depths of her gaze. Only the quick, rhythmic drumming of her long slender fingers against the legal pad betrayed her nervousness. He found her slight case of anxiety endearing.

“I’m not asking for your soul, Mr. Pr—Morgan. You’re not really going to be my fiancé, just provide a convincing facsimile. Your time in exchange for competent legal representation. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

He wasn’t so sure. Time away from the company could cost him a lot more than shelling out a few bucks for a lawyer. Not that spending a few days with her would be a hardship. Quite the opposite, considering his immediate physical reaction when he’d found her on his doorstep.

Therein lay his problem. He was attracted to her, damn attracted when he couldn’t afford the distraction, no matter how much awareness rumbled through him whenever she flashed those baby blues his way.

He propped his feet on the edge of the old coffee table and leaned back into the love seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s assume I agree to do this. What exactly are you expecting?”

She set the pad and pen on the table, wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward. “We need to be a real couple, one convincing enough that my family doesn’t become suspicious.”